Chapter Twelve.

The Hacienda.

Clear and bright was the sky, and wherever the rays of the sun penetrated it was for them to fall in a shower of golden arrows, and form tracery upon the green carpet beneath the trees, amid whose branches, screaming, chattering, climbing, and hanging head downwards, or fluttering from bough to bough, were hundreds of rainbow-hued parrots, beautiful as Nature’s dyes could paint.

It was a scene of exceeding beauty, and was not lost even upon blunt, hungry Tom.

“Well,” he exclaimed, “if this don’t pay for coming out, may I never again wire out a bar of best mottled. It’s a rum sort of country though; one time frightening you to death, and the next minute coaxing you into staying. S’pose, Mas’r Harry, that there’s a sort of foreign market-garden?”

“If I’m not mistaken, Tom, that’s my uncle’s plantation.”

“With all my heart, Mas’r Harry; but choked as I am with thirst I should like one of them pumpkins or some of the other outlandish fruits. Let’s have a pen’orth, sir. My! what a sight though! I hope this is the spot. But there, only look, Mas’r Harry, did you ever see such sparrows? Look at the colour of ’em! If I don’t take home a cageful, and one of them red and yaller poll-parrots, I don’t stand here now. But are you sure your uncle Reuben lives here, Mas’r Harry?”

“I think this must be the spot, Tom,” I said, “according to the guide’s description.”

“Why, he must be quite a lord, sir. He’s never touched taller or soap in his life, I’ll bet. But, say, Mas’r Harry, we look rough uns to go and see him, don’t us?”

I laughed and then led the way, Tom following close behind, till we entered a sort of court-yard surrounded by sheds, with men and women busily at work at what I afterwards learned was the preparation of the cocoa.

“And you’re Harry Grant then, are you?” said a tall, brown-skinned man, who was pointed out to me as the owner of the place, and who, upon my introducing myself, received me with a hearty English grip of the hand. “Hang it, my lad, it brings old times back to see a face fresh from home! You’re your mother’s boy plain enough. But come in, and welcome, my lad, though we have been in a bit of a stew; my girl upset in a canoe and half drowned; but the gentleman with her saved her. She’s not much the worse for it, though.”

I turned round hastily and just in time to stop Tom, who was about to blurt out the whole affair, for I thought it better to be silent, I hardly knew why, my mind being just then in a state of confusion, it being rather startling to find that I had probably been the means of saving the life of my own cousin; though why the gentleman who was with her—whoever he might be—should have the credit of what Tom and I had done, I did not know. Anyhow, I was to be beneath the same roof, and I thought matters would come right in the end.

My uncle led the way into a cool half-darkened room, where I was introduced to an aunt, of whose existence I was not aware, inasmuch as she was the lately married widow of a neighbouring planter. Then I heard my uncle say:

“Not lying down, Lill? All right again? Glad of it! Well, this is a cousin for you, and I hope you will be good friends.”

I hardly know what I did or said just then; for timidly coming forward out of the shade, I saw the fair vision of the morning, but now deadly pale—the maiden whom a couple of hours before I had rescued from so horrible a death. She was dressed in a simple muslin, and her long fair hair, yet clammy and damp, was tied with a piece of blue ribbon, and hung down her shoulders. It was the same sweet English face that might be seen in many a country home far away in our northern islands; but out there, in that tropic land, with its grand scenery and majestic vegetation, she seemed to me, in spite of her pallor, to be fairy-like and ethereal; and for a while, as I thought of the events of a short time before—events in which she was unconscious that I had played a somewhat important part—I was blundering and awkward, and unable to say more than a few of the commonest words of greeting.

I have no doubt that they all thought me an awkward clumsy oaf, and I must have looked it; but I was suddenly brought to myself by my uncle’s voice and the sight of a pair of eyes.

“Harry,” said my uncle, performing the ceremony of introduction, “Mr—(I beg his pardon) Don—Don Pablo Garcia, a neighbour of mine—the gentleman who just saved Lilla’s life. Garcia, my nephew—my sister’s son—from old England.”

Instinctively I held out my hand, and the next moment it was clasping something cold and damp and fishlike. A few words in English passed, but they were muttered mechanically, and for a few moments, each apparently unable to withdraw his hand, we two stood looking in each other’s eyes, my expression—if it was a true index of my heart—being that of wonder and distrust; for I seemed again, for the first time in my life, to be undergoing a new series of sensations. I knew in that instant of time that I was gazing into the eyes of a deadly enemy—of a man who, for self-glorification, had arrogated to himself the honour of having saved Lilla’s life, probably under the impression that we, being strangers, were bound down the river, and would never again turn up to contradict him. What he had said, how much he had taken upon himself, or how much had been laid upon him through the lying adulations of his Indian servants, I do not know; but I was conscious of an intense look of hatred and dislike—one that was returned by a glance of contempt which made his teeth slightly grate together, though he tried to conceal all by a snake-like smile as he recovered himself, and, seeking a way out of his difficulty, exclaimed:

“The seÑor and I have met before: he helped me to save our woodland flower from the river.”

