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Treasure of Kings

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Title: Treasure of Kings

Creator: Charles Gilson

Illustrator: Richard Caton Woodville


        
Release date: April 7, 2012 [eBook #39399]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39399

Credits: Produced by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TREASURE OF KINGS ***




Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover art]



[Illustration: "EVERYWHERE WAS GOLD, STACKED UPON THE FLOOR, PILED
AGAINST THE WALLS."  See page 208.]




                           TREASURE OF KINGS

                  Being the Story of the Discovery of
                  the "Big Fish," or the Quest of the
                 Greater Treasure of the Incas of Peru.



                                   By

                          MAJOR CHARLES GILSON

      _Author of "The Realm of the Wizard King," "The Fire Gods,"_
                 _"In the Power of the Pygmies," etc._




            With Frontispiece in Colour and Eight Full-page
               Illustrations by R. CATON WOODVILLE, R.I.




                                 LONDON
                     "THE BOY'S OWN PAPER" OFFICE,
                       4, Bouverie Street, E.C. 4




                           BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The Realm of the Wizard King.  A Tale of Prehistoric Monsters.
The Scarlet Hand.  A Tale of a Secret Society.
Submarine U93.  A Tale of the Great War at Sea.
The Fire Gods.  A Tale of the African Forest.
The Mystery of Ah Jim.  A Tale of the Sea.
On Secret Service.  A Spy Story.
The Lost Empire.  A Tale of the Battle of the Nile.
The Lost Column.  A Tale of the Boxer Rebellion.
The Lost Island.  A Tale of the Mysterious East.
The Sword of Freedom.  A Tale of the English Revolution.
The Spy.  A Tale of the Peninsular War.
The Race Round the World.  A Tale of a new Motor Spirit.
The Pirate Aeroplane.  A Tale of Ancient Egypt.
In the Power of the Pygmies.  A Tale of the Congo.
A Motor Scout in Flanders.  A Tale of the Fall of Antwerp.
Across the Cameroons.  A Tale of the Great War in West Africa.
Held by Chinese Brigands.  A Tale of China.
The Society of the Tortoise Mask.  A Tale of a Secret Society.
The Captives of the Caves.  A Tale of Savage Men.
The Sword of Deliverance.  A Tale of the Balkan War.




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER I--JOHN BANNISTER
    CHAPTER II--THE COMING OF AMOS
    CHAPTER III--THE MAP
    CHAPTER IV--KIDNAPPED
    CHAPTER V--I SET FORTH UPON MY VOYAGE
    CHAPTER VI--I AM CONCERNED IN A MUTINY
    CHAPTER VII--AND AM MADE TO PAY FOR IT
    CHAPTER VIII--INTO THE WILDERNESS
    CHAPTER IX--I AM LEFT TO MY DOOM
    CHAPTER X--HOW THE WILD MEN CAME AND LOOKED AT ME
    CHAPTER XI--I BURN MY BOATS
    CHAPTER XII--THE PATH OF THE TIGER
    CHAPTER XIII--THE STORY OF ATUPO
    CHAPTER XIV--THE GLADE OF SILENT DEATH
    CHAPTER XV--HOW I BEHELD A MIRACLE
    CHAPTER XVI--I FIND THE "BIG FISH"
    CHAPTER XVII--THE GREATER TREASURE
    CHAPTER XVIII--I FALL IN WITH A FRIEND
    CHAPTER XIX--THE BOATSWAIN TELLS HIS STORY
    CHAPTER XX--I RETURN TO THE SOLDIER'S TOMB
    CHAPTER XXI--I AM MADE A GHOST, AND THEN A FOOL
    CHAPTER XXII--MR. FORSYTH AND I BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED
    CHAPTER XXIII--HOW AMOS GAINED POSSESSION OF THE MAP
    CHAPTER XXIV--HOW AMOS WAS POSSESSED OF SEVEN DEVILS
    CHAPTER XXV--HOW THE SHEEP WERE SHORN
    CHAPTER XXVI--A NIGHT OF TERROR
    CHAPTER XXVII--HOW AMOS MET HIS END
    CHAPTER XXVIII--CONCLUSION




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                      BY R. CATON WOODVILLE, R.I.

"Everywhere was gold, stacked upon the floor, piled against the walls" .
. . . . . . . .  Frontispiece

"'Because,' he answered slowly, 'because you are a caveman, too'"

"He rolled back the boulder as though it were nothing" (missing from
book)

"And bound I was, then and there, to a stout palm tree, a little
distance from the margin of the forest"

"They came closer than ever, to within an arm's length of me"

"I had reached the conclusion of my journey.  The Big Fish was there"

"'Hands up!' he cried. 'Hands up, you brown barbarian, or else I shoot
you dead!'"

"'Lie there and rot!' he shouted.  And they below heard his footsteps as
he danced upon the stone"

"And so we came to the seashore, and saw the sun go down upon the wide
and golden Pacific Ocean"




                              INSCRIBED TO

                      BROMLEY DAVID SMITH-DORRIEN




                           TREASURE OF KINGS




CHAPTER I--JOHN BANNISTER


I shall never forget the day on which I first set eyes upon John
Bannister.  I was then a boy--sixteen years of age, if I remember
rightly--and I stood before him, tongue-tied by the questions that he
asked me, wondering how he had come by the great ugly, horrid scar upon
his face, awed--indeed, I think, a little frightened--by the great
muscles in his forearms, naked to the elbows, his rough weather-beaten
face with skin like leather, and above all else by the stature of the
man.

For he was a giant--a giant such as I had dreamed of when a child.  As
some such figure had I pictured Giant Despair, when my mother had read
to me from _Pilgrim's Progress_: "And Giant Despair was in one of his
fits again."  I had pictured Strength and Madness let loose amid a
thunderstorm of wrath.  And when I first looked upon him who was to be
my champion and my comrade.  I forgot his soft, kindly words and
pleasing smile, and could only think how terrible he must be in anger.

There is a strip of beach upon the Sussex coast, so many miles from
nowhere, where the sand-snipe gather and seldom a human being may be
seen.  There, as a lad, I would love to roam, with no certain object in
view, but just to find what I could, to observe what chanced to come my
way, and, when wearied of wandering, to sit upon the shingle over and
above those plains of wet, grey sand and think of all manner of things
as my boyish fancy pleased.

I was seated thus one April morning, far from home, and wondering how my
tired legs would carry me back to dinner, when my attention was
attracted to two strange birds, of a kind that I could not remember to
have seen before.  The sea was calm as glass, the sun hot as August.
They were large birds, and were engaged--so far as I could see at a
distance of more than a hundred yards--in dragging from the shallow
water what might have been the carcass of a fish.

I watched them, greatly interested, forgetful even of my appetite,
possibly for five minutes; and then there came a heavy step upon the
shingle at my back.

I turned quickly, to behold the figure of John Bannister.  Like some
great beast of prey, he had broken his way quite noiselessly through a
thick brake of that shrub which, I think, is called
sea-buckthorn--though I never knew one tree from another.  And he stood
regarding me, with his hands upon his hips.

I got to my feet, thinking that such a man might be up to no good in so
lonesome a place, and I might find it advisable to take to my heels.
But, quite suddenly, he laughed; and at the sound of his laughter I knew
at once that I, for sure, had nothing to fear.  Since that memorable day
I have learned in the world many true and singular things, but none
truer than that you may know always an honest man by his laughter and
the shake of his hand.

"I startled you," he said.

"I wondered who it was," I faltered sheepishly.

"And you are still none the wiser," he answered.

And at that, he seated himself by my side.

He told me that the strange birds were hooded crows.  He told me also
how they bullied the rooks, robbed the gulls; how they were cleverer and
more evil than any other bird, foes of all and feared by all--thieves
and murderers.  He talked like a book; he had the science of the matter
at his finger-tips, and he could, at the same time, paint pictures, as
it were, with words.  With him the hooded crow was in a single sentence
_corvus cornix_, and the "highwayman of the air."

And as he talked to me, I wondered the more concerning him, and thought
the less of the hooded crows.  Who was he, whence had he come, and what
was he doing there in such a lonely place, in his shirt sleeves, in the
warm April sunshine?  These were questions that he himself was to
answer.  I cannot say why he took me straightway into his confidence,
and afterwards into the very chamber of his heart--but he did; else I
would now have naught to write about.

Let me confess that I have taken the whole tenour of my life from this
man's greatness.  I have tried my best, all my long years, to bear in
mind his strength, his wisdom, and his courage, that I might walk humbly
in the shadow of a glorious example.  But, more than all besides, I know
that I owe to him the restless spirit of adventure, the love of action,
the joy of wandering, that has led me so often to strange and distant
places where I have found myself in even stranger company.

I cannot tell you of all he said to me upon the morning of our meeting.
He spoke of many things, of the world he had seen, the dangers he had
faced, the people he had known.  As I had no longer feared him after his
first word and his open, kindly smile, so after five minutes of his
talking did I feel that I had known him all my life.  For his words were
magic.  Wondrous pictures framed themselves before my eyes upon the calm
surface of that English sea--pictures of wild men, of treeless deserts,
of savage forests and inhospitable hills; and I longed then to follow in
the footsteps of this heroic man, whose hairy arms were those of Vulcan
and whose voice was soft as that of the mother whom I loved.

I forgot my dinner.  I hungered only for adventure.  I sat upon the
shingle, wondering what lay beyond the vague horizon where grey sea and
sky were blended, where I could just discern the smoke of a solitary and
distant steamer, the only sign of life or movement upon that desert
sea--for we in the West of Sussex lay well away from the track of the
Channel shipping.

On a sudden, I asked him the time; and with a glance at the sun he told
me it was two.  At that, I jumped to my feet.

"But I am late!" I cried.

"Not for the first time," said he.  "I can remember my own boyhood."

"My dinner was at one."

"Then you dine with me; for I eat when I have time and appetite, sleep
when I will, and live as Nature meant me to."

He led me back from the beach across some sand-hills to a place where
the gorse was like a wave of gold.  And there was a wooden hut--or,
rather, shed, for it was walled upon three sides only.  And within were
all sorts of things: a sleeping-bag made of the skins of some small
animal with fur soft as a mole's, which he said had come from the south
of Africa; an iron cooking-pot, an evil-looking affair which he had
brought with him from the Amazon; skins painted by North American
savages; mocassins; a Malay sarong, a kind of towel worn around the
waist; and more curiosities and rude, primitive utensils than I could
well describe within the space of a page of the smallest print.

And yet, I dined like a prince: a soup of fish, plover roasted upon a
spit, and in place of bread, flour and water fried in a pan after the
custom of the Afghans.  It may have been the novelty of it all, or the
fact that by then I was well-nigh famished, but I never ate more
heartily, and I have never forgotten that meal, though I have had many
such since then.

In answer to my questions, he told me more concerning himself.  Though
he had lived a life of adventure, exploring wild countries, sleeping
beneath the stars, in constant peril of his life from savage beasts and
scarce less savage men, I could not of myself comprehend why he should
in peaceful England bury himself miles from the abodes of his fellow
human beings.  For I write--you must remember--of many years ago, of the
mid-Victorian time, as it is called--and good days they were, as we know
full well who have lived to see these unsettled, troublous days. To-day,
from the spot where John Bannister and I first met, you may catch a
glimpse to the west along the coast of the red roofs of bungalows, where
week-end visitors may come from London to set up bathing-huts upon the
beach, whilst from the east, perhaps, a pair of lovers may wander from
across the golf course at Littlehampton in search of desirable
seclusion.  For that stretch of coast is desolate still; but in those
days it was a kind of No Man's Land, with no sign of life but the gulls
and the sand-snipe, the smoke from John Bannister's camp-fire, and the
hooded crows.

Well, the truth was, he who feared neither beast of prey nor painted
cannibal was afraid of civilised men.  He went once a week to the little
inland village a few miles distant to purchase groceries and stores.
There--as I found out afterwards--they thought him a madman, though he
was always courteous in his manner and paid without question for what he
bought.  He had few words for any man, and none ever for a woman.
Later, when my mother came to learn of my new-found friend who lived
alone among the sand-hills, she was anxious to see him, more for my own
welfare than from curiosity; but he told me flatly that he had never
known any civilised woman save his own mother, who had died when he was
young, and he would rather face a wounded lion than pretend to talk to
one.

"For it comes to this," said he; "I have gone back, as it were, upon the
centuries; I have learned to live as men lived in ancient times. Though
I have read much and thought more, and have some claim, I suppose, to be
called a scholar, in many ways I am no better than a cave-man.  I have
forgotten all the niceties of culture.  I have neither small-talk nor
table manners.  So I prefer to live as I do, in my own way; and I offer
no welcome to visitors.  The farmer who owns this land is glad enough of
the little I pay him in the way of rent; but, beyond that and my weekly
shopping, I seek no intercourse with strangers.  I am content to be
alone."

I asked if he were not often lonely, and he laughed.

"Even here," said he, "in Sussex, Nature is a living force.  The sea
changes almost hour by hour.  Birds come and visit me.  Even the rabbits
in the brake have already learned to know me.  They all seem to
know--these little, wild things--that I am one of them, and soon cease
to fear me.  They are my companions and my friends, and I have also
books and memory.  And I have health and air, the smell of the salt sea
and the seaweed, and the sunrise to awaken me before your street-bred
friends are stirring.  The wind, the rain, and the sun--I welcome each
as it comes.  Did I want other comrades, I should go and seek them; but
I prefer to live like this."

"And yet you talked willingly to me?" I asked.

"Because," he answered slowly--and his words came to me as a
surprise--"because you are a cave-man, too."

[Illustration: "'BECAUSE,' HE ANSWERED SLOWLY, 'BECAUSE YOU ARE A
CAVE-MAN, TOO.'"]

"I!" I exclaimed.

"Every boy," said he, "every healthy, happy boy.  It was the savage in
you--though you may not realise it--that brought you out here alone,
that took you right away from red bricks and shops and dinner."

I cannot say whether I have conveyed to the reader in the space of this
short chapter a true conception of the character of John Bannister, as
he was when I knew him first.  Of his personal appearance I have yet to
write; and if it be a simple matter to describe that which is outwardly
apparent, it is by no means easy either to fathom or to portray a man's
soul and mind.

Do not imagine that I myself knew aught of him until after we had
sojourned together for months, faced the same dangers, stood side by
side throughout the great adventure of which I have to tell.  I knew
from the first that he was wise and generous and kind: I could see with
my eyes that he was strong, and his talk charmed the imagination of a
dreamy, active boy.  In spite of all he knew, of the experiences he had
had in all parts of the world, he was one of the simplest men that ever
lived.  And there was something in him of the poet.  I do not mean that
he ever tried to set down his thoughts in verse, but that he lived in
love with all things beautiful.  I have seen him stand stock-still like
one transfigured, with eyes illumined, gazing in wonderment upon a
purple sunset upon the snow-capped crestline of the distant Andes--and
that at a moment when his own life, as well as mine, was not worth a
full day's purchase.

Judge all men by their deeds and not their words.  Hear this history to
the end, and see what like of man was he whose charm and peril led me
forth from green and sleepy Sussex to adventure in the darkness of those
tropic forests that shut out the source of the great River of Mystery,
where there are poison, black ignorance, and fell disease, and a man may
no more count the dangers that encompass him than the myriads of
stinging insects that drone about his ears.

And one thing more: my own life has not been lived without event.  It
has been my fate to tell a score of times of the enterprise of others;
but of all men of action I have ever known, read or written of, I rank
John Bannister as first.  Perhaps that may be because I can now seat
myself of a winter's evening before my study fire and see him in my
fancy as he was in all his strength and manhood, pass through again the
dangers and the hardships, and live once more the glorious days that it
was my privilege to pass with him, and remember that, had it not been
for him, I might have lived all my life in Sussex and seen nothing of
the world.  But how can I set down the debt I owe him?  For I owe him
life itself.




CHAPTER II--THE COMING OF AMOS


After that morning, throughout the summer months when I was at school,
there was seldom a Saturday or a Wednesday afternoon when I was not to
be seen hastening eastward along the beach to see John Bannister and to
listen to his talk.

During those days I learned much of him, of his travels and adventures;
but there were certain matters upon which he would never speak in any
detail.  He would never tell me, for instance, the full story of how he
had come by the great scar upon his face--a disfigurement so pronounced
as to be at once pathetic and repulsive, which had aroused my boyish
curiosity from the first.  Had it not been for that scar, Bannister
would have been a handsome man, as indeed he was when the left side of
his face was to be seen in profile.  He had deep-set steel-grey eyes
that looked clean through you, and the forehead of a thinker; his hair,
in those bygone days, was black, no more than touched with white upon
the temples and about the ears, and his moustache the longest I have
ever seen.  Though there was never a man, I should suppose, who had less
of vanity in his composition, I think he grew it thus to hide in part
the record of the terrible wound that had extended from his right ear to
the corner of his mouth--a scar that was always rough and white, though
his face was burnt by the sun to the colour of tan.

"I came by that," he once said to me in answer to my question, "in what
might be called an honest cause.  A thousand miles from nowhere, where
there is neither Law nor Right nor Wrong nor Justice, one--who may or
may not have learned the Lord's Prayer at his mother's knee--would have
put to death some score of helpless human creatures, slaughtered them
like sheep."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why," said he, "there are but few motives that sway the evil that lies
in all men, and of these greed of gold is first.  And this man of whom I
speak was a great force of evil, and is so still, for I never doubt that
he is yet alive.  For gold he would have murdered those who had never
wronged him, who had indeed shown him nothing but kindness and
hospitality.  Fate decreed that this man's path and mine should cross;
and because I stood between him and an ill-gotten fortune, I was struck
a coward's blow.  You would never guess the weapon, Dick, that gave me
my beauty mark for life?"

He paused as if waiting for an answer, though I had none to give.

"Well, then," he continued, "it was a sceptre--the golden sceptre of a
bygone dynasty of monarchs, ended four hundred years ago--kings of no
naked savages, but emperors, rulers over an ancient civilisation that
has crumbled to the dust, of a people who were cultured in their own
way, industrious and great.  It is something, we may imagine, to carry
through life the scar that was given by the symbol of such authority and
power."

"And where was this?" I asked.

"Where the mountains overtop the clouds," he answered, "where one may
see the last of the sunset beyond the valleys of Peru, and the dawn
rises from the dark forests of the Upper Amazon, in which, Dick, there
are secrets that no man yet has ever lived to learn."

"It was the sceptre of the _Incas_!" I exclaimed; for I had read as a
holiday task _The Conquest of Peru_.

"The very same that was hidden from Pizarro," he made answer, "together
with all the gold of Huaraz and Cuzco."

"And who was the man who struck you?" I demanded.

"When I tell you that his name is Amos Baverstock," said Bannister,
"that he hails from the same west-country town as I do--and that is
Tiverton in Devon--and that that man to this day counts himself as my
greatest enemy, I tell you more than I should."

And though I tried my utmost, I could get from him nothing more.  A
reticent man by nature, he was yet from the beginning prodigal of speech
with me.  With the exception of this great Peruvian adventure--which, I
could tell from his demeanour, he ranked as the one outstanding episode
in all his life--he would answer all my questions. I thought this
strange; and there was an even stranger thing about him--and I was soon
to learn that the two were linked together.  Though he had to some
extent confided in myself, he forbade me to speak of him to my
schoolfellows.  He told me he was well content to have found a friend in
a boy after his own heart, much the same sort of lad as the John
Bannister who had bathed in the Exe, and, barefooted, raced other boys
upon the river bank; but, were the knowledge of his presence upon that
lonely shore to become the common property of a clamouring, crowded
school, his seclusion would be lost, his peace of mind disturbed, his
haven of rest and solitude converted into a kind of monkey-house--for
that is what he called it.

I gave my word, and kept it; and yet, I could not but think of things.
And it occurred to me that John Bannister lived as he did for other
reasons than solely to enjoy the fruits of solitude.  Not that he
himself had ever told me anything that was not the truth: he had,
indeed, sojourned for so many years in the wild places of the world that
he had forgotten much concerning the ways of civilisation and could be
shy--as he was before my mother--like an overgrown yokel who stands, cap
in hand, first on one foot and then upon the other.  He wanted more than
solitude, he wanted secrecy.  For more reasons than one I should have
guessed it; but I was but a boy, and looked not for motives or for
causes.  I was content to take the man as he was: a hero in my eyes, who
had risked his life a thousand times, who had done great deeds and seen
strange sights and wondrous places that I had only dreamed of.

And now I come, at last, to the beginning of my story: a blazing morning
in the August sun, when our friendship was four months old, when the
wheels of chance began to move, and those forces were set in motion that
whirled me away, when still a schoolboy, from sunny, sleepy Sussex, to
be a wayfarer with grim Death himself in dark, tropic lowlands, or amid
the very clouds.