“Indeed! my dear Harry!” exclaimed my uncle, catching my disengaged hand in his, while by an effort I dragged the other away from Garcia’s cold clutch, his eyes fixing mine the while, and seeming to say, “Be careful, or I’ll have your life!”—mine, if they could speak a language that he could interpret, plainly saying, “You cowardly hound, you left her to perish!”

“It was nothing on my part, Uncle,” I said quietly. “Nothing but what any fellow from the old country would have done.”

The next moment Mrs Landell, my new aunt, had thrown her arms round my neck. Formality of greeting was at an end, and, with tears in her eyes, she thanked me and welcomed me to the hacienda.

I was longing for the scene to be at an end, for I was growing troubled and confused, when once more the tell-tale blood swept into my face, as I blushed like a great girl; for Lilla came up, and with the colour mantling, too, in her pale cheeks, thanked me for what I had done.

It was some few minutes before I was sufficiently cool and collected to have a good look at Garcia, when I found him to be a tall, well-shaped, and swarthy young fellow, about five years my senior. He was handsome, but there was a sinister look about his dark eyes, and, in spite of his effeminacy, his lithe limbs betokened great strength. An instinctive feeling of dislike, though, kept growing upon me, although there was a pleasant smile, and a display of regular white teeth, which he turned upon me every time he encountered my eyes, as he lounged about smoking a cigar, whose fragrance betokened its origin. He was easy of mien, well-dressed, and evidently at home there; while by contrast I was shabby, travel-stained, and awkward.

I disliked him at first, because I knew him to be a cur and a liar; but soon—ay, before ten minutes had elapsed— I knew why my instinctive dislike was increasing every moment we were together. I learned why we were to be enemies to the end; for after smoking some time in silence, listening the while with smiling face to my uncle’s questions concerning home—questions which I answered clumsily, growing each moment more put out and annoyed; for it seemed to me that Garcia’s smiles were pitying, and that he was comparing his grace with my awkwardness—he rose, crossed over to Lilla, who was seated, took her hand in his as if it belonged to him of right, raised it to his lips, and then, with a smiling farewell to all present, he whispered a few words to my cousin, gave me—his lips smiling the while—a sharp meaning look from between his half-closed eyelids, and then his figure darkened for an instant the sunshine streaming in at the door, and he was gone.

Chapter Thirteen.

All is not Gold that Glitters.

“Well, lad,” said my uncle, when, refreshed by a pleasant bath and a glass or two of goodly wine with the meal spread for me, I sat with him in the shaded room, my aunt—a pleasant, comely, Englishwoman—seated with her daughter, working by one of the open windows—“well, lad, people don’t come a four or five thousand miles’ journey on purpose to pay visits. What have you got in your eye?”

“Frankly, Uncle,” I said, “I don’t know. I could not rest at home, and felt that I must go abroad; and now I must say that I am glad of my resolution.”

I thought at first, as I was speaking, of the beautiful scenery, but in the latter part of my speech I was looking towards Lilla, and for a moment our eyes met.

My uncle shook his head as I finished speaking.

“Soap-boiling isn’t a pleasant trade, Harry,” he said; “but as the old saying goes, ‘Dirty work brings clean money.’ There’s always been a comfortable home for you, hasn’t there?”

“Yes, Uncle,” I said impatiently.

“And plenty to eat, and drink, and wear?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“And your father kept you at good schools till you were seventeen or eighteen?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Then—it’s plain speaking, but I must give it to you, Harry—you were a young fool to leave it all. You were like the dog with the shadow, you’ve dropped a good mouthful of meat to grasp at nothing. You’d have done better sticking to the soap.”

“I couldn’t, Uncle,” I exclaimed.

“Ah! that’s what all you young donkeys say. Only to think of it—throwing up the chance of a good, sure trade!”

“But, my dear uncle, I was so unsuited for it, though I am ready enough to work. If you can give me employment, pray do so, for do not think I have come to be a burden to you.”

“My dear boy,” he said gravely, “I don’t think anything of the sort. You are welcome here; and we owe you, it seems, the life of our dear child, though what your share was in saving her I don’t know. Don’t think, though, that we are not glad to see you. There,” he said, laughing, “there’s your aunt ready again to throw her arms around your neck, you see.”

Mrs Landell had dropped her work and crossed over to lay her hand upon my shoulder, while there was a tear—one bright, gem-like tear of gratitude—sparkling in Lilla’s eye as she looked up timidly from her work, and that stupid young heart of mine gave a tremendous thump against my chest.

There was a pause then for a few minutes, when, in a thick, husky voice, I once more tried to speak.

“I’m sure,” I said, “your welcome is warmer than I deserve; and indeed, Uncle, I wish to be no burden to you. If you would rather not employ me, say so frankly; but perhaps you might, all the same, put me in the way of getting on as you have done.”

“As I have done!” he said laughing. “I see, my dear boy, you look at things with just the same eyes that I did when I came over years ago. It’s a lovely country, isn’t it, Harry?”

“Glorious!” I cried excitedly.

“Yes,” he said sadly; “glorious as the gilded frame of a mirror, all lustre and brightness, while underneath it is composition, and wood, and ill-smelling glue. Why, my dear boy, I am only living from hand to mouth. This looks, of course, all very bright and beautiful to you, and a wonderful contrast to hazy, foggy, cold old England—Heaven bless it! But fire-flies, and humming-birds, and golden sunshine, and gaily-painted blossoms are not victuals and drink, Harry; and, besides, when you set to and earn your victuals and drink, you don’t know but what they will all be taken away from you. We’ve no laws here, my lad, worth a rush. We’re a patriotic people here, with a great love of our country—we Spanish, half-bred republican heroes,” he said bitterly, “and we love that country so well, Harry, that we are always murdering and enriching it with the blood of its best men. It might be a glorious place, but man curses it, and we are always having republican struggles, and bloodshed, and misery. We are continually having new presidents, here, my lad; and after being ruined three times, burned out twice, and saving my life by the skin of my teeth, the bright flowers and great green leaves seem to be powdered with ashes, and I’d gladly, any day, change this beautiful place, with its rich plantations, for fifty acres of land in one of the shires at home.”

“But don’t you take rather a gloomy view of it all, Uncle?” I said, as I looked at him curiously.

But to my great discomfiture he burst out laughing, for he had read my thoughts exactly.

“My liver is as sound as yours, Harry, my boy,” he said; “and I don’t believe that there’s a heartier man within fifty miles. No, my lad, I’m not jaundiced. There’s no real prosperity here. The people are a lazy, loafing set, and never happy but when they are in hot water. There’s the old, proud hidalgo blood mixed up in their veins; they are too grand to work—too lazy to wash themselves. There isn’t a decent fellow in the neighbourhood, except one, and his name is Garcia—eh, Lill?” he said, laughing.

Lilla’s face crimsoned as she bent over her work, while a few minutes after she rose and whispered to Mrs Landell.

“You must excuse me, Harry,” said my aunt, rising. “Lilla is unwell; the shock has been too much for her.”

The next moment I was alone with my uncle, who proceeded in the same bitter strain:

“Yes, my lad, commerce is all nohow here—everything’s sluggish, and I cannot see how matters are to mend. I’m glad to see you—heartily glad you have come. Stay with us a few months if you are determined upon a colonial life; see all you can of the country and judge for yourself; but Heaven forbid that I should counsel my sister’s child to settle in such a revolutionary place!”

I was not long in finding out the truth of my uncle’s words. The place was volcanic, and earthquakes of no uncommon occurrence; but Nature in the soil was not one half as bad as Nature in the human race—Spanish half-blood and Indian—with which she had peopled the region, for they were, to a man, stuffed with explosive material, which the spark of some speaker’s language was always liable to explode.

But I was delighted with the climate, in spite of the heat; and during the calm, cool evenings, when the moon was glancing through the trees, bright, pure, and silvery, again and again I thought of how happy I could be there but for one thing.

That one thing was not the nature of the people nor their revolutionary outbursts, for I may as well own that commerce or property had little hold upon my thoughts until I found how necessary the latter was for my success. My sole thought in those early days, and the one thing that troubled me, was the constant presence of my uncle’s wealthy neighbour, Pablo Garcia.

It was plain enough that he had been for months past a visitor, and that he had been looked upon as a suitor for Lilla’s hand; but I could not discover whether she favoured him or no, for after meeting him a few times his very presence, with his calm, supercilious treatment of one whom he evidently hated from the bottom of his soul, was so galling to me, that upon his appearance I used to go out and ramble away for hours together, seeking the wilder wooded parts, and the precipitous spurs of the mountains, climbing higher and higher, till more than once in some lonely spot I came upon some trace of a bygone civilisation—ruined temple, or palace of grand proportions, but now overthrown and crumbling into dust, with the dense vegetation of the region springing up around, and in many places so covering it that it was only by accident that I discovered, in the darkened twilight of the leafy shade, column or mouldering wall, and then sat down to wonder and try and think out of the histories of the past who were the people that had left these traces of a former grandeur, and then over some carven stone light would spring to my understanding—a light that brought with it a thrill of hope. Then I would return, as night threatened to hide the track, back to my uncle’s, to be treated coldly, as I thought, by Lilla, while more than once it seemed that my uncle gazed upon me in a troubled way.

Chapter Fourteen.

Tom speaks his Mind.

A couple of months soon glided away—a time of mingled misery and pleasure. At one time I was light-hearted and happy, at another low-spirited and depressed; for I could not see that there was the slightest prospect of my hopes ever bearing fruit. I was growing nervous, too, about Garcia; not that I feared him, but his manner now betokened that he bore me ill-will of the most intense character.

As for Lilla, the longer I was at the hacienda the more plain it became that she feared him, shuddering at times when he approached—tokens of dislike that made his eyes flash, and for which it was very evident that he blamed me.

But his blame was unjust; he had credited me with having made known the cowardly part he had played on the river; but though my uncle and aunt were ignorant of it, the news reached Lilla’s ears, the medium being Tom Bulk.

Tom had settled down very comfortably at the hacienda, taking to smoking and hanging about the plantation sheds, and doing a little here or there as it pleased him, but none the less working very hard; and many a time I had come across him glistening with perspiration as he tugged at some heavy bag with all an Englishman’s energy when all around were sluggishly looking on. He studiously avoided the woods, though, save when he saw me off upon a ramble; and it was one day when I was standing by Lilla’s side at an open window, previous to taking a long walk, that our attention was taken up by high words in the yard close at hand.