It being holiday-time, and I having no thought in my head than what
pertained to my hero, I set forth earlier than usual, and took the
straight cut across the fields, instead of following the shore.  This
led me to a group of sand-hills, not half a mile from where Bannister
had pitched his camp; and amid these I stumbled upon three men, seated,
heads together, in the shadow of a gorse bush.

I cannot for the life of me explain why I did it--never before or since
have I played the eavesdropper of my own free choice--but the moment I
set eyes upon a hunchback, with a clean, wrinkled face and two small
eyes as black as boot-buttons, down I dropped on all fours, like a man
shot, and crept silently and swiftly to the cover of a clump of
reed-like grass.

I think the sight of the man frightened me.  He had the cruellest face I
had ever seen; and there was cunning in it, too.  Also, there was a
suggestion of merriness, of latent mirth, about him--patent in the
shining, bead-like eyes--that caused me instantly to shudder.  Have you
ever considered the eyes of a half-grown pig, as something apart from
the glistening, inquisitive, joyful, and highly entertaining quadruped
that a young pig happens invariably to be?  They are wicked and gleeful,
defiant and pitiless, those little, twinkling eyes.  They are more
fearful than those of a snake, because they are more alive and equally
soulless.  Well, then, such eyes had this man: eyes at once merciless
and mischievous.  And so it was, I must suppose, that I hid myself amid
the grass.

And then one of those who were with him used these very words; and when
I heard them, it was as if I was deprived of the power to breathe.

"I wish I were a hundred miles from here, I can tell you that.  He's not
likely to forget that it was you, Amos Baverstock, that trapped him and
left him for dead, and that it was I who struck the blow."

I lay in the long grass, close as a hare, my heart pumping within me
like an engine.  I had heard and seen enough already to know that my
friend was in danger.  I had a sense of some calamity impending, but no
time just then to guess at the meaning of it all; for I must listen to
the quiet, cold voice of Amos Baverstock--the hunchback with the pig
eyes and a long, thin nose like a weasel.

"You were right enough in London," said he, "when I told you I had
tracked him down, as I swore to you both I should."

"Maybe," said the other, "I forgot, for the moment, what he was.  I
would sooner face a tiger."

He was a rough-looking man, with a red, untidy beard, and there was
something about him of the sailor.

"Tut, man," said Amos; "you make a mountain of a molehill!  I do not
propose to set about this matter like a fool.  He's lying yonder like an
old dog-fox in his earth, and we'll send a terrier in to fetch him out."

"Me!" cried the red-bearded man, horror-stricken at the thought.

But, before Amos Baverstock could answer, the third man spoke for the
first time; and my attention being thereby attracted towards him, I was
at once astonished at everything about his individuality: his voice, his
personal appearance, the words he used, his very attitude of
carelessness and ease.

"_Cave tibi cane muto._"

That is what he drawled, and though I was then a schoolboy who had
struggled through the dull prose of Caesar to the loftier realms of
Virgil, I must confess that fear had so deprived me of my wits that I
understood no word, except the first.

The speaker lay flat upon his back, with his hands folded behind his
head, and his face exposed to the sun--like a tripper who would go back
to London nicely tanned.  I observed that he had taken off his coat and
rolled it into a pillow, and that the shirt he wore was of the softest,
flimsiest silk.

He was dressed like a fop in the height of the fashion of that day,
wearing a white tie, with a great gold pin in it, a well-curled
moustache and those short side-whiskers which were then the vogue.  He
had light-blue eyes and fair, curly hair, and had it not been for the
side-whiskers, would have looked much younger than he was.  Everything
about him suggested that he was--or should have been--a gentleman of
means and leisure.

"_Cave tibi cane muto_," he repeated, more slowly than before.  And this
time I had the sense to understand it: "Beware of the silent dog."

"Just so," said Amos.  "We will tempt the dog with a bone.  Trust to me,
you dolt," he cried, turning sharp upon the man with the red beard, who
was sitting with a scowl upon his face and his legs crossed like a
Hindoo.  "Ask yourself, have I ever yet sent you on a wild-goose chase?
Am I one to take unnecessary risks?"

"Then, shoot him, take what we want, and have done with it," growled the
other.

"Friend Joshua," said Amos, "we are some eight thousand miles from
Chimborazo, and probably not two miles from a police-station.  We want
no questions asked, no hue and cry.  That would ruin everything."

"There's something in that," admitted the red-bearded man, whose name
was evidently Joshua.

Amos chuckled.

"This is no baby's game," said he.  "Bannister fears neither man, wild
beast nor devil.  No more am I afraid of him.  I have tricked him once,
and I can trick him again.  Were I to get within arm's length of him, it
is true, as like as not he would wring my precious neck; and the same
applies to you, friend Joshua; for he will not have forgotten that it
was you who struck him down at the end of the passage that leads from
Cahazaxa's Tomb.  But Mr. Forsyth here, he has never set eyes on in all
his life."

"In other words," cut in the young man with the side-whiskers, still
stretched at full length upon the ground--"in other words, I myself am
the bone to be presented to the silent, dangerous dog.  A pleasant
prospect--but I acquiesce.  Having gone into this business, I am
prepared to take what comes."

Though he had spoken with a shade more animation than before, he had
neither moved an inch nor troubled even to open his eyes.  A calm
customer, in very truth, was Mr. Gilbert Forsyth, as I was afterwards to
learn, something to my cost--a man with more manners than morals, who
was never afraid and never surprised, and who smelt of the vile pomade
with which he plastered his moustache.

"Sir," said Baverstock, "you are the very man for me.  I promise you
that, if we pull this business through, we shall wade knee-deep in
gold."

"I want gold to spend and not to paddle in," said Forsyth.  "Give
orders, Mr. Wisdom; I am here solely to obey."

Amos produced a long and very black cigar, bit the end off and began to
chew, making his face all wrinkles.  I thought that he would light it,
but he did no such thing.  He would look at it with one eye half closed,
use it much as a musical director wields his baton to punctuate his
words, and then chew again, until the brown juice was streaming from the
corners of his mouth.

"Go to John Bannister this morning," said he.  "Go to him now, if you
like.  He doesn't know you from Adam.  Pretend you're just an idle,
inquisitive holiday-maker who has dropped across him by chance; get into
conversation with him, ask him foolish questions; and then, without
advertisement, just--drop that across his head."

As he said this, he threw across to Mr. Forsyth some kind of weighted
implement, such as a house-breaker might have in his possession.  It was
about the size and shape of a belaying-pin, and attached to the thin end
was a leather strap to secure it to the wrist.

"Sounds simple enough," drawled Forsyth.  "However, for the sake of
argument, suppose I fail.  I understand from what you both tell me, he
has the strength of two ordinary men."

"Six," growled the red-bearded fellow, who seemed to me to be a
discontented rascal.

"Strike hard and without warning," said Amos.  "In case of mishap, Trust
and I will be at hand to help you."

I thought, at the time, that Trust was another man--a fourth party in
this vile conspiracy; for I did not then know that the name of the
red-bearded man--as great a rogue as Amos himself, if not a tenth as
clever--was Joshua Trust, who had served before the mast in the Royal
Navy, to be tried by court-martial for a felony and afterwards
discharged.

Mr. Forsyth, in the meantime, picked up the bludgeon and toyed with it
in his hand.

"A useful tool," he observed.  "Convenient to carry, and--I should
say--effective to use.  To be candid, I'm a little afraid of it. Though
I have not the pleasure of knowing Mr. Bannister, I should be sorry--for
my own sake as well as his--to deprive him of his life."

"You need not be afraid of that," laughed Amos.  "Had his skull been
thinner than a bullock's, it would have been broken years ago.  We want
him senseless, when we can bind him hand and foot, and help ourselves to
the very thing we want.  He has got it somewhere, sure enough; and had I
to search the world for it, I would find it in the end."

And then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together; and I have never
seen in all my life an expression of such malignant glee.

"Once it is ours," he cried, "across the Western Ocean!  Nothing stands
between us three and fortune.  Gold!" he almost shrieked, "I tell you,
it is there knee-deep in a cavern as large as a cathedral: golden
ornaments and vessels, bars and rings and bracelets.  You shall have
your fair share, Mr. Forsyth; for all's square between us, and, I
confess, we could not very well move in this business without you.
Joshua here will tell you, though I may be an ill man to cross in more
ways than one, I never yet went back upon my friends.  You've come into
this affair to help us, and I'll not forget it."

"Dear me, no!" drawled Forsyth.  "I join you for my own ultimate gain. I
recognise that I am blessed with as little conscience as yourselves, and
see profit in the matter.  I know nothing of this fellow Bannister, and
care still less.  Besides, I have, I suppose, a natural taste for such
an adventure as you propose.  I am heartily tired of this dreary
country, with its railways, gas-pipes and antimacassars.  I would, in a
word, stake all I have upon an only venture, to die soon or rich--I care
little which it be."

And thereupon he yawned, placing the tips of his fingers before his
mouth in a manner exceedingly affected.

They talked then for a while of other things; and all the time I was
seeking an opportunity to escape, to hasten to my friend to warn him of
his danger; and yet, though I was well screened from view of Amos
Baverstock and his companions, it was some time before I could find the
courage to bestir myself.  I feared that they might hear me; and the
very sight of Amos had instilled within me a sense of dread which
returns to me even to this day whenever I think of the man.

I lay in the long grass like a wounded bird: it was as if I had not the
power to move.  My thoughts were running riot--Bannister to be
shamefully assaulted, something stolen, and I kept repeating to myself
the magic phrase, "Gold knee-deep in a cavern large as a cathedral."

There was something about all this of the kind of adventures I had often
imagined; I had thought that I would revel in the prospect of such
dangerous escapades; and here was I, scared out of my wits, too
terrified to move, my heart beating violently, as if I were out of
breath from running.

Indeed, it was only the thought that Amos Baverstock or one of the
others would get up to go, and then discover me, that made me shift from
where I had been hiding; and no sooner was I out of earshot than I set
off running as if pursued by fifty fiends.  I never ran so fast before
or since.  Over the sand-hills, stumbling amidst the shingle, breaking
my way through gorse and hedgerow, I came at last to John Bannister's
cabin, lying in a hollow by the sea.

"Mr. Bannister!" I cried.  "Mr. Bannister!  Something dreadful is about
to happen!"

I was, I suppose, half blinded by my running; or I had not the sense to
look about me.  I stood before the opening of the cabin, wringing my
hands and crying out like a fool:

"Mr. Bannister!  Mr. Bannister!  Come quickly!"

I had for answer neither the sight of his great strength nor the
familiar sound of his voice, but just the wash of the sea at high tide
beyond the ridge where the buckthorn grew, a great rhythmical, breathing
sound, as if a giant were slumbering.

I was more afraid than ever when I realised that he was not there, and
it might take time to find him; for, befogged as my wits were, I knew
well enough that the occasion was one that would admit of no delay.

I ran straight to the beach, and looked to the eastward and westward.
For a moment I had hoped to find him, for he would sometimes bathe in
the sea at that hour of the day; but a glance or so was enough to tell
me I should not find him there.

I wandered for a while somewhat aimlessly amongst the shrubberies that
crowned the margin of the sand-hills and the shingle, and then returned
to the cabin.  As things happened, I must have done so in the nick of
time; for, when I had searched in odd corners, as if looking for a
hidden thimble, instead of a man of six-foot-four, I went to the
threshold, and looking out beyond the gorse, beheld the tall figure of
Mr. Gilbert Forsyth, strolling towards me, swinging in his hand his
silver-mounted Malacca cane.

I did not know whether or not he had seen me.  It was sufficient for the
moment that I had no way of escape.  The cabin--as I have said--had been
built in a hollow, and to cross the ridge that encompassed it would
bring me into full view of Mr. Forsyth.

On the other hand, I could think of nowhere to hide.  I stood for a
moment irresolute, with clenched fists, cudgelling my brains and wishing
that I was anywhere else upon the wide face of the earth.  Then I heard
a footstep on the shingle without, and as I drew back into the shade of
the hut, I saw the man's shadow cast upon the threshold.

I looked about me in a wild and silly way, and then without a thought
dived under the great fur sleeping-bag that lay ruffled against the
wall.

Forsyth entered.  I could not see him, but I could hear him moving to
and fro, and once he even trod upon my foot.  Then I heard his voice,
raised in a kind of drawling sing-song, as if he called to someone at a
distance.

"Come on," he sang.  "The way's clear.  The dog's out of his kennel."

A full minute may have elapsed.  On such occasions, time counts for next
to nothing.  But, presently, I was aware that, besides myself, there
were three persons in that small place, and one of them was Amos
Baverstock.

"Here's our chance," said he.  "Joshua, keep watch from without.  He may
not be far away, and it would be a rough-and-tumble business if he
caught us in the act.  And now, sir, help me to find the map.  The thing
must be somewhere in this hut, unless he carries it always on his
person."

And at those words was I made to realise that, as sure as I had been
christened Richard Treadgold in the little church at Middleton, I had
done a foolish thing and was like to be made to pay for it.

For Amos Baverstock was come to search for a certain map, the
significance of which I then, of course, knew nothing.  Whether or not
he would find this map was a question of itself; but there was no sort
of a question within the bounds of probability that he could look for
long and fail to discover _me_.  And then, in truth, the fat would be in
the fire.




CHAPTER III--THE MAP


I expected every moment to be caught, to be jerked forth from my
hiding-place like a landed fish.  In the course of their searching they
must sooner or later move the sleeping-bag, and I would be exposed.

It occurs to me that fear must be one of the strangest of emotions; for
I can honestly say that, now that I was in this hopeless and perilous
predicament, I was no longer afraid.  Certain that I must fall into the
hands of Amos Baverstock, equally uncertain of what then would be my
lot, I was resigned to my fate; I was long past apprehension.  I still
thought of Bannister, and wondered concerning the map for which Amos and
Forsyth were looking, but for myself I now cared not a snap of the
fingers what became of me; and this attitude of mind I preserved
throughout the next eventful moments, else I had never acted as I did.

For Amos never found me on his own account.  No doubt he would have done
so in a very little time, had not Forsyth, almost at once, struck upon
the very map for which the two were searching.

"What's this!" exclaimed Forsyth.  "It seems the thing we want."

"Where?" cried Amos, who, I judged, snatched it from the other's hand.

"That's it!" he almost shouted.  "The parchment map copied from that
made ages ago by Villac Umu, the High Priest of the Incas of Peru.
Bannister has translated it, and marked the route in red ink.  It's all
plain as daylight."

I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was wildly excited.  He
spread out the map upon the little table in the centre of the cabin,
and, feeling secure since Joshua Trust was keeping watch, spoke
breathlessly to Forsyth, relating the matter in such detail that then
and there I was made a party to the whole vile conspiracy--or as much of
it as there was any need for me to know.

"When the ancient Peruvians fled before the advance of the Pizarros," he
explained, "they carried their treasures across the mountains. These
they hid in two places: one, which is called the Little Fish, consists
of all manner of earthenware utensils; the other--the Big Fish--is
composed of golden ornaments and ingots.  I have heard it said by some
that the Little Fish is in Bolivia; by others, as far north as the
Amazonas Territory--the truth being that no man living knows.  It was
John Bannister himself who discovered the secret of the Greater
Treasure, or the Big Fish, as the natives call it.  He lived for years
among the wild savages who inhabit the forests about the eastern
foothills of the Andes; and there, I believe, he came across some
priestly descendants of those who had served the Incas.  It was high up
among the Conomamas, to the south of the great Region of the Woods, that
I first fell in with Bannister.  I was there prospecting for gold, but I
had never dreamed of such a gold-mine as the Greater Treasure of the
Incas.  Bannister never told me that he had learned the secret from the
priests, but I made so free as to inspect the map, when I believed him
to be sleeping."

"But is this safe?" asked Forsyth.  "Supposing Bannister returns?"

"There is nothing to fear," said Amos.  "Time's our own.  Joshua is on
watch upon the sand-hills, and can see him coming half a mile away.  We
are as safe here as anywhere."

"Well, then, go on with your story," said the other.  "You saw the map
yourself?"

"No more than glanced at the thing before he had me by the throat and
well-nigh strangled me," cried Amos.  "After that we parted company,
though I followed his track, and three times tried to kill him."

I heard Mr. Forsyth laugh in his silly, affected way.

"You do not mince your words," said he.  "And I think I like you for it
all the better.  So you tried to murder him, and failed?"

"I did not say 'murder,'" grumbled Amos.  "You can do no worse than kill
in the great Region of the Woods; and whether you slay a jaguar, a
monkey or man, it is much the same in the end.  But to kill a man like
John Bannister is no such easy matter.  He has the ear of a panther and
the eye of a bird, and he strikes like the coral snake--silent and
deadly--and for those self-same reasons, the story I am telling you must
now turn something against myself.  For I began the business by hunting
John Bannister in the Wilderness; but, before the game was a week old,
it was he that was hunting me, and hunting me, too, day and night, from
the Putumayo to Bolivia, from the Amazon to the sea.

"I sought safety, at last, in the port of Lima, where I was sheltered by
some pretence of Law and Justice; and there I joined forces with friend
Joshua and three other kindred spirits who now lie unburied, their bones
picked by the vultures.

"Well, then," Amos went on, "we five put our heads together and talked
the question out.  It was plain to us that, since Bannister was such a
tough nut to crack, it were safer and simpler to go straight to the
fountain head, as the saying goes, and see what could be done with the
priests.  I guessed from what Bannister had told me, that the Peruvians
were a weak-kneed, cowardly lot, and thought it would not be difficult
to frighten them into telling us all they knew.  But we had to search
the woods for months before we found them, living in the midst of black
ignorance and superstition; and by then--would you believe
it!--Bannister had got wind of our intentions, and had come back upon
his own trail, crossing the mountains and descending into the Region of
the Woods.

"He turned up in time to ruin all our plans.  His very presence gave the
priests the courage they had lacked.  There was a stiff fight, and we,
having the worst of it, were obliged to beat a quick retreat to the
foothills, though we carried with us a hostage.  So far as this man was
concerned, I took a leaf from the book of the Spaniards.  I knew that
Pizarro had not gained all his knowledge by fair words and promises.  I
tortured the wretch, until he shrieked for mercy and promised that he
would guide us to Cahazaxa's Tomb, upon the very crestline of the Andes,
where he swore to us the Greater Treasure was hid.  Thither we went, to
find that the rascal had lied to us.  A few golden ornaments there were,
in a vault cut in the living rock, at the end of a narrow passage, and
amongst these was the ancient sceptre of the Incas, but the lot were not
worth the price of our journey.  Moreover, John Bannister himself had
had the audacity to follow us.  Night by night, he hovered about our
bivouac, hoping to deprive us of our hostage.  So I set my mind to work
to finish him; and as fortune had it, the old Tomb was as good as a
rat-trap.  For there was a great boulder at the mouth of the passage,
which might be rolled down-hill to block the entrance; and even then it
was as much as Joshua and I could do.  We fooled John Bannister to enter
the Tomb by making a show of moving camp and leaving the Peruvian
behind.  However, when we thought we had caged him, we found to our
great dismay that we had under-estimated the man's colossal strength;
for he rolled back the boulder as though it were nothing, and came down
upon us like a raging lion."

    [Illustration: "HE ROLLED BACK THE BOULDER AS IF IT WERE NOTHING
                          (missing from book)]

Amos paused a moment in his narrative.  Listening eagerly for what was
yet to come, I heard distinctly the disgusting noise of the chewing of
one of his long, black cigars.

"We were unprepared for that," he continued.  "Indeed, thinking we had
got him safely caught, to starve to death or shoot himself, we were
standing before the entrance to the passage without our arms; and before
we could master him, our party of five had been reduced to two. It was
Joshua who ended the affair.  We had looted the Tomb of the little
treasure that was there; and Joshua snatched up the golden sceptre of
the Incas and struck down John Bannister, whom that night we left for
dead."

"And what of the map?" asked Forsyth.

"We searched him, but never found it.  He may have left it with the
priests, or hidden it somewhere in the forest.  Two years later, I again
journeyed to the Region of the Woods, and found out from the priests
that Bannister had taken it away with him, after he had returned to the
Wilderness from Cahazaxa's Tomb."

Amos had calmed down by degrees whilst he related the whole story to Mr.
Forsyth; but now, quite suddenly, he became as frantically excited as
before.

"For two years I have hunted for the man," he cried; "and I found him
here by chance.  I want nothing but the map, to know where the Greater
Treasure has lain hidden for more than four centuries, and to learn how
to get there.  See here!" he shouted; "the place is far to the north,
near the valley of the Yapura River.  The treasure of the Incas was
carried four hundred miles from Cuzco!"

"What more could we want?" laughed Forsyth.

"Why, nothing else," said Amos.  "This map's worth more to us than the
keys to the vaults of the Bank of England."

I heard a sound like the rustle of paper or parchment, from which I
judged that Amos flourished the map in his hand.  And then it was that I
did a thing so bold that I have never ceased to be amazed at my own
audacity.