That Tom was one of the actors was plain enough, for his words came loud, clear, and angry to where we stood; and it was evident that he was taking the part of one of the Indian girls, who was weeping, probably from blows inflicted by one of her countrymen, whose gallantry is not proverbial.

“You red varmint,” cried Tom fiercely, “I’ll let you know what’s what! We don’t strike women in our country—no, not even if they hit us.”

Interested as I was, the recollection of a sharp slap I had heard at home would come to my memory.

“And I tell you what, if you touch her again I’ll make that face of yours a prettier colour than it is now.”

“Pray go and tell my father,” whispered Lilla anxiously. “Quarrels here are very serious sometimes, and end in loss of life.”

Crack! There was the sound of a blow followed by a woman’s shriek of pain.

“Why, you cowardly hound!” I heard Tom shout. “You dare hit her, then—you who sneaked off along with your grand Spanish Don when the boat was upset, and left young miss to drown! You’re a brave one, you are, and then you all go and take the credit, when it was my Mas’r Harry who saved her. Take that, you beggar, and that—and that!”

Tom’s words were accompanied by the sounds of heavy blows; and on leaping out of the window I came upon him, squaring away, and delivering no meanly-planted blows upon the chests and faces of a couple of Indians, while a woman crouched, trembling and weeping, and writhing with pain, upon the ground.

“That’s a settler for you anyhow!” said Tom, as he sent one of his adversaries staggering back for a few yards, to fall heavily, when the other retreated, but only for both to out with a knife each, and again come forward to the attack.

But my appearance upon the scene stayed them, and they slunk scowling away.

“I’ll knock the wind out of some on ’em, Mas’r Harry, spite of their knives,” cried Tom excitedly. “I’ll let ’em know how an Englishman serves them that knocks women about. Hit her with a great thick stick, he did—cuss him! I’ll let him know!”

“Be quiet, Tom! Are you mad?” I said, catching him by the collar, for he was squaring away at the Indians, who were a couple of dozen yards away.

“What did he go knocking her about for? Yah! Mas’r Harry, they’re a rotten lot out here, and the country’s a thousand times too good for them!”

By degrees I got Tom cooled down, and into the house, and on returning I found Lilla standing watching for me at the window, but only to gaze at me with a strange, troubled look, half pain, half pleasure, and before I could speak she had fled.

But an hour had not passed before I came upon her again, speaking anxiously to Tom. They did not see me approach, and as I was close up I was just in time to hear Tom exclaim:

“But he did, Miss, and stuck to you when all the rest had got ashore—the Don and all.”

Lilla gave a faint shriek as I spoke; and then darting at me a look of reproach, she hurried away, leaving me excited and troubled; for she had learned a secret that I had intended should not come to her ears.

“How dare you go chattering about like that?” I cried fiercely to Tom, for I was anxious to have some one to blame.

“Don’t care, Mas’r Harry,” he said sulkily. “Miss Lilla asked me, and I never told her only the truth. They are a cowardly set of hounds, the whole lot of ’em; and I’ll take any couple of ’em, one down and t’other come on, with a hand tied behind me.”

“We shall have to go, Tom,” I said bitterly. “What with your brawls and the mischief you have made, this will be no place for us.”

I spoke with gloomy forebodings in my mind, for I could not but think that trouble was to be our lot. Poor and without prospects, and with a rich and favoured rival, what was I to hope for? Indeed I felt ready to despair.

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom penitently, “’tain’t so bad as that, is it?”

“Bad! Yes, Tom,” I said gloomily, and I turned and left him.

It was a day or two after. I had only seen Lilla at meals, to find her shy and distraite. She hardly seemed to notice me, but I had the satisfaction of seeing that Garcia fared no better.

But he smiled pleasantly, evidently to conceal the rage that burned within him, and more than once there was a hateful glare in his eye that evidently boded no good to those who crossed his path; and it seemed as if I had not only crossed his path, but now stood right in his way.

We had just finished the mid-day meal. Garcia had been with us, and on Lilla rising he had followed her to the door; but she had turned from him with a look of contempt, when, white with passion, he had been unable to control himself, but dashed out of the place, muttering fiercely.

My uncle had seen all, and his countenance lowered, but for a while he did not speak. He walked to a closet, took out a cigar, and sat smoking till Mrs Landell had left the room, when, beckoning me to him, he pointed to a chair, and then, as soon as I was seated, he gave utterance to what was in his mind.

“Harry, my lad,” he said, “I am a plain, straightforward fellow, and I like frankness. I’m going now to speak very plainly to you, for I’m not blind. You’ve taken a fancy to little Lill.”

I rose, holding by the back of my chair, blushed, blundered, and then stood without a word.

“I see I am right,” he said coolly. “But look here, Hal. I can’t call to mind a single dishonourable act committed by a member of either of the families from which you sprang. Now listen to me: have you ever said a word—you know what I mean—to Lilla?”

“Oh, no, Uncle!” I exclaimed warmly.

“Quite right, my lad—quite right, for it would not do. You see, Hal, she has money in her own right, and you are not worth twopence. The girl is in my care. I hold her from her relations, as it were, in trust; and it seems to me that it would be like taking advantage of my position if I encouraged anything between her and a poor relative of my own. You’ll have to go away, Harry, unless you can make me a promise, and keep to it.”

“What am I to promise?” I said gloomily; for he had ceased speaking; and I began to realise what going away meant. “What am I to promise?” I said again.

“Promise me, as a man of honour, that you will not in any way take advantage of your position here.”

“Is it likely,” I said bitterly, “when I am not worth twopence, and there is some one else in the field?”

“Don’t be spiteful, lad, because things don’t go as you wish. We all have to bear crosses in our time. But, as you say, there’s some one else in the field. Garcia is an old lover, and I am under obligations to him. You must not in any way cross his path, Hal, for he is rich, and possesses a good deal of power over the Indians about here. I should say, Hal, that in this lawless country that man’s life would not be safe who stood between him and his wishes. Don’t offend him, Hal—don’t offend him, Hal. He’s a good fellow, but, like all those half-bloods, very susceptible.”

“I’ll promise you anything you like,” I said gloomily, “but don’t send me away. Let me stay and do something so as not to be an encumbrance to you, but don’t send me away.”

“No one wants to send you away, Hal,” said my uncle kindly. “Look about you and see the country; shoot and fish a little, too. I need not say, beware of the caymen—the river swarms with them. See all you can of the place, and then you’ll have to try somewhere else. Texas or one of the States—those are the places for a young fellow like you.”

I sighed to myself, for it seemed to me now that there was no place on earth bearable but the one where Lilla dwelt; and then, clapping me on the shoulder, my uncle rose and went out.

I followed him at the end of a few minutes; and, so as to be alone, I wandered away from the house and heedlessly took one of the paths that led down to the river bank.

Chapter Fifteen.

Under Fascination.

It was very hot, but I did not notice it as I walked slowly and thoughtfully on. The sun was kept from beating down upon me by the dense foliage, but there was a steamy heat arising that at another time I should have felt oppressive. The country was so completely in a state of nature all around that half a mile from the hacienda one almost seemed to be traversing places where the foot of man had never trod. But nothing seemed then to take my attention, for I was forcing myself to remember that I was to think no more about Lilla; and at last I had worked myself round to believe that I should respect the promise given to my uncle, while I devoted myself to a project that had fixed itself in my mind—a project full of romance and imagination, one that might make me wealthy—in a position wherein I could laugh at Garcia’s pretensions and boldly ask my uncle’s consent, for I was hopeful of obtaining Lilla’s. I was poor now, but need not remain so. Suppose by one grand stroke I could possess myself of the riches of a prince—how then?

The thought of it all was so exciting that I strode on, rapt in the golden vision, till reason pointed out two obstacles: I might not succeed; and even if I did succeed, I might be too late and find that Garcia had won the prize we both had coveted.

“I’ll try, though,” I muttered.

And then I laughed bitterly as I thought of my uncle’s warning. I was not afraid of Garcia, for he was at heart, I knew, a coward; but until I was in a position to come forward I felt sadly that my duty was to avoid Lilla—to leave all to the future; for, with the chances of failure so strongly opposed to me, it would not have been fair to have asked her to wait for what might never come to pass; and then, with the recollection of my beggarly position taunting me, I told myself bitterly that I might as well go back home and turn soap-boiler, and not stay out there indulging in golden dreams.

It was a scene almost of enchantment where I stood musing, but the beauties around had no charms for me. I was too much engrossed with the thoughts of old readings respecting the region in which I then was. I was recalling its history and the assertions of old writers respecting its wealth in gems and the precious metals. I did not see that now and then a timid deer had gazed at me for a moment and then bounded away through the brake; neither that again and again a deadly cascabel had glided, worm-like, almost from beneath my feet, uttering a low, ominous hiss as it wriggled away through the tall grass. Gorgeously-painted butterflies, grand in size, fluttered before me, to settle here and there upon some blossom bright as themselves, and then flit away again through the shadowy, golden-rayed forest arcades. Gem-like humming-birds darted here and there, while hardly less bright parroquets of many a hue shrieked, whistled, and climbed in restless fashion around. Once there was a heavy, scuffling noise, and a small alligator dashed away towards a creek; but I could see nothing but gold—gold that should make me rich and win for me Lilla’s love—a love that I dared to hope was mine already, even though I was but a beggarly adventurer.

Gold—always gold—everything was gilded; and through the golden haze that seemed to glow around me I saw a golden future of brightness, and happiness, and love. I grew more and more excited with the thoughts that pressed upon me, and at last, with a sensation of triumph, I exclaimed aloud:

“History shall be my divining-rod and the earth shall yield up her treasures! I shall not be the first adventurer to the golden mines who has brought home treasures; only that, if I win, I shall also gain a treasure greater far than those of old, for Lilla will also be my prize.”

This was the kind of mental stilt-talking I indulged in that day, seeing only the golden side. No doubt it seems very romantic and silly to the reader; but I have known young men, taken badly with that distemper called first love, just as romantic and excitable. In fact, many of us as we grow older recall our sensations, acts, and deeds, felt and performed during that strange delirium, with something like a smile upon our lips, though at the time every reader will agree with me I was somewhat of a goose.