I had passed from sheer fright to cold deliberation.  I cared not two
pins for my own safety; and though I was still in dread of Amos, I
thought not once of him, but of John Bannister, whose very shadow I
almost worshipped.  Besides, it must be understood, I was already caught
like a fly in the web of these adventures.  I had listened, as to a
story, to all that Amos had said, and had tried to figure in my mind's
eye the Greater Treasure, all glittering in the dust, Cahazaxa's Tomb
and the dark Region of the Woods.  I knew, from what I had heard, that
if all this wealth belonged to any Christian man, that man was John
Bannister himself and never Amos Baverstock.  Why Bannister was content
to live as he did, when he could be master of such riches, was a
circumstance I could not then explain, but which I was wise enough to
see was no concern of mine.  Upon one thing was I well determined, with
a kind of blind pig-headedness that might have led to my own
undoing--and that was that Amos should never take away with him the map.

"Gold!" he cried.  "Gold!  We'll wade knee-deep in it!"

And at that, I sprang from under the sleeping-bag and hurled myself
straight at him whom I so truly feared.

Both he and Mr. Forsyth were too surprised to do little else but gape,
which gave me the chance I wanted, to snatch the parchment from his
hand.

I do not think I could have been much quicker; but he was not to be
taken unawares.  The parchment was old, and must have been half torn
already, for, when he pulled one way and I the other, the thing came in
half.  And then, even before Baverstock had time to drop an oath, I was
past the opening of the cabin and racing like a madman through the
gorse.




CHAPTER IV--KIDNAPPED


While I went over the sand-hills like a hare, I looked back once and saw
Amos running, his face all screwed up in fury, and his black eyes as if
they were on fire.  At the door of the cabin stood Mr. Forsyth, shaking
his Malacca cane at me, but never troubling himself to move so much as
an inch.

I knew from the first that I had the legs of both of them, that Amos
could never catch me though I carried a pound weight on either foot. And
I believe, like a fool, I laughed, thinking myself secure; and when I
pulled through a hedgerow that cut off the sand-drift from the open
fields, I found myself face to face with Joshua.

For my own excuse, it may be urged that I had had much to think of in
the last few minutes; and if I had remembered my friendship with
Bannister, I had at least forgotten the very existence of Joshua Trust.
But there he was, as plain as a pike-staff, about thirty yards to the
front of me.

I pulled up and stared at him; and to my surprise he made no movement,
until I heard the voice of Amos from behind me.

"Catch the young fiend!  Shoot, Joshua, before he gets away!"

And at that I jumped to the right, straight into a rabbit-hole, and
pitched on to my head.

I lay where I was for a few seconds without moving, for I was a trifle
shaken by the fall.  I could still hear Amos, cursing and swearing
horribly, and Joshua, beating along the hedge with his stick.  For all
that, neither could I see them nor could they see me; for I was flat
upon my face in a bunch of thistles, which was near as great a torment
as a swarm of bees.

I knew from the first that sooner or later I would have to run for it;
and the only thing that held me back from bolting then and there was the
certain knowledge that Joshua Trust would shoot.  I write with natural
reluctance whatsoever stands something to the credit of myself; but,
even at the moment, I thought more of the parchment than of my own skin.
For I still held the crumpled fragment of the map in my right hand,
gripping it tightly as if it were a running-cork.

I heard Joshua's voice quite near to me; and knowing that he must find
me if I remained where I was, I resolved to take my chance.  But first,
in case of possible misfortune, I stuffed my portion of the parchment
map to the full length of an arm down the very rabbit-hole that had
tripped me up.  And as I did so, a thought flashed through my mind: that
it was, indeed, a strange circumstance that half the secret of the
Greater Treasure of the Incas of old Peru, who four hundred years ago
had foiled the greedy Spaniards, should lie hidden in a rabbit-scrape in
Sussex.

And then I sprang to my feet and trusted to Providence to help me.
Joshua was in front of me and threw out his arms to catch me.  But I
dived beneath them, swerved away from him, and ran for my very life.

I heard Amos shouting like a madman.  Out of the corner of an eye, I saw
Joshua Trust fumbling in the region of his belt for the pistol I knew he
carried.

It was neck or nothing then.  I had the sense not to run straight, but
to dodge here and there like a snipe; and as like as not I owed my life
to that.  For I found out afterwards that Trust was a dead shot, who
seldom missed his mark.

As I fled, the sharp crack of his pistol broke upon the silence, scaring
the sea birds from the beach.  The bullet sang past my head and clipped
the lobe of an ear, so that the blood ran down my neck.  And thus was I,
Dick Treadgold, blooded, in both metaphor and fact, to a life of peril
and adventure.

Whilst Joshua reloaded, I had a chance to double the distance between
us.  I headed inland, away from the shore, and made in the direction of
the village which was more than a mile away.  Straight in front of me
was a clump of trees, and I hoped to gain this before Trust could fire
again.

Though the country that lies south of the Downs, from the west of
Worthing to the ancient city of Chichester, is, in the main, as flat as
a table, this particular clump of trees was perched upon a rounded
hillock--though you would call it that nowhere but in western Sussex;
and therefore, when I gained the trees, I could survey the land on every
side of me to the extent of a good square mile.

To the south were Joshua and Amos Baverstock, hastening after me, the
latter some way behind his longer-legged companion.  To the north, a
little to the east, was the sharp belfry of the church in the village I
would gain: and, to the west, was the lane that leads to Arundel.

I had paused for a moment, not so much for breath as to get my bearings,
to select the shortest route; and in this brief moment, I became aware
of a circumstance that caused my heart to leap for joy. For, coming
toward me, by way of a footpath that led across the fields, carrying
under an arm a brown paper parcel that I knew to contain his weekly
stock of provisions, I recognised the great, tall figure of John
Bannister himself.

All thoughts of my pursuers were instantly banished from my mind.  What
cared I now for Amos Baverstock and all his threats and oaths!  I was
conscious of nothing else but the bald fact that a friend in need was
close at hand--and one, moreover, who would soon get the best of Master
Baverstock--and so great was my elation that I took no heed of a
dog-cart which, at that moment, came rattling round a bend in the road.

I called loudly upon Bannister by name, though he was then scarcely
within hearing, and dashed down the hill before Joshua could have
reached the trees from the other side.

The road in that place was bounded by a wooden fence, and balancing
myself upon the top of this, I shouted frantically to Bannister.

"Come quick!" I cried.  "Amos Baverstock is here!"

I was answered, before the last word had left my lips, by a shot fired
at the back of me.  The bullet splintered the woodwork of the very bar
upon which I was standing; and, startled into action, I jumped into the
road.

Immediately I had to turn back again no less quickly, to avoid being run
down by the dog-cart, the driver of which reined up with a jerk.

I looked up at him at once, thinking to recognise some farmer that I
knew; but, instead of that, I set eyes, to my amazement, upon Mr.
Gilbert Forsyth, with his side-whiskers and his greased moustache.

I remembered then--too late as things turned out--that the road curved
seaward near the place where I had first discovered Amos and his
friends.  Had I thought of it at all, I must have known that they had
never walked to that lonely spot.  They had driven there, to leave the
horse and cart upon the road, whilst they settled themselves at a little
distance to discuss how best they might attack John Bannister, in his
cabin by the sea.  Moreover, had I known then as much as I know now of
Mr. Gilbert Forsyth, I should never have supposed for a single instant
that he could be as idle as he seemed, that he would have remained doing
nothing before the opening of the cabin, whilst his friends were
pursuing me.

For Gilbert Forsyth, a fop to all appearances and a lazy dude, was in
reality a man of action.  He said not a word to me, but when he had
reined in his horse, he lifted his whip, and cut me down as if I were a
thistle.

It was a long tandem whip--and tandems were much in fashion in the days
when all this happened.  The lash wrapped itself about my legs like a
living snake; so that when Forsyth jerked the whip backwards with all
his force, I was thrown violently on my face upon the hard, dusty road.

I tried to get to my feet as quick as I could, but had done no more than
struggle to my knees, when Forsyth struck me upon the crown of my head
with the heavy handle of the whip.

It was a cruel blow and a stout one; and I know that if I did not
actually lose consciousness I, at least, saw the trees swing upward into
the sky, and the white road upon which I lay rush round and round, like
the spokes of a revolving wheel.

And then the next thing I knew was that Forsyth had me by the throat.
Though I was then young, I was not a weakling.  I struggled desperately,
and might, perhaps, have freed myself, had not Joshua Trust arrived upon
the scene in time to settle the affair the wrong way for me.

For he gathered me up in his arms, and I was held as if I were encased
in iron.  I shouted frantically, but that was of no more help than the
cackling of a hen.  I was lifted bodily into the cart.

I heard Joshua shout to Amos: "Run like mad!  Here's Bannister himself!"

Forsyth had climbed upon the box.  Trust was on the back seat, with me
held like a squalling babe in his arms.  The cart tilted forward a bit,
as Amos scrambled up and took his seat beside the driver.

I heard Forsyth crack his whip, and immediately the horse started off at
a canter, the cart rocking like a boat in a heavy sea.  I continued to
shout, until Joshua swore at me and clapped one of his great hands
across my mouth.  And the last thing I saw, as the cart turned into the
main road to Littlehampton, was John Bannister breaking through the
boundary fence, and then standing quite still and upright in the middle
of the road, staring after us, with his brown paper parcel still under
his arm.




CHAPTER V--I SET FORTH UPON MY VOYAGE


Though all these events took place more than fifty years ago, I have a
very perfect recollection of that drive.  In those days there was not
much traffic on the Sussex roads; and we passed nothing on the way to
Slindon save a hay-cart and a brewer's wagon.  On neither occasion did I
dare cry out for help, for Joshua Trust sat by the side of me with his
loaded pistol, pressed close against my ribs, in the pocket of his
sailor's pea-jacket.  I never doubted for an instant that he would
shoot.  I had then, it is true, little experience of the world; but I
could scarce fail to recognise that I was fallen into the hands of
desperate men who counted human life of little worth.

So I kept my silence upon the road, wondering all the time what was to
become of me, and, above all else, what Amos Baverstock would say when
he discovered that I had cast away my fragment of the map.

That he thought I had it still was plain enough, since he twice told
Joshua to keep an eye on me, lest I should throw it from the cart.  He
was in a great haste to reach the woods at Slindon, where in springtime
the wild flowers are like a garden; and he had a good reason for this.
Indeed, in all my experience of Amos, I never knew him fail for want of
caution; and when a man is circumspect as well as fearless, he is an
enemy who cannot be trifled with.

It was the scoundrel's design, so I discovered, to reach the woods with
as little delay as possible, and there to wait until the evening, when
he could take the Portsmouth road under cover of darkness.  There were,
at that date, many coaches on the highways; and Amos evidently thought
it wiser not to trust me.

So to Slindon Woods we went, and were there in no time, soon after noon.
They unharnessed the horse, and turned him out to graze; and whilst Mr.
Forsyth unpacked a hamper that was well stocked with provisions and wine
to drink, Amos took me by the shoulders, and looked me straight in the
face.

"And now, boy," he said, "I'll have no more nonsense from you--so
understand me, once and for all.  It's an unwise thing to pry into my
affairs--I can tell you that.  You know more about me already than I
care to think; and I tell you fairly, you had best mend your ways, if
you value life."

I was afraid of the look of him, of the hard glitter in his eyes and the
way in which his thin lips were tightly pressed together.  And I was
more afraid still of what would happen when he discovered that I had
made away with my fragment of the torn map.  My heart was in my mouth.
I felt as if I were suspended by a thread upon the brink of a precipice,
and that at any moment that thread would break and I be hurled into
eternity.

Fortunately, perhaps, I was not left long in such uncertainty; for no
sooner had Amos taken his hands from off my shoulders than he clapped
them together behind his back, and came out with the very question that
I feared.

"And where's the map, my boy?" said he.

I answered nothing.

"Give it up," he demanded, and held out a hand.

"I have not got it," said I.

At that his jaw dropped.  He stared at me in amazement, not knowing
whether or not to believe me.

"Haven't got it!" he repeated.  "What d'ye mean?"

And the way he rapped out those last few words made my blood run cold. I
saw, however, that I must make a clean breast of the matter, let it end
which way it would.

"I have not got it," said I, "for a simple reason; because I had thrown
it away before you caught me.  And now, you know the truth, and can do
with me what you will."

The hunchback stood staring at me as if I were a ghost.  His thin,
wrinkled face had gone a yellow or a greenish colour, and his little
eyes looked blacker and more on fire than ever.  He kept working his
mouth about, as if he were chewing some of his vile tobacco; and, on the
whole, I cannot conceive an expression more menacing, a countenance less
prepossessing.

He came up to me, and searched my pockets; and whilst he was doing so, I
noticed that both his hands were trembling.  He had then been joined by
both Trust and Forsyth, who stood on either side of him.

Amos, as he drew away from me, came out with an oath that I can never
write.  Indeed, the swearing of this man was not the least of his many
sins.

"He has not got it!" he cried.  "We've been fooled, Mr. Forsyth; and
that by a slip of a boy!"

I thought that he would kill me, then and there, beneath the shadow of
the trees in Slindon Woods.  But, though Amos Baverstock often worked
himself into fits of ungovernable fury, he never was guilty of a foolish
action.  For my life--though at the time I never guessed it--was of some
use to him.  Not only did I know where I had hidden the torn map, but,
as like as not, I had looked at it, and might be able to remember the
names of some of the places that were marked thereon--knowledge for
which Amos would give much.  Had it not been for this, I have little
doubt he would have put me out of the world.

They tied my feet together, in case I should endeavour to escape, whilst
the three seated themselves upon the gnarled surface roots of a great
oak tree, and examined their fragment of the map, discussing the
question openly, so that I overheard them and learned of the trick that
Providence had played us all.

For the map had been rent in twain, not by the hands of Amos Baverstock
and me, but by the sure and supple fingers of Almighty Destiny.  Amos
had in his possession at least three-quarters of the parchment--he had
it all, indeed, except one corner, that which I had seized in my attempt
to wrench it from his grasp.  And, as good luck had it, that one corner
contained the information of the greatest value: to wit, the exact
locality where the Greater Treasure was to be found.

As for the rest of the map, it carried you from the outskirts of what
may pass as modern civilisation to within a certain unknown distance of
the secret place.  It put you on the right road, as it were, and then
left you--lost in the midst of a wilderness of doubt.

When Amos grasped the full significance of this, he jumped to his feet,
a perfect figure of fury, storming at me and swearing, using threats and
shouting of torture, if I did not then and there confess.  But speak I
would not.  Whatever happened, I was resolved to hold my ground, though
I was filled with grave misgivings.

For all that afternoon they badgered me, trying intimidation, bribery
and curses; and then, at last, they settled it amongst themselves that
they would take me with them into Portsmouth, and thence across the sea
into the very heart of a black barbarous country, where they hoped to
find the Treasure of the Incas.

It was then, whilst we waited in the woods for sunset, that I saw
myself, a lad of sixteen summers, launched upon a series of adventures,
among strange peoples and in wild, romantic lands--adventures such as
those of which I had often read, of the bold Spaniards who had followed
Columbus into a new and unknown world, and brave blades of the stamp of
Drake and Grenville, who--like John Bannister himself--were all men of
Devon.  That I was to be one of a company so glorious seemed to me all
my heart could wish, though I went as a hostage with my life itself at
ransom.

In a strange fashion, in very truth, did I begin my travels; for I
journeyed that night to Portsmouth, not only bound hand and foot and
tied to the seat of the dog-cart, but gagged as well; so that, by the
time we reached our destination, I ached in every limb.

For three weeks we dwelt together in a lodging-house, patronised by
seamen, in a poor quarter of the town.  The landlord--a fat, slovenly
fellow whose hand was seldom far from a pint mug or near a razor--was,
as I guessed, hand in glove with Amos; for he must have known that
throughout those three dreary weeks I was kept locked in a stuffy room,
where I had neither fresh air nor liberty, and no better fare than is
accorded to a convict.

I have said that we dwelt together, but this was not wholly so; for Mr.
Gilbert Forsyth, though he was often of our party, had taken rooms in
one of the best hotels.  He was a gentleman somewhat fastidious in his
habits, with a nice taste in wine and clothes, though--as he was soon to
prove--he could rough it with the best of us.

Joshua, too, was seldom in our lodgings.  It appears that he spent most
of his time in the neighbourhood of the docks, on the lookout for an old
shipmate whom he knew he could trust, with whom Amos could strike a
bargain.

Such a man was eventually found.  Joshua brought him in, one evening,
and shortly afterwards Mr. Forsyth arrived, looking more than ever as if
he had just come out of a bandbox.

This fellow proved to be the skipper of a barque, due to sail in a few
days' time, bound for Caracas in Venezuela.  She must call first at
Liverpool, to take on a cargo of cotton goods, but would touch at no
port upon the voyage but Fayal in the Western Islands, which are now
called the Azores.

All this fitted in exceedingly well with Amos's plans.  As I was in the
next room when they talked the matter out, and they never troubled to
close the door, I know for a fact that Baverstock bribed the skipper,
and that Forsyth--who I suspected all along had undertaken to produce
the funds--paid him as much as fifty pounds down, quite apart from the
question of passage money, and there was more to come at the end of the
voyage.

Gilbert Forsyth, indeed, was a member of the expedition for no other
reason than that he supplied the sinews of war, else Amos had never
taken him into his confidence and agreed to forego a third part of the
loot.  For all that, Forsyth proved himself a man of action and
resource, though he never looked it; and things would have gone worse
with Amos than they did, had he not had at his right hand one so capable
and cool throughout those wild, adventurous days.

For Joshua Trust was well enough in his way to strike a blow or carry a
camp-kettle across a mountain range that topped the clouds--otherwise he
was a bull-in-a-china-shop kind of a fellow, whose worth was in his
forearms and not his head.

But Forsyth was cast in a finer mould: a man of education, with tags of
Latin in the corners of memory, a sense of humour--subtle enough to be
lost upon both his strange companions--and a wonderful brain for
figures.

The man's laziness was all pretence and affectation.  He always talked
as if he were half asleep, and yawned at intervals, screening his mouth
with a hand upon one of the fingers of which he wore a golden signet
ring; and yet, his brain was ever active, and he had the happy knack of
doing the right thing at the right time--as he had already proved to my
cost.

Even whilst I lay imprisoned in that dingy room in Portsmouth, Forsyth
returned along the coast to within a stone's throw of John Bannister's
cabin by the sea, and searched vainly for the fragment of the map which
I had thrown away.  And that in itself was a bold thing to do; for the
police--to whom Bannister had described the appearance of both
Baverstock and Trust--had been told of my disappearance, and the
countryside, from Arundel to Chichester, was populous with printed
offers of reward.

For, all this time, my mother was well near distracted by anxiety and
distress.  John Bannister called upon her, and tried in his own
straightforward way to set her fears at rest, and swore to her that he
would find me, though he had to search the world.

Of how well he kept his oath it is my task to write, and of much else
besides.  For the barque, which was called the _Mary Greenfield_,
dropped her pilot off the Needles of the Isle of Wight, and with a fair
wind and under full canvas struck the open sea.  And I, Dick Treadgold,
was on board, sea-sick that night as any full-grown man could be, and
sick at heart as well.  For, when the white cliffs of dearest England
faded in the evening light, I realised for the first time that I was
alone, and there was no telling what the Fates held in store for me.




CHAPTER VI--I AM CONCERNED IN A MUTINY


I have neither space nor patience to describe in any detail that long
and tedious voyage.  For we were months at sea.  I saw whales spouting
water into the air, and schools of porpoises; and at one time, for a
whole month on end, we were becalmed, the ship lying idle in the midst
of a vast floating mass of seaweed, where there were all kinds of
jelly-fish and squids.  The heat was excessive, and there was a rank,
almost putrid, smell in the air, which came from the decaying seaweed.
That in itself was enough to try the temper of every member of the crew;
but, to make matters worse, much of the tinned meat on board exploded in
the hold.  I cannot explain this, but I know that it happened, and am
content to leave the explanation to the scientific reader.  These
circumstances, together with the surly nature of James Dagg, the
captain, led from dissatisfaction to open grumbling, and thence to the
mutiny of which I have now to tell.

My own fortunes were, to some extent, involved in that affair; and in
any case, I must describe the incident more or less as it occurred,
since nothing could better serve to illustrate the true character of
Amos Baverstock, who plays as important a part as myself in the
narrative that follows.

I had not been a week at sea, and just recovered from my sickness, when
I was given clearly to understand that I was to hold no intercourse with
any of the crew.  I cannot say that I wished to, for they were a
ruffianly lot--half of them, I verily believe, prison-birds, like Joshua
Trust, and the remainder West Indian negroes, Chinamen, and Lascars from
the coast of Malabar.

I had to share a cabin with Amos himself, who seldom let me out of his
sight.  Thrown into such close intimacy with the man, I learned much
concerning him, and he more of me.  He seldom allowed a day to pass
without questioning me in regard to what I knew of the map; and so
terrible did his threats become that I was filled with fear for the
future.

On that account, I yearned for a friend, someone in whom I could
confide; and it was not long before I found such a man on board that
pestilential ship.  Now that I can look back upon my series of
adventures, I can see both men and matters in their true perspective,
and I realise that, had it not been for William Rushby, the boatswain of
the _Mary Greenfield_, the most honest and the whitest man that ever
piped all hands on deck, this tale had never been told.

When I saw him first, I sized him up as the true seaman that he was; but
I dared not speak to him, because of the threats that had been heaped
upon me.  I knew also that I could go to none of the ship's officers
with my story, for they were all tarred with the same brush as the
skipper; but Providence before long gave me the chance I wanted.

When we were in mid-ocean Amos tired of the voyage, and required little
persuasion from Mr. Forsyth to take to playing cards.  Captain Dagg was
a card-player, too, and Joshua made the fourth; and this was the party
that sat down nightly after supper to gamble, drink and smoke, by the
light of a reeking paraffin lamp in the little stuffy saloon.

I watched them play for many nights, and though I knew nothing of the
game, it was quite clear to me that they were three babes at the
business by the side of Mr. Forsyth.  For it was he who always won, no
matter with whom he played or what cards he held, and it was he who
raked in their money.

This was all one to me.  I soon tired of watching them; and when I had
once slipped away from them, to breathe the fresh air on deck, and no
questions had been asked, I made it my constant practice to sit of an
evening upon the poop, whence I could look down into the water and see
the phosphorus as if smouldering in the wake of the ship.

And here it was that I talked with William Rushby.  At that hour it was
his duty to see that the ship's lamps were lighted, and when he had
hoisted the mast-head lights, and put the red light to port and the
green to starboard, he would come aft, haul in the log, and speak to me
in whispers.

That he took that precaution from the first makes it plain enough that
he guessed some mischief was afoot.  He questioned me concerning who I
was and what business I had in such company on board that ship.  It was
some time before I dared tell him the truth, for fear of Amos
Baverstock; but I did so in the end, making him swear to keep my secret;
which he did.

"It is all like a fairy tale," said he, when he had heard my story; "and
it's hard to tell the best way to help you.  Of this much I am certain:
if you set forth into the back country of Venezuela with a man like
Baverstock, you'll not come back alive."

"But I cannot escape!" I protested.  "Even on board this ship, I am
watched at all hours of the night and day."

Rushby thought for a while, stroking his short black beard which was
like that of a Russian Czar.

"Maybe," said he, "at Caracas, I could desert and take you with me.  I
have no liking for my shipmates here, as you may well imagine.  In the
meantime, many weeks must pass before we sight the mainland, and in that
time much may happen."

As he said this with some significance, I asked him what he meant.

"Why, just this," he answered; "there's trouble brewing aboard, which
will come to a head before we touch port.  The crew are a low-down,
blackguard lot, no better men than sailors; and though they may be held
to blame for that, it's no fault of theirs if they are fed worse than
swine and cursed from dawn to sunset.  Dagg I had heard about, though I
never signed on under him before, nor will again, and the mate's even
worse.  There's high talk in the fo'c'sle, as it is, where the
ringleader is that nigger cook.  Mark my words--and I've sailed the seas
for more than twenty years--a prize-fighting negro in the galley can
cause more mischief aboard a sailing-ship than a monkey and a woman,
both in one."

I laughed, for I was not then accustomed to the talk of sailors.

"And they've run out of lime-juice," he went on; "and that's a serious
thing."

"Lime-juice!" I repeated, thinking he was joking still.

"A man must eat vegetables," he explained to me, "to keep his blood cool
and his liver nicely trimmed.  You can't eat green cabbages and
Brussels-sprouts in mid-Atlantic, so you must carry lime-juice aboard;
and we've run out.  The men have much to complain of.  They are in ill
health, and one or two should be lying up in a sick berth, instead of
being sworn at left and right for not moving quicker.  So I see trouble
ahead.  It may be a hurricane, or just a summer squall; and if the
first, Heaven help James Dagg and his officers, for they're a tough lot
for'ard, as I know who've listened to their talk."

And Rushby was proved to be in the right.  We ran into a great calm as I
have said.  The sea was like glass; and though the sun was blotted out
by a steam-like fog, the heat was so intense that we went about the deck
in naught but vests and trousers, with the sweat dripping from our
finger-tips.

Without a doubt, the crew suffered for lack of lime-juice; some broke
out with a horrid skin disease.  And then the news came that the tinned
meat had all gone bad, and we were forced to live on salted ling-fish,
so that we went thirsty all day long.

It was Ebenezer Hogg, the negro cook, who started all the trouble.  He
was a long, raw-boned Jamaica man, who had cut a figure in the
prize-ring in his younger days.  He had never forgiven the skipper for a
blow across the mouth because the cabin potatoes had not been properly
peeled, though this was the work of Ah Chin, the cook's mate, a
half-daft Canton Chinaman, who would fire off crackers at all hours of
the night, in honour (I suppose) of the heathen gods he worshipped.

Hogg told his shipmates he cared not a "dime with a hole in it" for
James Dagg or any man.  They had no food fit to eat, so they might as
well help themselves to the ship's grog, to keep--as he described
it--body and soul together.

Rushby--as his duty was--warned the captain of what was coming; but
Dagg, who had been losing heavily at cards to Mr. Forsyth, only abused
the boatswain for his pains, and said that he himself was the best judge
of such matters and would know how to deal with insubordination.

And that night the crew, led by Hogg, the nigger, broke into the
storeroom with a hatchet and broached the rum casks.  Within
half-an-hour, they were all roaring drunk; and that was a night that I
shall never live to forget.

The moon came out from the white sea-mist, as if to look down in
scandalised amazement upon a scene of debauchery and violence--a round,
red ball of fire, casting its rays upon the stagnant, reeking seaweed,
illuminating the deck of that floating madhouse with a dull crimson
glare, whereby you might see the whites of men's eyes and the glitter of
the sharp blades they handled.

Dagg appeared on deck, his face livid with passion; and I could see by
his walk that he, too, had been drinking heavily at his card-playing.

"What's all this?" he shouted at the top of his voice.  "Understand,
I'll have no monkey-tricks aboard the ship that I command."

Hogg at once squared up to him, his two fists before his face, very
drunk and brazen.

"Come on, James Dagg!" he cried, with his Christy-minstrel accent. "Time
yer and me settled de account."

"This here's mutiny!" exclaimed the captain.

"Dat's de right word, boss," said Hogg.  "Mutiny it is."

And at that, he struck the captain with his fist, so that Dagg rolled
over and over upon the deck, groaning loudly.

The fat was now in the fire.  If discipline could be restored, Hogg
would be hanged at the yard-arm and his body cast into the sea; and
drunk as he was, the nigger knew it.

"I'm de captain of dis ship," he bellowed, "an' James Dagg's de cook."

He showed his white teeth in a grin, and then gave orders as if he had
been accustomed all his life to a position of authority; and the wonder
was he was instantly obeyed.  Five minutes later, both Dagg and his mate
were bound hand and foot; and the second mate had been locked in his
cabin, where he was fast asleep.  The negro went staggering backwards
and forwards, from the forecastle to the poop, crying out that he it was
who was Captain and his name was Admiral Hogg.

There were two spectators of this comedy, who could not be considered as
partisans; and the one was William Rushby and the other was myself. The
boatswain's sense of duty would have held him to the captain, had it not
been for me; for, though I had no liking for any of the crew, and a
feeling of positive loathing for a great brute like Hogg, I saw in the
discomfiture of James Dagg and his officers some chance of my own
ultimate deliverance.  So that when the cook turned upon me, and caught
me by the scruff of the neck, I played the card that I thought safest at
the time, but which certainly lost me the trick that meant the game.

"And now, boy," said Hogg, "which way de wind blow wid you?  Will you
sign on to serve as cabin-steward under Admiral Hogg?"

"Why, sure," said I, having picked up something of the man's own way of
speaking.  "I was never a friend of Captain Dagg's, as you may have seen
for yourself."

And thereupon, I looked away from the negro's grinning countenance, and
straight in the black, pig-like eyes of Amos Baverstock.

If I had feared him before, I was well-nigh terrified of him then; for
there was black murder in the look he gave me, and his mouth was working
horribly.

For all that, he straightened his face in half a second, and turned to
Hogg as calm as the sea itself.

"I'll settle with you in a moment," said he.  "I've not lived more than
half my life without learning how to deal with a buck nigger who's three
parts tipsy.  Bo's'n," said he to Rushby, pointing straight at me, "put
that boy in irons."

Rushby never moved.

"Did you hear my orders?" rapped out Amos.

"I heard right enough," said the boatswain.  "But I'm not here to take
orders from you."

At that, the crew, who had gathered round, thinking that Rushby was with
them, became bolder than ever.  Knives were drawn from belts, and one of
these was flourished in the face of the captain who still lay upon the
deck, bound hand and foot.

"Ho!" cried Amos.  "So that's your tune, is it?  I see you must all be
taught a lesson."

He talked with all the confidence in the world, though--with the
exception of Mr. Gilbert Forsyth, who had just strolled on deck with
both hands in his trouser pockets--there was no one at his back, and he
faced a crowd of angry, drunken seamen who would not then have stopped
short of murder.

From Rushby he turned once more to Hogg.  "And so," said he, "you claim
to be the captain of this ship?"

The negro glanced in his direction, but would not meet those cruel,
steadfast eyes.

"If I'm not," he blurted out, "then who is de captain?  Tell me dat?"

"Why, I am," roared Amos.  "And what have you to say to it?"

Hogg realised he was challenged.  Perhaps, under the influence of rum,
he had already gone further than he meant to; but, in any case, so far
as he was concerned there was no question of retreat.

"Put up your fists!" he shouted.  "We fight for it and let de best man
win."

He grinned from ear to ear, as, standing in front of Amos--above whom he
towered by a good clear head and shoulders--he lifted his great, black
fists to the level of his face.  I thought that he would kill Amos with
a single blow; for the one was so big and bony, and the other so frail
and shrivelled up.  But I did not then know Amos Baverstock.

"Come on!" cried Hogg, still grinning.

I looked at Amos, thinking to find him alarmed; but never upon the face
of any man have I beheld an expression of such complete contempt.

"You black dog!" said he, with an oath.

He drew back his right hand, as if about to strike, and immediately I
caught the glint of a revolver barrel in the moonlight.

There was a flash, a single loud report, and then a dull, heavy thud as
the negro's great ungainly body came down upon the deck.  And there he
lay, full in the red moonshine, upon that tropic night, huddled and
stone-dead--the black, bragging fool who had claimed to be our captain.

"And now, then," said Amos, as cool as ever, turning to the crew, "is
there any man else who would like to command this ship?"




CHAPTER VII--AND AM MADE TO PAY FOR IT


And that was the end of the mutiny on board the _Mary Greenfield_.  The
match was struck by a negro; the flames were fed with rum; and the fire
flared up, just to be stamped out by the one strong man on board.

Amos at once released both the captain and his mate; whereupon Dagg
treated the crew to a long-winded, high speech upon the subject of what
he would do, if such insubordination occurred again; but as he had done
naught during the crisis, but to get knocked down the moment he opened
his mouth, there were few of his audience who were not laughing up their
sleeves.

I have told the full story of the disturbance, to illustrate the
character of Amos Baverstock.  I have yet to write of the sequel to the
trouble, which more nearly concerned myself.

For Amos was as good as his word, and made short work of William Rushby
and of me.  Though the crew had been bound over to keep the peace, as
you might call it, admonished to behave themselves in future, the
boatswain was not only degraded of his rank, but forthwith cast into
irons.

As for myself, I was led before a kind of tribunal, assembled in the
saloon.  Captain Dagg, Amos Baverstock, and Joshua Trust were my judges;
and a strange triumvirate they made, Amos chewing his black cigar, and
all three seated before their glasses of grog, with their greasy
playing-cards scattered before them on the table.

"Boy," said Dagg, "you joined in a mutiny.  Do you know that, you whelp?
Do you know what it means?"

"No, sir," said I.

"It means death," said Dagg.  "The yard-arm--that's what it means."

I believed, for the moment, that they were really going to kill me; and
so seriously had the great heat and the excitement affected me that I
don't think I cared very much whether they did so or not.  Anyway, I
know I answered boldly, though I had never the courage to look straight
at Amos, whose eyes I felt were upon me.

"Captain Dagg," said I, "if you want to murder me, get on with the
matter.  I ask you to do no more than to remember this: I did not come
on board your ship of my own free will.  I was kidnapped, and carried
here by force, and I have no means of escape."

At that, Amos struck the table with his fist; and, bold though my words
had been, I jumped as if a cannon had been fired.

"Silence!" he roared.  "We are not here to argue with you.  You were
given your orders.  You were told that on no account were you to
communicate with anyone on board this ship, and you defied us.  We have
reason to suspect that you have taken into your confidence William
Rushby, formerly boatswain.  Do you deny it?"

He banged the table again.  I looked right into his face, and it was
just as if I was under fire.  But I could never answer him.  I had the
pluck neither to lie nor to tell the truth.

"Good!" said he.  "You admit as much.  Well, then, we shall see that no
such tricks are played us in the future.  Rushby is in irons.  As for
you, for the rest of this voyage you remain a prisoner in your cabin;
and if we have any more trouble with you--I warn you fairly--you meet
the same fate as that hide-bound, cursed nigger."

And that was the lame and impotent conclusion of the mutiny on board the
_Mary Greenfield_.

My lot was now even worse than before.  For week after week I was locked
in a stuffy cabin, and got neither fresh air, good food, nor exercise.
The calm broke up quite suddenly with a squall, followed by a shower of
rain.  For about an hour the water came down like a cascade upon the
sea, washing the ship from stem to stern, giving--as it appeared to me,
looking out from my narrow port-hole--new life to the floating seaweed
and the myriads of living things that were swarming in the midst of it.

The ship rocked, turning lazily from side to side, like a sleeper
awakening, and then, lurching, took on a list to starboard, as the wind
gripped her hoisted sails.  And then, once again, we were under canvas,
ploughing westward across that great, lonely ocean.

A few days later, we struck a trade wind, and made even better progress.
Though I myself was never more miserable in all my life, I had reason to
think that there was less discontent on board.  I could hear the patter
of the bare feet of the men on the deck above me, as they hastened about
their work, as sailors should, and the shrill note of the boatswain's
whistle--which caused me to wonder who the new boatswain was.  It must
be understood that during these days of my imprisonment I had nothing to
read and nothing to do, but to meditate upon my own misfortunes.

Life was not made any the more pleasant for me inasmuch as I still
shared a cabin with Amos, though I was devoutly thankful that I saw
little of him.  Night by night, he would sit late at cards, trying--I
should imagine--to win back what he had lost to Mr. Forsyth; and I made
a point of being asleep, or pretending to be so, before he came to bed.

And now I have to tell of something which has a direct bearing upon all
that follows.  I had become so despondent and forlorn, and I found
myself in the company of such infamous and shameless rogues, that I had
actually forgotten my friends.  I had forgotten that there were yet in
the world true, honest men who could be both brave and loyal.

One evening, I must confess, my heart was near to breaking.  The world
seemed all so hopeless and so wicked that I brought my face to my hands
and cried just as I had been wont to cry, when I was a little chap of
four years old, when things had not gone for me exactly as I wanted. And
as I sobbed, I could hear the gamblers in the saloon beyond the cabin
door; the "clink" of the bottles and the glasses, and the deeper note of
the coins upon the table; now and again, a gruff oath from Amos or
Joshua Trust, and Mr. Forsyth's affected drawl.  And then, a voice,
quite near to me, whispered in my ear:

"Me lad, be quick!  I want a word with you."

I sprang to my feet--I had been lying on my berth--and looked about me.
I could see no one in the cabin, and had begun to think of ghosts and
spirit-voices, when I heard the whispering again.

"Here, me lad!  The port-hole."

I looked at the port, and could see a face by the light of the oil
lamp--a face in a frame studded with stars, the face of a man with a
short stump of a grisly beard.

"Rushby!" I exclaimed.

"The same," said he.  "But speak low, for Heaven's sake!  Those rascals
are at their cards in the saloon; the door's thin, and it's all up with
us if we're discovered."

I went to the port-hole, so that my face was close to his.

"But how are you here?" I asked.

"I've not lived my life and done my duty," said he, "without making
friends.  One of the crew, of the name of Adams, to whom I have been of
service in the past, has let me loose--just as you might unchain a
yard-dog for a run.  I have a few minutes at the best before I'm back in
irons, but that's enough for what I have to say."

"But where are you now?" I asked, for he appeared to me to be walking
upon the sea.

He explained that he was hanging on to a rope, made fast to a stanchion
on the deck above, but that he had something of greater importance to
tell me.

"Are we near our journey's end?" I asked.

"In three days," he answered, "we should sight the coast, unless the
wind changes.  What they intend to do with me at Caracas I neither know
nor care.  I will somehow find the means to escape, and make my way back
to England; and then, Captain Dagg and Amos Baverstock shall pay for
what they've done."

"I entreat you," I exclaimed, "do not meddle with Amos!"

Rushby laughed softly.

"And leave you at his mercy!" he cried.  "That's not my way, nor--I
should think, if all you have told me be the truth--the way of Mr.
Bannister.  This matter shall never rest where it now stands.  I am here
to learn two things, though I am no better than a simple sailor, and it
will want a wiser head than mine before we're safe in port. Come, tell
me, lad, where did you hide the map you snatched from Baverstock?  John
Bannister may want it."

"In a rabbit-hole," said I; and I went on to describe, as best I could,
how that rabbit-hole might be found.

"There's a warren," said I, "about two hundred yards to the west of
Bannister's cabin----"

"And how am I to find that?"  Rushby took me up.

I thought for a moment; and then I got a bright idea when most I needed
it, for I realised there was little time to spare and that Amos, at any
moment, might enter and find Rushby at the port-hole.

I gave him my mother's address; for I had little doubt that Bannister
had gone, long before this, to her.  With my life in danger, he would--I
knew--soon get the better of his natural dread of women.

"That's all I want," said he.

And a moment after he was gone.  It so happened that many months were to
elapse before I set eyes upon him again--a true man and an honest, big
of heart and strong of hand, the type that has made the very name of
British sailor to rank so highly all the world across, from the old
three-decker to the battle-cruiser of to-day.  And I speak of the men
without whose cutlasses and courage Blake and Drake, or even Nelson
himself, had never been the famous admirals that they were.

For, when we were come to Caracas, I was discharged from that poisonous
vessel like a worthless bale of freight.  Unshipped by night into a
broken-down two-wheeled cart, and conveyed through the narrow streets of
an evil-smelling city, where men talked loudly in a foreign tongue, with
quarrelsome voices and much waving of the hands, and then I found myself
in a dirty hovel upon the slopes of tree-clad hills, where I could see
the round moon through a great hole in the roof, and lie listening to
the singing of millions of crickets, wondering what would be the end of
it all.




CHAPTER VIII--INTO THE WILDERNESS


For these few days, it happened that I was left in the charge of Joshua
Trust.  In other words, he was the watch-dog that guarded me, day and
night; and a dull dog he was.  He never opened his mouth, save to
grumble at everything--the heat, the insects, the very food he cooked
himself.  Now and again, he would sigh; which puzzled me, until I solved
the problem for myself: he was inclined to regret the idle days aboard
the _Mary Greenfield_ when he had naught to think about except his grog
and cards.

So, in this man's company, I learned nothing concerning what was afoot.
But I was free to use my eyes, and I could scarce fail to observe that
they were turning by degrees that ruined habitation into a kind of
depot.  For, day and night, came stores and arms and ammunition to the
place--all manner of such things as might be required upon an expedition
into the wild hinterland of that strange country, where there were few
roads, but many bridle-paths and broad rivers to be crossed.

Amos came often to the hut, and Mr. Forsyth was always with him; and, as
I knew, it was the last-named who had paid for all.  That, however, was
all one to me.  I was safely caught, thousands of miles from dear, silly
Sussex; and even if I was so fortunate as to escape from Joshua Trust,
what was I to do in that foreign land, where I could not speak a word of
the language and had no friend to whom to go?

On the fourth day of my captivity came six mules, and with them three
men whom I took to be half-castes of a sort, for they were no more than
two parts black and spoke Spanish, shouting at one another when they
conversed.  But I was more interested in the mules, which were of a kind
that I had never seen before; for they were small animals, little larger
than donkeys, with mouse-grey woolly coats like sheep.  Each of these
was provided with a pack-saddle; and when they were loaded for the
inspection of Amos Baverstock and Forsyth, I was amazed at the great
weight that such slender and seemingly fragile beasts could carry.