I was romantic enough, and could only see the golden side; but there was a future before me such as I could not dream of—a reverse, terrible, thrilling, and enough, could I have penetrated the unknown, to have made me turn shuddering away, daring not, for the sake of others, to prosecute searches whose results would have been too terrible to contemplate.

Rousing myself from my reverie, with my mind fully made up as to my future proceedings, I looked round, to find that I was but a very short distance from the hacienda, in a beautiful part of the forest that my uncle had as yet spared, but which he talked of, before long, clearing and adding to the plantation which it bounded.

I walked on for a dozen yards, parting the undergrowth as I went, walking cautiously now, for I had suddenly awakened to the fact that there might be danger in every bush or tuft of luxuriant, reedy grass; but there was, I knew, a beaten track a little farther on which led to the plantation, through which I meant to return.

And then, fifty yards through the dense vegetation, I came upon a creek—a mere ditch—leading to the river, half full of marshy growth, when, walking back a few yards for impetus, I ran from the bank, and was in the act of leaping the creek when every nerve seemed to thrill with a horrible sense of chilling dread, as beneath my feet there was a rushing rustling noise, mingled with the splashing of mud and water, the reedy grass bent and waved in different directions, and, though invisible to me, it was evident that some hideous beast—reptile, or whether serpent or cayman I could not tell—was retreating towards the river, perhaps only to turn upon me the next moment.

The danger was not visible; but unseen perils are sometimes more dreadful than those we meet face to face, when the imagination does not magnify the horror.

At any rate, with my heart beating heavily I alighted amongst the grass on the other side, dashed on, and a few minutes after was in the track, down which I turned, but only to stop spell-bound the next minute, as I reached a flowery opening across which lay the decaying huge trunk of a large fallen tree.

The place was a dense thicket all around of bright-hued blossoms, with their attendant train of bird and gorgeous insect. Huge trees threw their sheltering arms across, to break up the sun’s rays into golden showers, which flecked and danced upon every verdant spot; but the great beauty of the scene which held me there was the sight of Lilla seated upon the fallen trunk, her little straw hat hanging from one muslin-covered arm by the knotted strings, and a little basket filled to overflowing with bright-hued flowers fallen at her feet.

I could not move nor speak for a few minutes, and then I was hesitating as to what I should do: avoid every meeting such as this out of respect to my promise, or warn her that but a short distance back I had come upon some hidden danger.

“She will laugh at me,” I thought. “She is so used to hear of the forest inhabitants; and besides, after all, I did not see anything; it may only have been some timid animal escaping. I will go back another way.”

In spite of myself a sigh escaped me as I gazed at the graceful form; and then, as I leaned forward it seemed to me that her attitude was unnatural and strained—that she was gazing intently upwards, as if at something a short distance above her head. I took a step forward—another and another, but she did not move; when, following the direction of her gaze, I found her eyes were fixed with a strange fascination at the great bough above her—a huge gnarled and knotted bough, with here and there a tuft of foliage upon it, while its great thick bark was tinted and shady with rich brown and umber mosses, and—

“Good heavens!” I ejaculated, and then I was speechless. A sense of horror was constricting my heart. I was, as it were, fixed to the ground where I stood, hardly able to breathe, for as I had gazed at the rich marking on the great knotted limb a strange shuddering vibration had passed through it—it was in motion for many feet along its thickest part, and the umber markings glistened; for they were upon the scaly skin of a huge serpent, lying in many a fold and convolution upon the mighty bough.

What did it mean—what was going to happen?

I could not tell; but a deadly sickness came over me—a cold clammy perspiration bedewed my limbs. I could only see as through a mist, but plainly enough I could make out that fold was gliding over fold in a horrible lacing and enlacing of gigantic knots, till slowly the reptile’s head was thrust forward, with a gentle waving motion, rising from amidst a tuft of leaves; and then, as the gliding of the folds continued, the head descended in a slow, waving, swinging fashion, foot after foot nearer and nearer to Lilla, a forked tongue flashing and playing about the frightful jaws, and the hideous eyes fascinating the poor girl, so that I saw her gradually moving towards it.

Slowly, and ever rising and falling, the huge serpent’s head was lowered foot after foot of its vast length while fold after fold was gliding over the bough, and all this while I stood fixed to the earth as in the nightmare of a horrible dream.

Chapter Sixteen.

What followed the Escape.

I said at the end of the last chapter that it was like being in the nightmare of some horrible dream. I repeat that assertion; for as I recall my sensations I see again the horrible swaying head playing gently up and down, nearer and nearer, the sun glistening on the burnished coils, while others were hidden, to have their presence revealed by the quivering of twig and trembling of leaf, as they passed fold over fold, the monstrous reptile playing, as it were, with its victim, and approaching in a slow leisurely manner; but it was with the sense that in an instant it could fling itself upon its prey with the speed, force, and certainty of a well-cast lasso. It was the play of the cat tribe with prey; for I knew the mighty strength and elasticity of the coils—how they could dart, plunge, and then be rolled one upon the other round a helpless body in a hideous knot—how the knot would tighten till bones cracked and splintered, and the victim was reduced to a shapeless mass, ready to receive the horrible saliva of the monster previous to deglutition.