On the fifth day after we had left the ship, we set forth upon our great
march towards the south.  Our party numbered eight in all: Amos,
Forsyth, and Trust (the first the acknowledged leader of the
expedition); myself and the three mulemen, whilst the other was a
guide--a lean, cadaverous Spaniard, black as a raven, whom I never heard
called by any other name than that of Vasco.  I do not think this fellow
was an evil man by nature, except in so far as he was capable of doing
almost anything for money.  In that, at any rate, he was honest: he
served his masters faithfully, no matter who they were.

And now we come to the march itself that, step by step, led me farther
and farther from the confines of civilisation and into the heart of a
cruel and magic wilderness where things happened that I should not
believe, had I not seen them with my eyes.

The first stage of our journey was uneventful enough; and the
scenery--especially on the mountains we were obliged to
cross--surprisingly beautiful.  We first climbed to a great height,
following a zig-zag road, along which the little mules struggled
gallantly with their heavy loads.  I had thought that, on gaining the
crestline, we must again descend to something approaching the level of
the sea.  But this was not so; for the mountains proved to consist of a
series of parallel chains, and no sooner had we negotiated one valley
than we found ourselves upon the watershed of another.

These valleys were thickly populated.  We were seldom out of sight of
villages and towns, many of which contained considerable buildings. The
country had the aspect of being extremely fertile and prosperous. There
were plantations of coffee and cocoa, tobacco and cotton, but a far
greater area of the valley regions was given over to the cultivation of
manioc and maize.  For all I could ever learn, there was no flour in the
land, for I never tasted bread, but subsisted upon hot maize cakes, made
by Vasco, the guide, which I found as good as hot-cross buns.

When we were clear of the mountains, we began to descend into the valley
of a great river which, had I learned more geography when I was at
school, I would have known to be the Orinoco.  The course of this great
stream we followed for many days, marching in a south-westerly
direction, against the current.  The climate was now a great deal hotter
than it had been near the coast, and towns and villages were few and far
between.  One thing that I observed was the courteous behaviour of the
inhabitants, who seldom failed to wave their hands to us and pass the
time of day.

We came to a vast sea of grass where, here and there, were scattered
woods; and finally, after crossing a river of some importance, a
tributary of the Orinoco, we sighted a great mountain that overtopped
the surrounding hills like a giant in the midst of pygmies.

Amos, who had been unusually reticent upon the line-of-march, now became
talkative, almost hilarious.  He carried constantly a grin upon his
fox-like countenance, and would often chuckle to himself.

For the great mountain in front of us might be described as the gateway
of the road to the Treasure we were seeking, and was marked upon the
left-hand top corner of the map.  It was called Mount Tigro, but by that
name I have never been able to trace it upon any modern map, though it
was shown to be about twenty miles south of the Rio Guaviare.

We were now--though I did not know it at the time--close upon the
frontier of Colombia, and, I think, for a time our route lay through
that little-known country, until we turned eastward again into the
territories of the Amazonas.

We were now in a mountainous and savage land, where we could make but
the slowest progress.  For not only were the hills steep and pathless,
but in places clothed in such luxuriant vegetation that we had often to
break a way with hatchets for the mules.

We were marching by the map, and Amos had become our guide.  He and
Forsyth--who never seemed to tire--would lead our little column, myself
walking in company of Joshua, and the pack-mules bringing up the rear.

We were soon to bid good-bye to these faithful, dumb companions; for,
after we had climbed the slopes of another range of mountains, we
followed the course of a river valley that led us rapidly downward, to
land us into the very heart of such a forest as I did not dream to be
possible.

The mulemen were paid off--by no means too handsomely, I thought--to
return upon that long and tedious journey to the coast.  And we five
went on alone--Amos and his two confederates, Vasco and myself--carrying
our stores and provisions in knapsacks on our backs, and all armed as
though we were like to meet with savage men.

In the first place, I must tell you that the heat was insufferable, for
all this while we had been approaching the equator.  The forest swarmed
with myriads of stinging insects, and sometimes I saw great tree snakes
of a magnitude that even now makes my blood run cold when I think of
them.  We came upon one, lying half coiled upon the bank of a woodland
pool, and I am ready to swear that he was longer than a cricket-pitch,
and of a thickness almost equal to my own waist.

But I marvelled most at the forest trees, the names of some of which I
learned from Vasco, who had a little English, of which he was
exceedingly vain.  One of these was a palm-tree, the very leaves of
which were forty feet in length, standing almost erect, all bunched
together--a magnificent sight to behold.  And these forest giants were
intertwined and intermingled with thousands of creepers, parasites, and
climbers, so that in places, even at mid-day, when the tropic sun was at
its height, it was dark as night in the vast Region of the Woods.

For weeks we struggled onward, literally fighting our way through that
all but impenetrable wilderness.  I saw that Amos had more than he could
do to trace our route upon the map; and there were times, I am
convinced, when even Vasco and Baverstock himself truly believed that we
were lost.

He told us he was looking for a certain landmark; and in that dark and
endless forest he might as well have searched for a pin.  At one time,
there was not a living soul within hundreds of miles of us.  There were
great alligators in the rivers that we crossed by means of rough dug-out
canoes, which we made upon one bank and left upon the other; the jungle
teemed with snakes, many of the venomous kind besides the great
loathsome pythons, in whose coils an ox might have been crushed to
death; thousands of gaily-coloured birds were among the tree-tops high
above us, and the dead leaves about our pathway swarmed with little
things that crept and crawled and stung so vilely that we were covered
from head to foot with painful swellings.  But never a sign did we see
of any human being.  Nature reigned in that black wilderness,
untrammelled and supreme.

And then, as one steps on a sudden from a darkened room, we came forth
one morning from the forest into the blazing light of the sun.  And
there was such a wonder as I had never seen before.

Before us was a plain upon which was growing a tall, reed-like grass;
and in the centre of this plain was a long, hog-backed hillock, bare of
trees.  Remember, we were in the very heart of the Unknown, for months
we had seen no sign or trace of humanity, and I, at least, judged myself
to be hundreds of miles from the very outposts of the civilised world;
and yet, upon the summit of this hillock was a great ruined palace or a
temple, encircled by a colonnade of vast stone pillars, no less in their
proportions than those of Stonehenge, on Salisbury Plain in England,
only they were there by the score, and stood perpendicular and massive,
not one having fallen from its place.

I stood rooted in amazement, when my attention was attracted by Amos,
whose behaviour was now that of a madman.  He threw both his arms into
the air, which action--in view of his hunched back and his pig-like,
glittering eyes--made him look more evil and gleeful than ever, and
shouted at the top of his voice:

"Found!" he cried.  "The Temple of Cahazaxa, who fled from Cuzco with
the Treasure!  And now, boy, the matter rests with you!"

He changed as in a flash from unbounded joy to passion.  He seized me by
the shoulders, gripping me so tightly that it was as if his fingers
burned into my flesh like red-hot irons.

"I'll have the truth from you!" he shrieked, dancing like a maniac on
his feet.  "The truth, and nothing but the truth!  Or else, I swear as
I'm a living man, you die here and now."

"What truth?" I asked.

My voice was trembling; for so terrible did the man seem that a cold
sweat had broken out upon my forehead.  He drew nearer to me still,
peering into my face and whispering.

"Henceforward," said he, "you guide us.  Either you have seen the map or
Bannister has told you all he knows.  In any case, you guide us from
here to the place where the Greater Treasure is hid.  Refuse, and you
die, here and now, in the midst of this almighty desert."

One glance at the man was enough to tell me that he meant every word he
said.  And yet, I do not think I was any longer afraid.




CHAPTER IX--I AM LEFT TO MY DOOM


I was now, it was apparent, in such a situation that my life was of
little worth.  Without doubt, Amos did believe that I was capable of
guiding our little column to the place where the Greater Treasure was
hidden.

He thought, perhaps, that I had looked at the fragment of the map I had
snatched from his hand, or else that John Bannister had told me the full
story.

As a matter of fact, I knew nothing.  When flying for my very life from
Amos, I had had other things to think of than to gratify a very natural
curiosity, and had never so much as cast a glance at the map.  And as
for Bannister, I have said already this was the one subject upon which
he could never or seldom be induced to talk.

Amos, however, held a contrary opinion.  Somehow, he must have learned
that for several months John Bannister had been a good friend to me, and
in his own mind had never questioned that I knew all there was to know.

In either case, it was all the same to him; for my life was worth
nothing if I could not help him in the furtherance of his purpose, and I
was but a fifth mouth to feed in a wild, tropic region where food was
difficult to find.

That day I had a stormy scene with Amos, who was supported by Mr.
Forsyth, whose questions I found even more difficult to answer; whilst
Joshua Trust stood by, tugging at his red beard, which had now become
more untidy and unkempt than ever.  As for Vasco, he sat at a little
distance, cross-legged, looking in a puzzled manner from Amos Baverstock
to me.

I swore on my oath to them that Bannister had told me nothing; but they
would not believe me.  Then, for the first time, I was shown the map
which Amos had brought with him all the way from Sussex; and at once I
observed a singular coincidence.

For the parchment had been rent across the very place where was marked
the great ruined building even then before us; and all Amos had of it
was the following inscription: THE ANCIENT TEMPLE OF C---- and then came
the torn edge, where I had held the parchment tightly between my thumb
and forefinger.

But this information, slight as it was, had been enough for Amos, who
knew well the story of Cahazaxa, the Peruvian prince, of whom I will
tell in the proper place.  Both Bannister and Amos had heard often of
Cahazaxa's Temple, which might be regarded as a kind of half-way house
upon our treasure hunt.  And upon the other portion of the map, which I
had hidden in a rabbit-hole, were the letters "AHAZAXA," plain enough to
any one who had ever heard of the temple, and thence the route marked
plainly to the secret place where the Greater Treasure lay.

Had Bannister ever shown me the map, I should in all probability have
remembered the names of some of the places marked thereon; but he had
never done so--which, after all, saved me a world of trouble at one of
the most critical moments in my life.

For, had I known, I trust I would never have confessed to these unholy
scoundrels.  I like to think that my courage would not have failed me at
the eleventh hour.  As it was, being wholly ignorant, I had nothing to
tell, and boldly declared as much, though both the hunchback and Mr.
Forsyth thought me to be lying.

The former worked himself into a kind of frenzied passion.  Gripping me
by a wrist, he jerked me first in one direction, then in another,
sometimes so violently that my head flew backward and forward like a
weather-cock in the wind.

"We'll have the truth from you!" he shouted.  "I'll have it, though I
must tear it from you with red-hot irons."

"I know nothing," I persisted.

"You'll speak or die," he answered.  "And I'll see to it that death does
not come easy!"

All that day, they badgered me and persecuted me with questions.  And in
the end, when the sun was setting, they gave it up, and decided to put
me to death.

Mine was a strange fate, in very truth; and now, when I look back upon
that hour, I marvel that I took it all so calmly.  For it was my destiny
to sit by the camp-fire, whilst our evening meal of maize and manioc was
cooking, and hear them discuss among themselves how I should be done to
death.

Trust was all for rough-and-ready methods, in keeping with the blunt
character of the man; Amos, for cold, deliberate torture; whereas
Forsyth would bind me to a tree and leave me in the midst of that great
wilderness to starve.

It was Mr. Forsyth's vote that was carried; and now that I knew the
manner of my death, I was filled with cold fear, though till then I had
borne my ordeal with a fortitude that surprised even myself.

And bound I was, then and there, to a stout palm-tree that stood by
itself a little distance from the margin of the forest.  For rope they
used a kind of creeper that was common in the woods, and not only was
this as strong as a ship's hawser, but so hard and tied so tightly that
it cut into my legs and arms like bands of steel.

[Illustration: "AND BOUND I WAS, THEN AND THERE, TO A STOUT PALM TREE, A
LITTLE DISTANCE FROM THE MARGIN OF THE FOREST."]

In such a manner was I doomed.  For an hour or so I watched those three
dread men, all so different, alike in nothing but their devilry, sitting
together around the fire, talking in low voices, even pleasantly, as if
to do murder were an every-day affair.

Then they lay down to sleep, and both Trust and Amos were soon snoring;
whereas I was left, already athirst and hungry, to await the approach of
a terrible and lingering death.

That night and those which followed will live always in my memory.  I
watched the moon rise, wondrous round and white and large, behind the
rounded hill upon which stood Cahazaxa's Temple.  The stars, which had
been shining in their millions, faded in the moonshine, all save one
bright planet in the sky above me.  And there arose a mist, in which I
thought there was something ghostly, upon the plain where the long grass
stood like corn ready for the cutting.  And behind me, as if striving to
enfold me in an overpowering, stifling embrace, was the dark, deadly
forest that cut me off from all and everything I loved.

Long before dawn, Amos Baverstock was stirring.  I watched him kindle
the embers of the camp-fire into a blaze, and, sitting with his crooked
back, he looked just like a monkey.  I noticed that even at that hour he
was chewing one of his foul, black cigars, his stock of which was
running low.  Presently, he awakened Trust and Forsyth.  They ate their
breakfast in silence; never a word was said.  And then they packed their
knapsacks and set forward upon the march, in the gloaming, with never a
word or a glance at me.

They marched in a bee-line upon the ruins of the ancient temple, and
were soon lost both to sound and sight, for the plain lay even yet in
the shadow of the night.

The dawn--the great heat at midday--the majesty and grandeur of the
wilderness in the heart of which I was doomed and lost for ever--and,
above all else, the grave-like silence of that place--it were better I
made no attempt to describe these things than fail in the endeavour.  I
know no more than that my loneliness was overpowering.  It was as if I
was the only living atom, save the insects and the butterflies that
fluttered round about me, in all that world of gorgeous vegetation.

I could not move a fraction of an inch.  I would gaze by the hour at the
great stones of the ruins before me, small in the distance and yet plain
to see in that clear atmosphere, and wonder what manner of men had lived
there in bygone days--what had been their hopes, their interests, their
mode of life.  And then my thirst would consume me; my tongue would
cleave to the roof of my mouth, and I would suck my lips to find them
dry as bones.

One day of it had been more than I could bear; and that second night, I
prayed that death might come speedily, for I saw that in death only
would I find release from all my sufferings.  But I lived on, like the
Ancient Mariner himself; and on the third day, as on that tragic ship,
there came a rain--a blessed rain from Heaven itself for me.  Clouds
appeared as if by magic, a dark canopy cast across the forest like a
curtain; and the skies on a sudden opened and the rain came down in
torrents.

I was wetted in an instant to the skin, but I cared nothing for that. I
threw back my head with opened mouth, and the water streaming down my
face was life and strength and hope to me.

And that night I no longer prayed for death; I prayed to the great God
of Right and Justice for deliverance.  And yet, how weak is human
nature, how little is our faith!  For before morning I was struggling
like a madman to free myself from my bonds.

The more violently I fought for liberty, the greater pain I suffered;
for the hard fibre cut into my flesh until I gave it up, and, overcome
by sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep, held upright by my bonds.

I awoke to behold the half-light of approaching day.  The plain of grass
before me was lost in the mist which, in that weird place, came always
at sunset and at dawn.

I looked about me as if I yet were dreaming.  The giant forest trees had
taken upon themselves the shape of ugly spectres.  The tall grass swayed
in the wind of the dawn with a soft, rustling sound that reminded me of
my mother's silken dresses.  I watched a lizard, the length of a
foot-rule, run swiftly down the trunk of a tree and make off into the
grass.

I endeavoured in vain to trace its passage, wondering whither the little
creature was going so swiftly; and when I looked up I beheld to my
astonishment--a man!




CHAPTER X--HOW THE WILD MEN CAME AND LOOKED AT ME


I have called him a man, and so he was, though, in very truth, at that
time I had never seen his like.  He was small in stature, little taller
than myself; and there was something about him that was more animal than
human.  I cannot account for this, unless the explanation be found in
the scared look upon his face, especially in the eyes--the eyes of a
hunted beast.

He was not black, but light brown of skin, though there was so much dirt
about him that I was not even sure of that.  His hair was lank and long.
All matted with mud, it fell about his ears.  He wore no clothing, save
the skin of some small, wild animal hung loosely round his waist; and he
held in one hand a long bamboo rod, which I took to be a blow-pipe.

Now, I believed that this savage would kill me out of hand, defenceless
as I was.  But he stood staring at me for a long time, with his wild
eyes and his mouth widely opened.

So, by degrees, my courage returned to me, and with it something of
hope.  I tried to think--and it is no simple matter to be reasonable
when one is exhausted by starvation and tortured both in body and in
mind.

It was manifest, in the first place, that I had no means of
communicating with this man.  I could neither speak to him nor sign,
since I knew no word of any barbarous language, and my hands were bound
fast to my sides.  But I did the only thing I could do--I moved my mouth
as if I were eating, hoping against hope that he would take my meaning:
that I was starving and begged for food.

And the more I mouthed at him and made grimaces, the more he stared at
me, and the more frightened did he seem.  For the better part of five
minutes I swear he never moved an inch, and then, quite suddenly, he
took to his heels and dived into the woods.

For a little time I could scarce credit it that he had left me to my
fate.  But when a full hour had passed, and I realised that it was
possible that the wild man might not return, my sense of loneliness
became even more oppressive than before, and to tell the truth I cried.

I am, in the evening of a long, adventurous life, at times of a
reflective disposition, and I have considered often the strange
complexities of human nature, for I have seen many men and places in my
time.  When I first beheld the savage, I was alarmed beyond measure that
he would put the life out of me by means of his murderous-looking
blow-pipe.  I would, at that moment, gladly have had him on the other
side of the world.  And when he left me so suddenly, without sign or
signal of either hostility or friendship, I felt no less dismayed.

I was so utterly alone in that great silence, in the shadow of those
mute, majestic trees.  Not even the wild inhabitants of that
inhospitable region would come and have done with it and kill me.

And thus, indeed, I burst into tears, and cried as children cry.  I
think sheer weakness and the pain that I had suffered had much to do
with it; and in any case it all seemed to me so pitiful and hopeless,
for I was over-young to undergo such cruel privations.

I slept again until the evening, when I was awakened of a sudden by a
strange noise like the chuckling of a hen.

I opened my eyes and looked upon the same wild man who had regarded me
before.  But this time he had brought three others with him--all four as
like to one another as so many beans.  And there they stood, in a row,
immediately before me, one of them--as I have just expressed
it--chuckling like a hen.

I could not for the life of me make out whether or not he was laughing.
He might have been amused, amazed, or angered.  There was no expression
upon his face.  The noise seemed to come from somewhere out of his
throat.  When I opened my eyes and looked at him, he ceased at once; so
I am inclined to think he had behaved thus in order to awaken me.

I judged that the man I had seen earlier in the day had stood at a
distance of about twenty paces from me; but now, made bolder by
companionship, he had approached to within about twelve yards from the
palm-tree to which I was bound.  They were all armed with blowpipes, but
they made no hostile movement; they just stood staring at me with their
mad eyes, speechless and looking more afraid than I was.

All on a sudden, I was impelled to cry out.  I shouted as a dog yelps
when trodden on, asleep upon a mat.

"Give me food!" I cried.  "Have pity on me!  I am starving!"

And at that they vanished, all the four of them.  They scattered like
birds, swiftly and in silence.  At one moment, I beheld them; at the
next, they were nowhere: they might have been spirited away.

They did not return that night, which was the most miserable of all.
Hunger was now gnawing at my vitals.  There was a foul taste in my
mouth, and I felt so weak and lifeless that it was as if the slow
beating of my heart shook my whole frame, making it hard for me to
breathe.  Also, I was again consumed by a raging thirst; but the worst
of the whole matter was the seeming hopelessness of my situation; for
now I verity believed that my end was drawing near.

Though often our endurance is strained to the utmost, and there are
times when we are weighed down by grief and trouble, I know that the
good God is merciful, that it is well to bear the ills we have so
bravely as we may, in the firm conviction that faith and a stout heart
to hope will conquer in the end.

The sun rose in that lone place upon my misery; and a little after, came
the wild men again; and this time they were nine in number, for I
counted them as they stepped in single file forth from the darkness of
the woods.

They stood gazing at me as before; and now I was wise enough to hold my
peace, though by then--if the truth be told--there was little strength
within me; for, even as I looked at them, my eyelids dropped and my head
nodded on my shoulders like that of a drunken man.

They came closer than ever, to within an arm's length of me, and one
timidly extended an arm and touched me, and then drew back quickly as if
he had burned his fingers.

[Illustration: "THEY CAME CLOSER THAN EVER, TO WITHIN AN ARM'S LENGTH OF
ME."]

I saw now that I had nothing to fear from them, that it was a keen
struggle in their untutored minds as to whether fear or curiosity should
win.  I did my best to smile.

It was a senseless, mirthless smile, forced upon lips that were dry and
burning and eyes grown dim throughout long hours of watching and
despair; and yet--by the grace of Providence--it achieved its simple
purpose.

For, forthwith, like a tribe of monkeys, they set to talking among
themselves; and never had I heard such gibberish.  They waved their
hands, and made mouths and faces at one another that were astonishing to
behold.  They touched me repeatedly, fingering my tattered clothes; and
one tugged so violently at the sleeve of my shirt, which had been torn
to ribbons upon the thorn trees in the forest, that he pulled it off
almost from the shoulder--and then began the monkey-house again.

The very sight of my white skin, where it had not been tanned by the
sun, set them jabbering for the space of half-an-hour; and all that time
I kept my silence, fearing that, if I should speak, they would disperse
like Sussex rooks at the sound of a farmer's gun.

I had read and heard of fierce savage black men, cannibals and the like,
who regarded as their natural foes all of alien race, whom they put
horribly to death.  But these wild people were shy as antelopes; and
though they might have been dangerous if handled wrongly, there was
nothing to fear from them in the case of one placed at so great a
disadvantage as myself.

I did nothing, then, but let them talk it out; and in the end, one of
them took a bone knife with an edge like a saw, and cut through the
fibre that bound me to the tree.

The others stood a little apart with their long blow-pipes, ready to
riddle me with darts that I learned afterwards were poisoned.  But no
sooner were my hands freed than I pointed a finger straight down my
opened mouth--a gesture which no one could mistake.

That set them talking once again; and when they were through with it,
they took me with them back into the woods.  In single file we wormed
our way through the thick undergrowth of the forest, until at length we
hit upon a footpath where they travelled fast and silently, these
strange men of the woods.  By then my strength was well-nigh exhausted.
Both in mind and in body I was come to the end of my powers of
endurance; and I could go no farther.

And so, thereupon, they carried me, taking it in turns among themselves
to bear my weight, for they were not strong men, but thin of limb and
short in stature.

We journeyed until nightfall, and then camped in the forest.  They gave
me food--roasted manioc and crushed bananas; and then I fell asleep.

At daybreak--though in those dark places we saw little of the sun, and
there was small difference betwixt night and morning--we were on the
march again, and about midday struck the course of a considerable river
which we followed up-stream for a distance of many miles.  From this
valley we turned into that of a tributary, and reached our destination
in the evening.

This was a small village of rude huts, inhabited--as I afterwards
discovered--by the various members of a single family.  I had walked
many miles upon the second day, and found myself on arrival at the
village as greatly fatigued as ever, suffering also from a stiffness in
the joints, due to the cramped position I had been forced to assume when
bound by the liana to the tree.  So that after my simple meal that
night, I again fell asleep, and slept, I verily believe, as I never did
before or since.  For not only was I spent and weary, but I had now the
comfortable assurance that these wild people would do me no bodily harm.
For the time being, at least, I was safe.




CHAPTER XI--I BURN MY BOATS


You may scarce credit it when I say that I sojourned for many months
with these savage, yet simple, people, and whilst with them received
neither hurt nor insult, but passed my days in pleasant idleness in the
heart of those awe-inspiring woods.

I have since described their ways and mode of living to a famous
ethnologist, one whose business it was to study the sundry races of
mankind; and he believed that I fell into the hands of a tribe of
Caishana aborigines, one of the most primitive races in the world.

Of this, however, no one can be sure; for I learned little of their
language, and of that remembered nothing.  Besides, there are so many
hordes of Indians and tribes in the valleys of the Upper Amazon, and of
so few of these is anything definite known, even at the present day,
that a question of such slight importance, for the time being, may
remain unanswered.

It makes, in any case, no difference to my story.  I do but state mere
facts, leaving footnotes, queries and the like to scientists and
students.  For five months--as I can guess--I lived with this woodland
people; and it pleases me to remember that, in return for their
hospitality and kindness, I was able to render them some service.  I
taught them novel methods of catching the fish that abounded in the
rivers, creeks and pools; and I gave them gladly the few belongings that
I had upon me, even a large jack-knife, which the chief of the village
received with unfeigned delight--for they were so uncivilised as to be
altogether unacquainted with the use of iron.

On my side, I learned many things from them, becoming, for instance,
skilled in the use of the blow-pipe--a very deadly weapon, since it made
no more noise than a pop-gun, and the arrows were invariably dipped in
the juice of a poisonous herb that grew plentifully in the forest.

I was much interested in the manufacture of these instruments.  Many
were of bamboo, but those of the better quality of a hard wood, from
which the inside had been patiently scraped by means of a bone knife,
until the surface was smooth as glass.  Needless to say, to accomplish
this, the shaft had to be split into two pieces, which were afterwards
joined together.  It took a skilled worker weeks to make a blow-pipe. A
good specimen was always coveted, and he who possessed one was regarded
as a person of importance.  I was instructed also in the craft of making
the darts or arrows; and this was an accomplishment that, more than once
in the course of the next few months, stood me in good stead.

Of the people themselves, of their strange ways and customs, I might
write a full chapter, were I so disposed.  I have no reason to think
that they varied greatly from the majority of the wilder tribes in the
great forests of the Amazon.  They were small in stature, short-lived,
and very dirty.  They went well-nigh naked, and many suffered from a
particularly loathsome disease, the character of which I know not, save
that it left their skin marked black in patches.  I feared, at first,
that this would prove contagious; but, either my nationality or else my
cleanly habits--for I bathed daily in the river--preserved my health and
personal appearance.

In regard to my bathing, I can relate a strange thing.  It being the
rainy season, the river was alive with alligators.  I was at first
considerably frightened of these horrid reptiles; but I soon discovered
that all that was necessary was to beat the surface of the water
violently with a stick in order to scare them away.  Of course, it was
needful to exercise a certain amount of discretion, to keep one's eyes
open whilst in the water; and I do not say that there was no danger
present.  But the fact remains that the South American cayman, one of
the most formidable-looking brutes in all the world, is a cowardly beast
and by no means greatly to be feared.

If that be so, I have another story to tell concerning the snakes of
that dark region; for these I never ceased to fear, and not without good
cause.  My boots had long since ceased to be of the least practical use,
and I had presented them, not without ceremony, to the head man of the
village where I stayed.  I was obliged therefore to go bare of foot in
the forest, like the natives themselves, and day and night I walked in
constant peril of my life.

For the underwoods were populous with serpents of all kinds, many of
which were venomous.  They were usually to be found in the vicinity of
water, and amongst them I cannot fail to mention the gigantic tree and
water snakes, in whose deadly coils a full-grown man might well be
crushed to death.  More than once I set eyes upon these great, evil,
stealthy monsters; and on each occasion my very blood ran cold.  But I
have yet to write of what I have called--for no better reason than that
there is melodrama in the name--the Glade of Silent Death, where in part
the tragedy of all my narrative attains some sort of a crisis--a crisis,
at least, for one of whom I dare say more than I would of any other:
that he well deserved his fate.

Now, had I been content to eke out the remainder of my years with these
untutored people, I should never have beheld the wonders of which I have
to tell.  I think I realised that if I continued to live as a savage, I
must eventually myself become a savage, forgetting all I had ever
learned of Christian civilisation.  So I made up my mind to take my life
into my hands, and set forth alone into the Wild.

Beyond doubt, my ulterior motive was to regain the confines of the
civilised world, to hear again the voices of men speaking my own
language--even the lazy Sussex twang.  But I was moved firstly not so
much by a desire for liberty, as by the spirit of adventure.  For I had
caught something of the rover from John Bannister, as I sat listening to
his stories to the soft accompaniment of the wash of the English sea;
and I would find out all I could concerning the quest of Amos Baverstock
and the secret of the Greater Treasure of the Incas, which the more
civilised of the Indians called the "Big Fish."

And so I asked the savages to guide me back to the place where they had
found me, within sight of Cahazaxa's ruined temple.  Though I never knew
but a score of words of their language, I was now proficient in the art
of conversing by signs and the drawing of pictures in the mud, as I was
also something of a woodsman and--though but a few months older than
when I had been kidnapped--no longer a boy, but the beginnings of a man,
who was like to have a hard part to play.  Life in the wilderness had
made me self-reliant.  To the wanderer in savage places peril comes
naturally enough, and death itself is all in the work of the day.

But it was one thing to ask, and another to receive.  The chief man of
the community--for it was hardly a village--was all against the project.
In the first place, he and the rest of them had grown to be fond of
me--I was regarded as both a curiosity and something of an acquisition.
Secondly, I soon discovered that they stood in fear and trembling of the
ruins, which they firmly believed to be haunted.

Though they might have restrained me by force, we argued the matter out,
and it came to a question of will-power--or obstinacy, if the word suit
you better--and I had my way.

Accordingly, one morning I set forth into the forest, accompanied by a
guide.  I was dressed in the remnants of my shirt, tied like a kilt
about my waist, and carried a ten-foot blow-pipe and a score of darts;
and beyond these I had neither arms nor clothing.  I was just a white
savage in a great dark wilderness, with my life in my own hands and all
Nature at war against me.  And I doubt if I can even say that I was
white, for I was now tanned almost to the colour of the wild men amongst
whom I had lived.

In three days, by easy journeys, my companion and I came to the margin
of the woods, to the great plain of waving grass, in the midst of which
the Temple of Cahazaxa stood upon a hill-top.

I begged of the man to come with me, to serve me as a servant, making
vague promises of reward which I am sure he did not understand; and
though, as I could see, the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak; for
he fell down upon his knees before me, trembling in all his limbs,
craving permission to return.

I could not be heartless.  From the tribe I had never received anything
but kindness.  But permission to be gone was not all the simple fellow
wanted; for, when he saw that I was determined to go alone upon my way
to the ruins on the hill-top, he again fell down upon his knees, and
implored me to return with him.

In so far as I could take his meaning, the old temple was infested by
ghosts and evil spirits.  Singular things for centuries had been known
to happen among those grey, worn stones: weird singing had been heard
and strange coloured lights had been seen of nights, and no man of the
forest who had ever ventured to the hillock had as yet returned alive.

To speak true, these fables--though I believed no word of them--did but
whet my appetite for action.  I had a taste for danger.  For the first
time in my life, I was conscious of my own individuality.  Man or boy, I
was free.  I had a part to play upon the stage of life, and the wide
world was my scene.  I, too, was upon the same quest as Amos: the hunt
for the Greater Treasure.  It was as if something within me urged me to
go forward, like a knight-errant of old, placing my firm trust in
Providence; and I now have little doubt that it was the voice of Destiny
that spoke within me.

And so I bade farewell to the forest tribesman, whom I left upon the
verge of tears, believing in his heart of hearts that I was as good as
doomed; and with a light heart and my blow-pipe, I went my way across
the plain, towards the hill upon which stood the ancient Temple of
Cahazaxa, whilst the sun was sinking in the sky.




CHAPTER XII--THE PATH OF THE TIGER


It was near upon the time of sunset when I slowly climbed the hill.  I
could not take my eyes from the great stones before me, many of which
must have been at least ten square yards in surface area, and cut so
straight and square that, without cement or mortar, they fitted one
against the other as nicely as a child's wooden bricks.  I wondered how
they had come there, by what means they had been transported and lifted
into position; and I marvelled that an ancient people should have been
masters of such science.

But it was not this alone that caused my footsteps to become slower and
slower as I approached the ruin.  Despite myself, I could not help
remembering much that the wild man had said to me of ghosts and evil
spirits.

In the dim evening light, wreathed in the mist that rose from the
surrounding plain, those great pillars of cold, silent stone looked not
to belong to this world of common things.  Towering, as they did, above
the tree-tops of the forest, they made me think of the enchanted palaces
of which in childhood my mother had read to me from fairy tales.  If
there were ghosts anywhere in all the world, they were here--and I was
sure of that.

This notion got the strongest hold of me; and presently, a cold sweat
broke out upon my forehead, and I wished that I were back with the wild
men in their woodland village.  However, I had more pride than to
retreat, and that at the eleventh hour; and I continued to go forward,
though something after the manner of a condemned man towards the
gallows.

As it grew darker I became more afraid.  Night in those tropic latitudes
comes suddenly; darkness falls like a curtain upon a stage; and when I
had gained the outer pillars, which formed together an encircling
colonnade, there was scarce light enough for me to see a distance of
thirty yards.

Within the circumference of these outer pillars--which attained upon an
average a height of about fifty feet--was a great roofless building with
a floor of flagstones, where the silence quite unnerved me.  It was more
oppressive than the silence of the forest, where I had always been
conscious that one was surrounded by Life in a million forms: plants,
insects, and animals--all at war that they might live.

But this place seemed dead, save for vast colonies of small red ants
whose bite was poisonous; for I had not been there a full minute before
I was bitten from head to foot, and there were painful weals all over
me.

It was plain I could not sleep amid the ruins as I had intended.  Not
only would the ants torture me almost to distraction, but the place was
uncanny, and I could now well understand how those ignorant woodlanders
believed it to be haunted.

I was about to go, and had actually turned towards the main entrance,
which I could see quite clearly in the light of the newly-risen stars,
when a sound came to my ears that was so like a groan that I felt my
blood run cold.

I stood transfixed, more frightened than bewildered.  Looking about me
on every side, straining my eyes in the semi-darkness, I could see
nothing.  I was convinced that there was no one in that vast chamber
save myself and the red ants.  And yet the groan came again, louder than
before.

I tip-toed across the room, my heart throbbing like an engine.  And like
a frightened child, I hid myself in a corner; for I had no convictions
any longer, and I wished only to be somewhere where I could not be seen.

Then a spider descended upon me from somewhere high up the wall.  And
you may laugh at me when I say that I sprang to my feet and dropped my
blow-pipe and let out a cry that was very near a shriek.  But you would
never have laughed had you been placed as I was, seen that spider, and
felt upon your shoulders his restless, furry legs.  For this was no
common spider that eats flies and gnats, but a bird-devouring brute, the
size of a saucer; and this is no exaggeration when one takes into
account the full extension of his legs.

As I fled, I picked it from off me with my hand, and threw it away;
whereupon I found that it had covered my fingers with a disgusting and
sticky saliva.  I am only thankful that it had no time to bite me, for I
believe the bite of these terrible insects has been known to prove
fatal.  They build webs of such strength and solidity that birds as
large as sparrows are caught in the toils and killed; and I have heard
it said that these monsters also ascend trees, drive hens from their
nests and then devour their eggs.

However, this is no treatise upon Natural History.  He who wishes to
know more of this horrid creature may read of it in recognised works of
science.  For myself, to have felt once its quick, hairy legs upon my
bare neck and shoulders is enough for many a day, and the thing may
belong to any species and genus that it likes, so long as I never set
eyes upon one again.

For I was thoroughly scared; I had become as jumpy as a bean on a hot
plate.  I trust that I am not by nature a coward; but the atmosphere of
that ghostly, misty place, the mysterious groans that I had heard, which
had seemed to come from nowhere, and the long-legged, furry spider, had
all so played upon my nerves that I knew neither what I was doing nor
what would happen next.

I had made, in any case, as much noise as a harlequinade.  I had cried
out at the top of my voice and had sent my wooden blow-pipe rattling to
the ground.  And then I stood motionless, breathless, waiting--as it
seemed--for some new calamity.

This time it was no groan I heard, but a human voice calling, at first
loudly, and then more softly, in a strange foreign tongue.

I listened, and I dared not move.  The silence that followed endured for
minutes, during which the seconds were punctuated by the violent beating
of my heart.  And, presently, I began to think.  As I mastered my fears,
I became capable of reasoning.

It was folly to consider ghosts.  Such superstitions were well enough
for untutored savages, wild men of the forests, but they would never do
for Richard Treadgold, who had lived his years in Sussex--though, of a
certainty, I had heard of more than one so-called haunted house between
Beachy Head and Selsey Bill.

I was convinced that I had heard a human voice.  I had been able even to
distinguish words, howbeit in a language that I did not comprehend. And
if that were so, it must follow that I was not the only human soul
within that gloomy ruin.

I looked about me, and saw in the starlight my blow-pipe, lying on the
floor.  I picked it up, and placing a dart within the mouthpiece, began
to explore the place, starting at the wide entrance and making a tour of
the walls.

It was not long before I came upon a square hole in the ground, edged
with shallow coping stones to keep out the water when the place was
flooded by the rains.  It reminded me of a hatchway on board a ship.

Below it was quite dark.  I lay down upon the floor at full length with
the idea of listening: for I was now sure that I was on the track of the
secret of the place.  But presently my eyes grew accustomed to the
darkness, and I saw before me a flight of narrow steps, leading
downward--as it seemed--into the very bowels of the earth.

I had now mastered my fears.  I was determined to be a fool no longer,
but to conduct myself like the man I wished I were.  I would have
descended without a second's thought had it not been for two grave
considerations: firstly, I had no means of striking a light; and
secondly, the stairway was so narrow that I must leave behind my long
Indian blow-pipe, the only means of self-defence I had.

I have set down already much by no means favourable to myself; and
therefore I have the less hesitation in recording an incident which goes
far to prove that there were moments when I was a worthy pupil and
admirer of John Bannister himself.  For I went down that black and
shallow staircase, half naked as I was and quite unarmed, not knowing
what would befall me at the end of it.

Half-way down, the staircase turned, when to my surprise I saw below me
the dim reflection of a light.  And presently I found myself in a long
shallow chamber, where I stood bewildered.

In the centre of the room was a rough stone altar upon which burned an
oil lamp of a quaint design and wrought in bronze.  Of other such lamps,
similar in all respects, I counted five, lying upon the stone flooring,
each surrounded by its own pool of oil.

The whole place indeed was in great disorder.  Curtains of finely woven
hair had been wrenched from the walls and cast upon the ground. Benches
and short-legged tables had been overturned, and in some cases broken.
Here lay a sword, and there a spear, and here again a pistol, broken at
the small of the butt.  Nor was all this the worst of it, by any means;
for immediately before me, lying in stiff, huddled attitudes--a pathetic
and a tragic thing to see--were three stone-dead men, as sure as I first
saw the light of day in Sussex.

Dead they were, for they neither moved nor even breathed.  And when I
sighed aloud at the wonder of it all, a fourth man whom I had not
noticed, lying upon the floor at the other end of the room, struggled
upon an elbow and cried out to me, and afterwards pointed a finger down
his throat.

I was no such fool as to mistake his meaning.  He wanted water to drink,
and I looked about me to find it.  At the foot of the altar was a pool
of clear, crystal water, a spring that bubbled from out of the crust of
the earth, the overflow being conducted to the far end of the chamber by
means of a shallow, wooden trough.  I found a drinking vessel which, to
my amazement, was of gold; and this I filled in haste, and brought to
the wounded man.

For wounded he was, a leg being broken at the thighbone, so that he
could not move an inch without suffering the greatest pain.  It was this
pain I daresay, as much as loss of blood, which had thrown him in a
fever; for his skin was burning to the touch.

Three times I filled the cup, and each time he emptied it; and as he
drank, he thanked me with his eyes.

Then he lay back and rested, whilst I gazed upon that shambles; for a
shambles it was--blood was everywhere.

I went to the dead men, to each in turn, to make sure that there was no
spark of life in any.  And this was the second time that I looked upon
the cold face of death; for, sure enough, each one was dead.  And they
were shot; they had been killed by leaden bullets: one in the head,
another in the heart, whereas the third, poor wretch! had died in agony,
with a great wound in his stomach.

But dead though they were, I could not regard them without noticing how
different they were in features and in figure from the wild men of the
woods.

The savages with whom I had sojourned for so long, for whose simple
kindness I shall be ever grateful, were of a Mongolian cast of
countenance: they had high cheek-bones, lips thinner than a negro's, and
yet thick and loose, and their eyes were almond-shaped, inclining
downwards to the nose.  Also, their greatly receding foreheads and chins
suggested that they belonged to one of the lower and least intelligent
species of mankind.

But the three dead men, as well as he who was yet alive, had aquiline
noses, thin lips, and rounded eyes.  Also they were fully dressed in
long tunics of some woven material, open at the throat, and girdled at
the waist.  They wore their hair long, but cut straight, level with the
eyebrows; and above this fringe a broad metal band encircled the head
above the ears.

I looked from them to the altar, and saw thereon a graven disc from
which rays extended to the extremities of the stone.  Beyond doubt this
was meant to be the sun; and of a sudden I remembered that the
inhabitants of Old Peru had been wont to worship the sun.

So these, perhaps, were those same Peruvian priests of whom Amos
Baverstock had spoken, they who shared with John Bannister the secret of
the Greater Treasure of the Incas.

And then the truth burst upon me as in a flash--I had struck the pathway
traversed by the tiger.  The death and destruction by which I was
surrounded was the work of Amos Baverstock himself.

I picked up the broken pistol, looked at it in the lamplight, and knew
straightway that I had guessed aright.  For I recognised it at once. It
had belonged to Joshua Trust.  It was the same pistol I had seen often
in his hands, the one with which he had fired at me upon the
Littlehampton road.  And if I had had any doubts upon the matter, they
would have been dispelled at once; for there were the man's initials,
"J.T.," carved with his sailor's jack-knife on the wood.

I just let the broken pistol fall to the ground at my feet; and at the
noise, the wounded man, to whom I had given water, struggled again upon
an elbow, and spoke to me--_in English_.