I could only stand with tottering knees, parted lips, staring eyes, and painfully drawn breath, longing to engage in the unequal fight, or to, at least, make some noise to divert the horrible beast; but my mouth and throat were dry—I could not utter a sound. I was numbed in body, but the mental anguish was fearful, for all activity seemed to have fled to the seat of thought and in imagination I saw all that was to follow.

And all this time—a time whose duration seemed to me hours—Lilla did not move. At first, while being drawn under the loathsome reptile’s fascination, she had gradually leaned towards it, till, fixed of eye, she had stopped perfectly motionless, as inch after inch her intended murderer approached.

I would gladly have closed my eyes, but I could not, any more than I could afford help. And now, unwilling witness that I was, I saw that the moment of extreme horror was approaching, for the serpent had drawn its folds on to a portion of the branch free from foliage; the coils were bent as if ready for a spring, the head was drawn back, the jaws distended; and at last I gave utterance to a hoarse cry and sprang forward, the spell that had held me was broken, and the next instant Lilla was in my arms, just as I heard a rustle; then there was a rush, and I was dashed violently to the ground.

But there were no coils round either of us, lashing us in a horrible embrace—no fangs were fixed in my shoulder; but lashing, darting, and whipping itself, as it were, in every direction, beating down tall grass and bushy growth, its horrible eyes flashing with pain and rage, the serpent was close at hand, while the next instant its coils were wrapt round a large jaguar, whose teeth and claws were fixed in the thickest part of the reptile, the creature holding on with all its might, at the same time that, cat-like in its every act, it tore and ripped away at its enemy’s body with the great talons of its hinder paws.

There was a fierce, savage, worrying growl, the snapping and rustling of tree and shrub, the lashing about of the serpent’s body, as, now coiled round its assailant, now forced by agony to unwind, the two terrors of the South American forest continued their struggle. Now they were half-hidden by the undergrowth, whose disturbance only showed the changes in the savage warfare; now they struggled into sight, and it was very evident that the serpent was being worsted in the encounter, the jaguar having in the first strokes of its powerfully-armed hind paws inflicted terrible wounds, which incapacitated the reptile from using its potent weapon—the crushing power of its folds.

For a few minutes I could hardly believe in our escape from so horrible a peril; but, so far, we were undoubtedly safe, the tide of war now beginning, indeed, to roll away, it being evident that the jaguar was thoroughly worsting its enemy. At last I saw the huge tail of the serpent rise above the long grass, to vibrate and quiver in the air, twisting as if the horrible beast were in extreme agony; then it disappeared, and I prepared to try and bear Lilla away, for it was plain that the long-continued struggle was bringing the combatants back towards where we crouched.

But they only came near enough for me to catch, amidst the rapid evolutions, two or three glimpses of the jaguar’s glistening, spotted coat, as he clung, still apparently unharmed, to his long lithe adversary, whose head was darting here, there, everywhere, in search of an avenue for escape. Then, again, came a series of writhing contortions, as the serpent twined itself in its agony round the quadruped; and over and over, with the foliage crackling and snapping, they rolled, but ever now farther and farther away, till it was with a feeling of extreme thankfulness that I knelt there, holding the fainting girl in my arms, gazing eagerly in her pale face, and thinking of the fearful fate she had escaped.

Her eyes unclosed the next moment, to gaze in mine with a wild horrified aspect, till, awaking fully to the fact that she was saved, she flung her arms tightly round my neck, clinging to me, and then buried her face, sobbing vehemently, in my bosom.

Lilla had just raised her blushing face to mine, as she tried now, feebly, to free herself from my protecting arms; and then I started angrily up, for from close behind came the words:

“Say, Mas’r Harry, is that there the custom of the country?”

“You impertinent dog, how dare you?” I exclaimed angrily. “What do you mean by spying there, and then asking such a question?”

“Only wanted to know, Mas’r Harry; because if it is the custom it’s all right; if it ain’t the custom it’s all wrong, and Master Landell and the Don, who are close behind, might think it queer.”

“We’ve just had a narrow escape from a most horrible death, Tom,” I exclaimed hastily. “Thank you for your warning.”

The next moment voices were audible. There was the rustling of the foliage, and as Lilla stood pale and leaning heavily upon my arm, my uncle and Garcia came hastily into sight.

Chapter Eighteen.

Golden Dreams.

I saw Lilla but once alone, and then the encounter was not of my seeking. She came up to me, though, with a sweet, sad expression in her face and a trusting look in her eyes that made my heart bound, as she laid her hands in mine and thanked me for what she called my gallantry; and I was so taken up by her words that I hardly noticed the scowl Garcia gave as he came in. In fact, just then my heart felt so large that in my joy I could have shaken hands with him so warmly that I should have made the bones of that fishy fin of his crack again.

But there was no handshaking: Garcia walking to the window and lighting a cigar, while Lilla hurried from the room, as was now her custom when Garcia came.

The first flush of joy passed and I was alone with the half-breed, to feel how impossible any friendly feeling was between us; and seeing that he was disposed to do nothing but stare at me in a half-sneering, half-scowling fashion, I strolled out, paying no heed to the burning sun as I made for the woods, where the trees screened me; and then on and on I went, mile after mile, through the hot steamy twilight, amidst giants of vegetation hoary with moss. Beast or reptile, harmless or noxious, troubled me little now, for I was in pursuit of the golden idol of my thoughts, winning it from its concealment, and then, with everything around gilded by its lustre, living in a future that was all happiness and joy.