CHAPTER XIII--THE STORY OF ATUPO


"Friend?" said he; and though he pronounced the word in the strangest
fashion, I at once took his meaning.

I assured him of my good intentions, that I was no friend of those who
had committed so dastardly an outrage.  And at that, though in the
greatest pain--as I could see--he smiled and thanked me.

I will not repeat word for word the childish broken English that he
talked.  He knew nouns enough to express his meaning, but this was all
of our language that he had, and for verbs he was obliged to fall back
upon grimaces and gesticulations.  These, however, were so forcible and
graphic that I was never at a loss to understand him: and during the six
weeks that this man and I lived together in the ruins, whilst his broken
leg was mending, he came to speak quite fluently in my language,
whereas--to my shame, be it confessed--I learned not a dozen words of
his.

I asked him how he had picked up his English; and since I had already
guessed his answer, the familiar sound of that fond name was no less
pleasant in my ears.

"John Bannister," said he; and then asked me eagerly where Bannister now
was.

I shook my head, telling him as simply and as briefly as I could the
whole of my adventures, from the time when I was kidnapped a few miles
from my home beyond the seas to the day when I took my departure from
the habitations of the wild men of the woods.

His story I got from him by degrees, after I had tended to his wounds. I
had no knowledge of surgery, but I knew that a broken leg must be made
fast to a splint; and, borrowing a knife, I returned that very evening
to the forest, and cut a straight branch from a tree, as well as a long
coil of liana, which I wound about my shoulders like a garden-hose.

I peeled the bark from two sides of the branch to make it as smooth as
possible, and then bound it tightly to the poor man's leg by means of
the liana.  I bathed his wound daily with the clean water from the
spring within the vault; and in a few days the blood ceased to flow and
the wound--a rough, ugly rent from a leaden bullet--began to heal.

There was a plentiful supply of food within the chamber--bananas, dried
berries, and manioc; and together we lived, this man and I, in
uneventful idleness, he flat upon his back on a bed of rushes, I
attending to his daily wants.

He claimed direct descent from the _incas_ of Old Peru.  He told me much
that I already knew: that in the great land which had been discovered by
Pizarro there had been two races, the common Peruvians and those of
_inca_ stock.  The latter was the nobility of the land, being of royal
blood; and it was they who had held the important offices of state and
formed the priesthood.

Centuries ago, upon the fall of Cuzco, Cahazaxa, one of the greatest
nobles in the kingdom, escorted by an army of priests and soldiers,
conveyed the Greater Treasure across the mountains, and hid it in the
forest that extends across the whole valley of the Upper Amazon and its
tributaries.  The Spaniards got wind of this, and some years afterwards,
in the year 1541, an expedition led by the redoubtable Orellano, a
lieutenant of Gonzalo Pizarro, crossed the eastern chain of the Andes in
search of El Dorado, or that country which was then but vaguely known as
the Land of the Gilded King.

This "Gilded King" was Cahazaxa himself, who, at the time of Orellano's
famed expedition, had been for some months dead.  But the little
civilised colony that he had established in the wilderness survived, and
continued to survive until the middle of the last century, when I myself
beheld the last of it.

Now, in the narration of historical and other facts, I have the greatest
regard for a certain principle, established by the Greeks: the habit of
reserving for its proper place each item of information, whether it be
of primary or secondary importance.  On that account, I ask you,
therefore, for the space of a chapter or so, to bear in mind the famous
name of Orellano and his search for the Land of the Gilded King--an
affair to which I must soon refer again.  I set down now only that which
the _inca_ himself told me, together with such historical facts as were
known to me at the time.

Cahazaxa was dead; and he was buried in a cavern, high amidst the
cloud-wrapped mountains, where his soul might rest in peace the nearer
to the God he worshipped--the life-giving and almighty Sun, who, as he
held, in the very dawn of the ages had sent Manco Copac and Mama Oello
Huaco to earth, to make the Incas of Peru glorious and great.

Orellano, the Spaniard, failed to find the Treasure.  Undergoing the
most terrible privations, he and his gallant followers pierced the
forest, and, making one of the most remarkable journeys in the whole
history of exploration, descended into the main stream of the great
River of Mystery--as I call the Amazon--and, finally, after eight months
of hardship and of peril, came within sight of the Atlantic.

The courage of these men is much to be commended.  The modern explorer
has at his service breech-loading magazine rifles, invaluable
geographical and scientific knowledge, and an adequate supply of
suitable food and drugs.  But these bold Spaniards of the sixteenth
century had nothing, save their own stout hearts and strong Toledo
blades.  Enough has been written concerning their greed, their bigotry
and cruelty.  The story might be told again and again of their
indomitable bravery.  Orellano knew not whither he was going.  When he
decided to shoot the rapids, taking his life in his hands, he might as
well have thrown dice with Death.  How can we do aught but honour the
land that has produced such sons as Cortez and Pizarro, Orellano, Vasco
Nunez, and Alonzo de Ojeda?

But, for the present, we are more concerned with Cahazaxa, a hero no
less than these doughty Spaniards.  He and his followers hid themselves
in the wilderness, and there both Orellano and Pizarro himself failed to
find them; and in this there is little to wonder at, when we consider
the immensity of the great Forest of the Amazon.

They built for themselves a massive temple after the fashion of the
sacred palaces of Quito and Cuzco, dedicated to the Sun; and in course
of time they constructed roads and bridges across the rivers, founding
for themselves a colony where the civilisation of the _incas_ lived for
a century or more after their own country across the mountains had
fallen under the dominion of the hated Spaniard.

This was the land of the Gilded King, the country of El Dorado.  Word of
its existence came to Quito, from the lips of savage aborigines prone
naturally to exaggeration; but, though party after party of avaricious,
bold adventurers crossed the mountains, the Peruvian settlement remained
undisturbed.  The secret of the "Big Fish" was never discovered either
by the Spaniards or the Portuguese, who in the next century came up the
great river from the east, traversing the country that is now called
Brazil.

I did not learn all this from the _inca_ priest himself; but so much of
it as he could not tell me I knew already from what I had read of those
golden days when the New World was a land of Mystery and Romance, and
men thought and talked of doubloons instead of dollars.

It is true, I never beheld with my own eyes the actual civilisation of
ancient Peru as it had existed in Cahazaxa's time, because, many years
before, it had died a natural death.  The Peruvians, born and bred upon
the western sea-board or the great tablelands beyond the Andes, were not
able to survive in the humid atmosphere of the tropic forest.  In course
of time, a colony of several thousands, whom Cahazaxa had led across the
mountains, had dwindled to a community of a few families of the old
_inca_ stock, the majority of whom served as priests of the Sun in the
great ruined temple, constructed by their forefathers, which they were
not able to keep in repair.

It was these men, descended in a direct line from the _incas_ whom the
Spanish conquerors had driven forth from Cuzco and Quito, who guarded
the secret of the Greater Treasure.  It was they who were treacherously
attacked and foully done to death by Amos Baverstock.  And I will now
relate the full story of that brutal enterprise as I got it from the
lips of the man whom I befriended.

Baverstock, with his three companions, had come to the temple some weeks
before, on the day they had tied me to the tree and left me to starve to
death.

The priests had been greatly alarmed at the sight of the intruder, whom
they recognised at once.  They remembered the time when Baverstock and
Trust had attacked the temple, and they had been obliged to fight for
their lives, and would then and there have been slaughtered, had it not
been for John Bannister, who placed himself at their head and drove Amos
forth.

But Bannister was no longer with them to fortify them with his courage,
to preside at their councils, and to deal death to their enemies with
his swift, unerring aim.  And they were terrified at the very sight of
Amos, as I myself had been when I first set eyes on the man upon the
Sussex shore.

He demanded to know where the Greater Treasure was hidden.  He reminded
them that they had lied to him once, and held forth threats that made
their blood run cold.  If they lied to him again, he would return, and
no man of them would live to fool Amos Baverstock a third time.

Now, they dared not speak the truth, for they were sworn to secrecy
before the Sun, which they believed to be the Creator of the Universe;
and yet, they dared not lie, for they knew Amos would be as good, or as
evil, as his word.

So, swearing upon all things they looked upon as holy, they set Amos and
his friends upon the right road to the "Big Fish."  They told him to
follow a certain track across the grassland, until he came to a range of
down-like, grass-clad hills.  Thence, to the west, lay a wood in
mid-valley, and in a glade in this wood the Treasure was buried, the
place being marked by a great red stone, standing forth in the form of a
monster fish in the act of leaping from the water.  Here, clearly, was
the origin of the legend, current among the natives even to this day, of
the Big and Little Fishes.  And when I heard the story as it was told me
by the _inca_ priest, I confess I was conscious that my heart beat more
rapidly and the warm blood of my youth was stirred within me.

But Amos Baverstock cared nothing for legend.  He lived only to lay
hands upon a horde of untold gold; and that same day he left the Temple
of Cahazaxa and set forth to the west upon his treasure hunt.

And when he was gone, the priests held conference, demanding of Atupo
why he had told their enemy so much of their cherished secret--for Atupo
was the name of the surviving priest with whom I talked among the temple
ruins.  For he it was who devised the scheme whereby he hoped both to
save the lives of his friends and to preserve the Greater Treasure; and
now that all had failed so dreadfully, to the great pain he suffered
from his wound was added anguish and remorse, inasmuch as the blame was
his.

He advised them to arm themselves, and took with him ten of the best
archers of the little community, ordering them to steep the heads of
their arrows in the juice of the venomous weed that grows in the
forest--which is nothing more or less than strychnine, one of the most
virulent of poisons.

Atupo, with these ten men, who were all young and fleet of foot,
traversed the grassland by a series of forced marches by night, so that
they outdistanced Amos and reached first the Wood of the Red Fish--for
so, with a little latitude, may be translated the old Peruvian name. And
there they laid an ambush by a pathway along which Amos, and those with
him, would be obliged to pass, and each archer was instructed to pick
out his man.  Four were detailed to shoot at Amos, three at Trust, and
two each at Forsyth and the Spaniard, Vasco.

Now, it seems not possible that a plan so well thought out could fail;
and yet, it would seem also that here, at least, the devil helped his
own.

For Mr. Forsyth, and not Amos, came first to the ambuscade; and of the
two arrows, one struck a silver tobacco tin that he chanced to be
carrying that day in the pocket over his heart, and the other sheared
off his right ear as cleanly as a tailor snips his cloth with a pair of
scissors.  And in the fraction of a second, Forsyth, all bleeding from
the head, had his revolver from its holster, and had shot down two of
the priests.

Thus was the alarm given to Amos and those who followed him; and there
was no question of a surprise.  It came to a hand-to-hand affair, and
then a running fight amid the woodland undergrowth, in which the bow and
arrow had but a small chance against modern firearms.  One by one, the
priests were dropped in their tracks, and only Atupo himself escaped
with life, though sorely wounded in the leg.

He got clear of the wood, and lay hidden, day after day, in the long
grass of the plain, journeying by night towards the forest, endeavouring
to reach the ruined Temple of Cahazaxa.  Though his leg was not then
broken, he could do no more than crawl a few miles at a time, so that he
was long weeks upon the road.

And during all these days, Amos beat the wood from west to east, from
south to north, and failing to find the "Red Fish," believed that he had
again been sent upon a wild-goose chase; and the more firm was he in
this conviction since there had been such treachery on the part of the
_inca_ priests.

I heard afterwards that his wrath was like that of a madman; he stamped
and raved, and swore that he would return to the temple and put every
living soul to death.  And yet, they could not move a yard upon their
backward journey, until Forsyth's life was out of danger.

Without doubt, Mr. Gilbert Forsyth would have died in torture, there
amid the foothills of the distant Andes, had it not been for his own
promptitude and courage.  For no sooner did he feel the poison working
inward from the wound where the arrow had cut off an ear, than he thrust
the blade of a hunting-knife into a glowing charcoal camp-fire, and
himself placed the red-hot steel upon the lacerated flesh.

And though he fainted at the time, and fell afterwards into a raging
fever, this action saved, perhaps, his life.  In the wilderness,
rough-and-ready methods are often unavoidable; only he who is bold and
strong can survive, whilst the weakling falls by the way.  That Forsyth,
despite his affectations and his London ways, was a man of action who
could face pain as well as danger, this deed of his was in itself enough
to prove.  With his own hand he burned the poison from his flesh.

For all that, he lingered for many days betwixt life and death; and it
was the delay caused thereby that gave Atupo time to regain the temple.

He had intended to give warning to his brother priests, and for this
purpose he arrived none too soon.  Many were so alarmed at the news of
the disaster that they departed instantly, seeking shelter in the forest
and taking with them their wives and families.  But three remained, to
collect the sacred lamps and vessels that were within the Temple,
meaning to set forth the following day.  And these were caught at
midnight by Amos, who turned assassin then and there; for it was he who
killed them with his own hands, in the great vault beneath the ruins.

Atupo, too, he shot, though the man lay wounded on the ground, exhausted
after the effort of his long journey across the grassland, and left him
there for dead, his already wounded leg fractured a few inches below the
hip.

All this I learned from the man himself, while I nursed him under the
Temple--all save the story of the fortitude of Mr. Forsyth, of which I
heard afterwards, as in due time I will tell.




CHAPTER XIV--THE GLADE OF SILENT DEATH


When I had heard the story of Atupo, it seemed to me that I knew all
there was to know concerning the "Big Fish."  And a feeling of
restlessness at once possessed me; I desired to be up and doing, to
venture myself across the grassland, to find the Wood of the Red Fish,
for which the bold Spaniards of a bygone century had searched so often
and in vain.

But I stood in the debt of charity and honour, and in consequence I felt
for all the world like a kennelled dog that tugs barking on his chain.
For some weeks, at least, I must stay by the side of the wounded man,
whom I could now call my friend.  And if those days were something idle,
we were by no means out of danger; for any day Amos Baverstock might
return when, of a certainty, it would go ill with Atupo and myself.

I found ample time throughout this period of my adventuring to explore
the neighbourhood of the Temple, and many things I found of the greatest
interest.  About a mile distant from the ruins was the village where the
Peruvians had lived, and here also was a great convent built of stone
and thatched with straw, after the fashion of the palaces in ancient
Quito.  In this convent--so Atupo told me--had dwelt some score of nuns,
vestal virgins, whose lives were dedicated to the Sun, just as there had
been such maidens in the service of Jupiter and Mars in the great
temples of Rome; for in many respects did the ancient Peruvians resemble
the Romans: they were great builders of roads, bridges, and forts; every
man must serve the state; and the Inca, on returning from his victories,
would march in public triumph through the chief city of the land.

I found both the village and the convent quite deserted; for--as I have
said--on hearing of the approach of Amos and his friends, the Peruvians
had fled into the forest, preferring to run the risk of death at the
hands of the wild men with their poisoned arrows, or from starvation in
the midst of that unending wilderness, to finding themselves once again
face to face with that implacable and murderous villain who had sworn to
put them all--woman, man, and child--relentlessly to death.

I learned afterwards that few of these poor fugitives survived; for Amos
burned their homes to the ground and left not one stone upon another;
and this he did in wrath and malice, since it served him no better
purpose than to waste his time, and that at a moment when his fate was
jeopardised and he himself stood betwixt life and death.

When I saw the convent and the village, the place was just as the
inhabitants had left it; and in such haste had they departed that I even
found cooking-pots containing stews, all cold and jellified, standing in
the ashes of burnt-out fires.  The only sign of life to be seen was a
number of llamas, long-necked Peruvian sheep, grazing in the shadow of
the convent walls.

And now I am arrived at that part of my story when I came within an ace
of losing life itself, and was only delivered at the eleventh hour by
what was little short of the miraculous.  For, in course of time, Atupo
was healed of his wound, and well able, with the help of a staff, to
hobble about the temple.  It was then that I told him of my plans, of
how I longed to journey to the Wood of the Red Fish, if for nothing else
than to gaze upon the treasure of the Incas.

He listened patiently to all I had to say, and then sighed deeply.

"As you will," said he.  "Of what use now is all this gold?  My brother
priests are slain, my people are scattered broadcast; the children of
Cahazaxa are no more.  Find your way, if you will, to the 'Big Fish.' I
have told you where it lies.  Feast your eyes upon the wealth that was
once the glory of Peru.  The race of the Incas is ended; the blood of
kings is cold; even our gods are dead."

I knew that he referred to certain images in the Temple which Amos had
wantonly destroyed; and I was sorry for the man.

"You will come with me?" I asked.

But he shook his head.

"That is not possible," he answered.  "And even were it so, there would
be naught to gain.  I am already too greatly in your debt, and were I to
accompany you, I should be a hindrance and a danger."

I could not deny the truth of this, though I was loth to leave him, weak
and crippled as he was.  And yet, it was manifest that we could not
remain for an indefinite time within the Temple: sooner or later, our
provisions would run out, and, any day, Amos might return.

"Where will you go?" I asked.

He pointed towards the forest.

"Thither," said he; and there was a certain nobility in his manner when
he added, "to find my own people; for find them I will, in this world or
beyond the grave.  Death holds no fears for the sons of Cahazaxa."

And so, some days afterwards, we parted: he, to the east, to the dark,
spreading forest; I, to the west, across the grassland, upon my treasure
quest, to search for the Wood of the Ked Fish and the lost Treasure of
Kings.

I set forth upon my great adventure all naked like a savage, save for a
loin-cloth of woven hair that Atupo, the priest, had given me.  I was
armed with my long Indian blow-pipe and a quiverful of darts.  And I
went into that strange, romantic land alone, without guide, compass or
companion, never knowing at night-time, when I lay down to sleep, what
calamity or fortune the morrow held in store for me.  And this, I stand
convinced even to this day, when my hairs are white and shoulders bowed,
is the only way to live and to die.

For three days I traversed a great plain of rolling, down-like country,
that reminded me somewhat of my own dear Sussex, save that the grass was
coarse and longer.  Some miles before me was a high ridge that stood
forth at sunset like a battlement across the sky; and I knew that I must
gain the crest of this before I could find the Wood of the Red Fish.

Presently, however, I found my progress impeded by a river that had
worked its way throughout the centuries deep into the rock, so that it
flowed between almost perpendicular cliffs.

I could neither see nor devise any manner of crossing.  I sat down upon
the edge of the canon and ate some of the manioc I had brought with me
from the temple.  I remembered that both Amos and Atupo had somehow
crossed the river; and this thought was not a little encouraging. Across
the grassland I had followed no track or pathway, so that when I had
found a means of crossing the canon, I must know that I was once again
upon the right road to the wood that I was seeking.

That night, in full moonshine, I worked up-stream for many miles upon
the left bank of the ravine.  I slept for a few hours, and at daybreak
continued my journey, and a little after, came quite suddenly upon one
of the most wondrous things that I have ever seen.

For there before me was a great and magnificent suspension bridge,
spanning the width of the ravine--a distance, I should say, of thirty or
forty yards.  The cables of this bridge were made of the twisted fibre
of maguey, a kind of osier, and were at least three feet in diameter.
It was hard to realise that the whole structure stood there more or less
as it had been erected, centuries before; but it seemed to me an even
more wonderful thing that, in the midst of such a desolate and barren
region, I should so suddenly have come across evidence of the greatest
skill in engineering.  I could scarce believe that I had passed through
an almost impenetrable tropical forest to traverse a ravine as easily as
I might have walked along the familiar dyke from Sidlesham to Pagham.

The bridge itself was no more than a footbridge, but it served its
purpose well enough; and, crossing over, I hit almost at once upon a
pathway through the grass.  This I lost at nightfall, but I continued on
my way in the moonlight, working upward upon a slope that rapidly became
steeper.

In the small hours of the morning, sheer fatigue brought me to a halt by
the side of a spring of clear water, bubbling forth from the earth. And
here I drank and ate, breathing deeply of the cool fresh air of the
uplands, which was like strong wine to me after the humid atmosphere of
the forest; so that I slumbered as I had not slept for months, since I
had left my home in Sussex, nor did I awaken until the morning sun was
high.

I saw that I had but a little way to go to reach the crestline of the
hills--an hour's climb would do it; and I set forward gleefully, in high
anticipation, wondering what lay beyond the watershed, and whether I
would sight the Wood of the Red Fish, but little dreaming what would
there befall me.

I reached the summit hot and out of breath; and then I stood stock
still, breathless in wonderment and all amazed.

I cast not one glance towards the wide valley at my feet.  I stood
staring before me, like one dumbfounded, at the gorgeous panorama I
beheld.  For yonder, more than a hundred miles away, but clear in the
morning sun at the back of me, stood the mighty and majestic Andes.
Snow-crowned they were, rugged as a wild sea, and yet bold and still and
massive as the thrones of gods.  And I, who had never seen such
mountains in my life, was awed and wonder-struck; and I realised, I am
sure, the glory of the works of God.

I gazed--it may have been, for an hour, sitting cross-legged, naked as
the wild men of the woods, with my blow-pipe on my knees--at that great
range of mountains that spans near half the world, extending almost from
pole to pole.  And then I looked down into the valley, and the thought
that I was now within a day's march of my goal banished from my mind all
loftier thoughts, and I found myself wondering whether it was I who was
to find, at last, the lost land of El Dorado.

For the valley was cut up into marshland, plains and hillocks, in and
out of which a river wandered, now and again to open out into a lake or
swamp, in which there were little tree-clad islands.  But to the north
was a wood, diamond-shaped, flanked to the east by a spur of the hills,
and to the west by a morass where I could see the water glittering in
the sunlight.

On the foothills across the valley was a considerable forest, extending
as far as the eye could reach; but I could not doubt that the wood in
mid-valley, to the right of me, being so like the description which
Atupo, the priest, had given me, was the Wood of the Red Fish.

And then and there I set forward running, for I was young and
hot-headed, and had not yet learned that time is but the slave of man,
and that patience and caution are of more worth than eager haste.

So I came, that evening, hot and thirsty to the wood, and then, in the
darkness of the trees, whilst the sun was setting, I stood like a fool,
irresolute and wearied, not knowing what next that I should do.

I was hungry as well, for I had eaten all the food I had carried with me
from the temple, and saw now that I must trust to my blow-pipe for
sustenance, and kill what came my way that might be fit to eat.
Fortunately, during my sojourn with the wild men, I had learned
something of Indian woodcraft; and setting about my business without
further loss of time, I searched at random in the wood until I found a
glade where there was a pool of water, and here I crouched under cover,
lying motionless, with my blow-pipe ready for whatsoever animal might
come down to the pool to drink whilst the evening light still lasted.

This place--though I then knew it not--was the Glade of Silent Death;
and I have given it that name for a certain reason, which was in very
truth a tragedy.

There came, as I waited, to the woodland pool a small kind of deer; and
he waded knee-deep into the water that he might drink.  As he did so, I
thought that I perceived some movement on the surface, as it might have
been a rat swimming swiftly a distance of a few yards.  I took no heed
of it at the time, my attention being taken up with my blow-pipe, that I
might strike the deer stone-dead, beneath the point of the left
shoulder, placing my arrow deep in the poor beast's heart.

I was about to shoot, when suddenly he kicked, and then endeavoured with
a jerk to throw himself backward on his haunches.  To my astonishment I
observed that he was held fast by the nose, which might have been
gripped in a vice, and that in spite of all his efforts he was being
dragged steadily and slowly deeper into the pool.

It was as if I were smitten by a cold rush of ice, when the truth was
made quite plain to me.  It was that half-light of evening, which is
neither day nor night, when the early moon vies with the dying sunlight.
And I saw the monster writhing coils of a great serpent rise dripping
from the water and enfold the broken stump of a tree.

I knew now that the deer was doomed; and so illogical is human nature
that I experienced two emotions: terror of the reptile and pity for the
beast that but a moment since I myself would have gladly slain for food.

No doubt the anaconda stood in need of nourishment as much as I, and
wanted more of it, to boot.  But snakes were accursed things since Eden,
and this vile, stealthy giant more so than most, because of his great
bulk and strength.  I know now that he was nearer thirty than twenty
feet in length, and that his girth about the middle was greater than
that of my own chest, though I was a strong lad for my years.

And now that he had lashed himself to the tree-stump, the deer was lost.
Its head was already under water, so that in a few moments the animal
must be drowned.  It would then be crushed to a pulp in the powerful,
band-like coils of the constrictor, covered all over with a loathsome
saliva, to be swallowed slowly and gradually, and yet in bulk.

I could see the head of the snake, for the light was fading and the deer
in its death struggle lashed the water into foam.  But I could see the
great glistening body of the reptile but a few yards away from me, and
into the thickest part of this I drove one of the darts from my Indian
blow-pipe, and as I did so, shuddered, more revolted than afraid.

The effect was instantaneous and surprising.  My dart must have struck
the snake in the region of the spinal cord, for the great length of the
brute curled backward like the lash of a whip; and the deer, released
from those murderous coils, scrambled from the water, panting and
exhausted, with its red tongue hanging from its mouth.

And then the animal fell dead upon the ground, but a few feet from where
I lay.  I could feel my own heart beating within me like a
sledge-hammer.  For some minutes I gazed at the pool that rocked and
swelled like a sea in miniature.  There came ripples, one after the
other, to the water's edge, where they lipped and splashed like little
waves.  And then, at last, all was still--still as glass in the
moonlight.  But I knew that the great snake was somewhere near me, and
my sole desire was to escape from that dread, silent place, and that as
quickly as I might.  And yet, the primal instinct of mankind was strong
within me, the love of life that is sustained by food; and as I drew
back into the thickets of the underwoods, I dragged with me by the horns
the lifeless body of the deer.




CHAPTER XV--HOW I BEHELD A MIRACLE


I found a place where I could rest and eat; and there I cut steaks from
the deer with a quaint knife which had been given me by Atupo--for I now
prided myself on being a hunter of experience--and made a fire of dried
sticks and leaves.

The heat of the night was excessive, and I had little need of the
warmth; but I was glad of the light of the flames, for I was still much
shaken by my adventure with the great constrictor, and had imagined
vague, savage enemies amid the dark thickets that hedged me in.

It will be noted that I have referred to the snake as a "constrictor";
but, from this, it must not be thought that the monster was a boa.  The
family of the boas, known scientifically as the _boidae_, contains many
species which are to be found in all parts of the world: the diamond
snake of Australia, the rock python of Natal, the Indian python, and the
great South American genera--the anaconda and the true boa-constrictor.

All these reptiles are remarkable for the partial development of hinder
limbs, proving conclusively that the snakes and lizards are nearly
related to one another.  These rudimentary limbs, however, are not
visible in the living animals, being covered by the skin, but are quite
evident in their skeletons.  It is also of interest to remember that
birds have evolved from reptiles, the forelegs having been converted
into wings.

All the constrictors kill their prey by crushing, and none have
poison-fangs; and though these species are, with one or two exceptions,
the largest snakes in the world, they move, whether in the water or
among the tree-tops, in absolute silence.  That which I myself attacked
was undoubtedly an anaconda; and I know this for sure, because, though
the light was bad, I distinctly saw two rows of great, dark spots upon
his back, and not a black chain, which is the distinguishing mark of the
boa-constrictor.  Besides, the anaconda is essentially a water-snake,
whereas the boa, though he will take readily to water, lives as a rule
among the trees.

Well, though I shudder when I think of the brute, I had no real cause at
the time to abuse him, for I might not have slain the deer with my
blow-pipe, and I was now supplied with food so long as the meat would
keep in that steaming hothouse of a jungle.

I did not sleep so well that night, weary though I was.  I think I was
not so much afraid as oppressed by an almost overwhelming sense of
loneliness.

Quite suddenly I realised, as I sat by my camp-fire, chewing the venison
steaks--which were inordinately tough--that I was utterly alone.  For
weeks I had enjoyed the company of Atupo, and before that of the wild
men; and even Amos and his companions, my sworn enemies, had human
voices to which I had been wont to listen of an evening by the fire when
the day's march was ended.  But here was I indeed, alone in the dark
wilderness, and I could not but recognise that the woods around me were
alive, that life in a thousand shapes and forms was all about me,
unseen, but not unheard.

For I listened to strange and little noises everywhere--upon the ground,
in the thick undergrowth, among the great trees that towered above me.
My strained ears heard, perhaps, sounds that never were; but I know that
great moths came fluttering to my fire, and leaves moved where insects
crept and crawled, and now and again some kind of cricket would begin to
sing, only to cease quite suddenly, I should think, on the approach of
danger.

They all lived, thought I, on sufferance, by the grace of the great God
who made them all, and me as well.  For I was one with them, even these
little living things of the endless wilderness, encompassed by so many
dangers, at the mercy of the great forces of Nature that might at any
moment rise against us and stamp out our little lives.

And I thought, too, of Amos.  In the silence and the darkness, my old
dread of the man returned; and I asked myself where was he all these
months, and what were he and his companions doing?

I knew that, like myself, he had been searching for the Treasure in this
same Wood of the Red Fish; but I could not think that he was still in
the neighbourhood.  At the time, of course, I knew nothing of Forsyth's
wound, which had delayed Baverstock so long; and when I afterwards came
to work the matter out, I arrived at the conclusion that Amos must have
left the wood on the very night when I encountered the anaconda.  He
then returned to the temple, and, finding both the ruins and the village
quite deserted, gave unholy vent to his wrath by burning everything that
fire could touch.  He then came back upon his own tracks, by way of the
suspension bridge, drawn to the Red Fish like steel to a magnet, for the
man's soul itself was magnetised by gold.

And all this time was I searching in the wood.  For ten days I roamed
here and there, living upon wild fruits and berries, and the birds I
slew with my blow-pipe.  Atupo had given me certain vague directions,
which had seemed clear enough to me at the time.  However, the man's
knowledge of our language was but imperfect, and the wood itself a
veritable maze, a labyrinth of shallow, twisting tunnels, from which the
sunlight was eternally shut out.

I wandered daily, lost in very truth, and came often to the Glade of
Silent Death, near which place I would never venture to sleep for fear
of the great serpent that I knew lay somewhere in the pool.

On the tenth night of my wanderings, I received something in the nature
of a shock.  I had made my camp-fire somewhat earlier than was my wont,
and a small, gay-feathered bird that I had shot and plucked was roasting
over the red-hot charcoal, when, of a sudden, a shot from a rifle rang
out in the woods not far from where I was.

I sprang to my feet, in a high state of alarm, and kicked the fire
broadcast, for I had gone barefooted for so long that the soles of my
feet were like leather.  And even as I did so, several other shots were
fired in quick succession.

I ate my bird half cooked--for I was hungry--and sat in the darkness for
hour upon hour, certain that Amos himself was near at hand, and filled
with apprehension.

I had a good mind that night to give up my quest, to return to the
grassland, where I could breathe the open air and feel the warmth of
Heaven's sun upon me, hoping that thence I might somehow find my way
back to the abodes of civilised men.  I was sick at heart for want of
the sound of a human voice and the sight of those I loved.

What would be my fate in that dark wilderness, armed only with my
blow-pipe, if I should fall into the hands of men like Amos Baverstock
and Trust?  In my thinking, the shots that I had heard could have been
fired by no one else.  And yet, of my own free will, for three days
longer I delayed within the wood; and now, when I can look back upon
those wild, adventurous days, I am devoutly thankful that I did.

My own audacity can be explained, I think, by the fact that I was now
three parts a savage.  I was, as one might say, on friendly terms with
danger.  Peril and I had sojourned together for so long that I had come
to regard even grim Death itself as no such weighty matter.  Life was no
more to me than to the little wild things that I daily slew for food.
And so, for three days, I continued my searching in the jungle, howbeit
acting more cautiously than before, making little noise and pausing
frequently to listen.

And then, by chance, I made a great discovery.  At the time, in very
truth, I did believe that I beheld the manifestation of a miracle; and I
warrant that he that reads this will think the same, when I have set
down the facts as they occurred.

I came, late of an afternoon, upon an open place where there were rocks
among the trees; and between these rocks the ground was soft, the soil
quite black, being composed of the decayed vegetation of many tropic
seasons.  Here I found footmarks of living men, and, moreover, men who
were no strangers to leather boots.

That more than one of them had visited this very place, I was well
convinced, since the footmarks bore evidence of at least two pairs of
boots--one with great hobnails, and the other without.  I never doubted
that I had hit upon the trail of Amos and his friends; and I had--as I
thought--sure proof of this, a little after, when I came upon an empty
cartridge-case.

The most of us believe that we have latent abilities, little suspected
by our friends, that we are never called upon to use.  I have heard it
said that the great Duke of Wellington thought little of himself as
soldier, but far too much of his reputation as a politician.  And on
this occasion it was something pleasing to my vanity to play the part of
a detective, though I knew not the very alphabet of the business.  I
examined the footmarks, and made quite sure that I had found the trail
of Joshua Trust, who wore, I knew, a pair of heavy boots with hobnails;
and the brass cartridge-case--which I have kept to this day as a
memento--had, I surmised, once been the property of Amos.  So I went
down on hands and knees, groping in the half-light of the woods to see
what else I could discover.  And whilst thus employed, I hit upon the
miracle that all but cost me life itself.

I found a place beneath the rocks where there was a smooth stone slab,
fashioned plainly by the hand of man.  And this rocked gently when I
pressed my weight upon it, which suggested that it had been moved quite
recently.

In any case, both the shape and the size of the thing bewildered me, for
it was all the world like a tombstone.  And one would not think to find
tombstones in the tropic wilderness beneath the Andes.

I found the stone quite easy to lift, for it was thin as a plank, and
had a hole in the middle, through which I could place a hand.  And then
I stood gazing into the cavity below.

And as I gazed, I gasped.  I drew back a little, with a quick catch of
the breath, and then came forward once again, to stand staring, like one
who is entirely daft, at what lay at my feet.

For the round moon, of a surety, shone down into a tomb; and there
before me was a corpse--or what had been a corpse, four hundred years
ago.  There lay a skeleton, white-boned and horrible--moreover, a
skeleton that was encased in armour.

He who lay there before me in the moonlight had once been a man and a
soldier of old Spain; for his bony hands were crossed upon his chest and
held between them the handle of a naked sword.  And at his head was a
steel helmet, and the trunk of his body was enclosed in a breastplate;
so that I could see naught but his grinning skull and the white bones of
his legs and arms.

I stood and looked, and wondered.  I wondered who he was, how he had
come there, and of the tales that he could tell, were life to return to
this bold adventurer of four hundred years ago.  Though I do not fear
death more than most men, I dread even to this day to look upon the face
of it; and it took me time to gather my courage in both hands and to
light a fire by the graveside, that I might see the better and solve so
much of the mystery as I could.

I have no proof--for we can seldom prove the past--but must weigh what
evidence there is.  For all that, I am convinced--now that I have
thought and talked of it all to John Bannister and others--that I looked
then upon the remnants of one of the soldiers of the gallant Orellano.
I could not judge of the quality of the rusted steel of his breastplate
and his sword; but I should think that he had been an officer of some
distinction; since, on close inspection, I discovered that the long
blade had been damascened in silver, a metal that will never rust.  And
that set my mind a-thinking of the great and gallant men who had been
the first to cross to the Pacific, to whom to-day--in spite of all their
bigotry and cruelty--the world owes so much.

If one of Orellano's followers had lain buried in this place for all
this time, how nearly had the Spaniards come to finding the Greater
Treasure!  I was not far, I knew, from the Big Fish, though I had
searched the Wood for days and never found it.  And Orellano had crossed
the mountains to the west in search of El Dorado, and, having failed in
his purpose, had gone on down to the great river, and thence to the
Atlantic.  And here lay one of his stout-hearted lieutenants, buried
like a Christian warrior, with the arms he had fought with, within a few
miles from where the Treasure lay.

Wonder-struck, and not without great reverence, I put back the sword
between those bony hands, and then lifted the helmet to see if that,
too, could tell me anything concerning this tragedy of long ago.
Besides, I was curious to know how the man had met his death.  Had he
been slain by a savage Indian?  Or had he died of some fell, tropical
disease?  And so I took the helmet in my hands; and when I did so,
something white fell out.

I stooped and picked it up, and then examined it by the fire that I had
lighted.  It was parchment--it was a fragment of a map--a piece torn
from the corner of a larger sheet.  I looked at it and rubbed my eyes,
and looked again, to be sure that I was not dreaming.

If I did not dream, then I was wholly mad.  The thought came to me that
I had fallen into a fever, and now suffered one of those delusions which
are common enough when the heart is racing and the brow dry and burning.

I felt my pulse and the skin upon my forearm, and found that I was wet
with sweat.  Nor was I mad or dreaming, for I was Dick Treadgold, and my
home lay far away, upon the Sussex shore.  And yet, that which I held in
my hand was the very fragment of John Bannister's map which I myself had
torn from the hands of Amos Baverstock--that same fragment which I had
thrust, to the full length of my arm, down a rabbit-hole, by Middleton,
for fear that it should fall into the possession of that scoundrel,
Joshua Trust.

There can be no disputing the testimony of a torn piece of paper. There
is, I believe, a celebrated murder trial, quoted in books of law as an
example of irrefutable circumstantial evidence, wherein the murderer and
the murdered man are each found in possession of a torn piece of
newspaper, these two fragments fitting together line for line without a
letter missing.

You will never tear a sheet of paper twice in precisely the same way,
though you try a million times.  In this case, I had the evidence of my
eyes and of my memory.  It was the very fragment I had snatched from the
hands of Amos; I remembered the shape of it; I remembered the shape also
of the torn edge of the map that Amos himself had carried into the
wilderness; and, above all, there were the letters "AHAZAXA," the
rending of the parchment having decapitated the name "Cahazaxa."

At first sight, what could look more like a miracle?  There was no
question of coincidence.  Here were two facts that, normally, could in
no way be related to one another: a rabbit burrows a hole for himself
upon the sandhills by the English Channel, and in the sixteenth century
a brave Spanish soldier lays down his life, and is buried in the
wilderness of South America.  It will be readily understood that it took
me time to realise what I could certainly not explain.

How came that fragment there?  And why?  I regarded the stained and
yellow parchment that I held in my hand as I sat by the side of the
fire, and felt even a trifle afraid of it.  I had heard stories of
mummies coming to life, of inanimate objects--such as jasper scarabaei,
totems, and wooden, heathen gods--becoming active agencies for good or
evil.  Had this thing taken wings upon itself, and flown across half the
world?  Fate or luck--call it what you will--had guided me to find it.
But why should a document so precious have sought a refuge in the rusted
helmet of a soldier of fortune, who once, perhaps, had clinked his sword
in the gay courts of Granada or the narrow streets of old Cadiz, who lay
now amid the silence of the tropic jungle--a few blanched and silly
bones?

I had no answer for these questions of my own, though I sat long into
the night and racked my brains for a solution of the problem.  It was,
in consequence, an hour, as I should guess, before I could look the bare
fact in the countenance, before I could acknowledge the situation as it
was.

No matter how it came there, by means comprehensible or supernatural,
there it was.  And then, quite suddenly, I realised what it was.  _I had
as good as found the Treasure_.




CHAPTER XVI--I FIND THE "BIG FISH"


For a considerable time I had regarded this small piece of parchment in
the light of a mystery, a species of conjuring trick, just as one
regards the billiard-ball, the rabbit, or the eggs that a conjuror
produces from the upturned sleeve of his shirt.  But now I saw quite
clearly that the thing had an intrinsic value, a significance of its
own; it bore a certain definite message--a message that most nearly
concerned myself.

Eagerly, with hands that trembled somewhat, I studied the map.  It will
be remembered that the portion which Amos possessed had been torn across
the place where was marked the Temple of Cahazaxa.  Upon the fragment
that had come into my hands by so strange and mysterious a chance, I was
able to trace the route that I myself had taken from the temple ruins to
the Wood of the Red Fish.  The ravine was shown, and that wonderful
suspension-bridge that had so amazed me when I saw it. From the hills to
the east--from the crestline of which I bad viewed the distant glory of
the Andes--a track was marked, leading towards the south; whereas I, in
hot haste at the time, had continued upon my way due westward.

Now, this track was shown to lead to a certain stream that came forth
from the Wood of the Red Fish upon the south.  And it was called the
Brook of Scarlet Pebbles, an Indian name being thus translated in red
ink in the handwriting of John Bannister.

The map had been drawn to no scale.  Like many ancient and mediaeval
documents, it was entirely without proportion or perspective.  For
instance, the Wood itself--which was never more than fifteen miles
across--appeared to be of area equal to that vast tract of country that
lay between the great mountain to the north of the forest and the Temple
of Cahazaxa--a journey that had taken us many weeks.

There was some sense in this; for in regard to the Wood of the Red Fish,
where the Treasure itself was hidden, it was necessary to be precise, if
the map were to be of any value.  I saw that one must follow the Brook
of Scarlet Pebbles, until it entered a pool, where Bannister had written
the words: "Electric Eels."  There, it appeared, the stream flowed
underground, for its course was dotted, and these dots ended at a cross,
bearing the words: "THE RED FISH IS HERE."

This cross referred, as I could see at a glance, to certain marginal
notes, written in such minute handwriting that it was all that I could
do to read them, especially in view of the fact that Bannister's red ink
had faded.  At last, however, I managed to make out the following
inscription:

    "_The tail of the Fish.  A blow-pipe from the nose of the Fish.
    Twenty yards across the Brook.  Three feet, below the ground--a
    Ring._"

This I read to myself over and over again.  At one moment I thought it
clear enough, and at the next, too vague.  At all events, thought I, I
will find out when I get there, for thither I intended to go.

I could not sleep that night, and I will not go so far as to say that I
tried to.  I was so thrilled and mystified that my thoughts were running
riot; and surely there is little to wonder at in this.  The bones of the
Spanish warrior lay in the ground beneath me, together with his armour
and his sword, for I had put back

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