But I was not always dreaming. At times I searched eagerly in places that I thought likely to be the homes of buried Peruvian treasure; without avail, though, for I had no guide—nothing but tradition and the misty phantoms of bygone readings.

To the people at the hacienda my wanderings must have seemed absurd, for though I took my gun I never brought anything back. This day game was in abundance, but I did not heed it—only wandered on till I came to a rugged part of the forest far up the mountain-side, and seated myself on a lump of moss-grown rock in a gloomy, shady spot, tired and discouraged by the thought that I was pursuing a phantom.

What should I do, then? I asked myself. Go, as my uncle advised, to Texas? That meant separation; and yet I knew that I could not stay, and, in spite of all my golden hopes, the future looked very black to me. I kept putting it off, but it would come. I must look the difficulty in the face—the end must arrive; and I laughed bitterly as I thought of my prospect—even if such treasures as I had heard of did exist—of finding either of them in the vast wilds spread for hundreds of miles around.

My meditations were interrupted by the sharp crackle made by a dry twig trampled upon by a foot; there was a rustling noise close behind me, and as I turned I became aware of a face peering out at me from a dense bank of creepers, as a voice whispered:

“Is your gun loaded, Mas’r Harry?”

“You here, Tom!” I exclaimed.

“Course I am!” said Tom indignantly. “What else did I come out here for if it wasn’t to take care of you? And a nice game you’re carrying on—playing bo-peep with a fellow! Here you are one minute, and I says to myself, ‘He won’t go out this morning.’ Next moment I look round, and you’re gone! But this here sort of thing won’t do, sir! If you’re going on like this I shall give notice to leave, or else I shall never get back alive.”

“Why not?” I said, laughing at his anxious face.

“’Cause of these here rambling ways of yours, sir.”

“And if I take care, pray what danger is there in them, Tom?”

“Care—care!” echoed Tom. “Why, that’s what you don’t take, sir. I’m ‘Care,’ and you leave me at home. You don’t say, ‘Come and look after me, Tom,’ but go on trusting to yourself, while all the time you’re like some one in a dream.”

“But what is there to be afraid of, Tom?”

“Sarpints, sir!”

“Pooh, Tom! We can shoot them, eh?—even if they are a hundred feet long! Well, what else?”

Tom grinned before he spoke.

“Jaggers, sir!”

“Seldom out except of a night, Tom.”

“Fevers, sir!”

“Only in the low river-side parts, Tom. We’re hundreds of feet above the river here.”

“Snakes in the grass, sir!”

“Pooh, Tom! They always glide off when they hear one coming.”

“Not my sort, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom in an anxious whisper. “They’re a dangerous sort, with a kind of captain, and he’s a half-breed. If you will have it, and won’t listen to reason, you must. Mas’r Harry, there’s snakes in the grass—Indian-looking chaps who watch your every step, sir. You haven’t thought it; but I’ve always been on the look-out, and as they’ve watched you, I’ve watched them. But they got behind me to-day, Mas’r Harry, and saw me; and I don’t know what to think—whether Muster Garcia has sent ’em, or whether they think you are looking for anything of theirs. You don’t think it, Mas’r Harry, but at this very minute they’re busy at work watching us.”

I started slightly at one of his remarks, but passed it off lightly.

“Pooh, Tom!” I said. “Who’s dreaming now?”

“Not me, Mas’r Harry. I was never so wide awake in my life. I tell you, sir, I’ve seen you poking and stirring up amongst the sticks and stones in all sorts of places, just as if you was looking for some old woman’s buried crock of crooked sixpences; and as soon as you’ve been gone these Indian chaps have come and looked, and stroked all the leaves and moss straight again. You’re after something, Mas’r Harry, and they’re after something; but I can’t quite see through any of you yet. Wants a good, stout, double-wicked six held the other side, and then I could read you both like a book.”

“Nonsense, Tom—nonsense!” I cried; though I felt troubled, and a vague sense of uneasiness seemed to come over me.

“P’r’aps it is nonsense, Mas’r Harry—perhaps it ain’t. But this here ain’t Old England; so don’t you get thinking as there’s a policeman round every corner to come and help you, because there ain’t, no more than there’s a public-house round the corner to get half a pint when a fellow’s tongue’s dried up to his roof. So now let’s understand one another, Mas’r Harry. You’ve got to keep close up to the house.”

“Nonsense!” I exclaimed. “What good would that do? Look here, Tom, my good fellow: I know you are faithful and true-hearted, but you have been following me about till you have found a mare’s nest and seen an enemy in every Indian. You must learn to keep your place, Tom, and not to interfere.”

Tom did not answer—he only looked sulky. Then, spitting in his hands, he rubbed them together, crawled out of the bush, stood up, let his gun fall into the hollow of his arm, and then thrusting his hands into his pockets, stood looking at me, as if prepared for the worst.

“Going any farther, Mas’r Harry?” he said as I rose.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m going up this gorge.”

Then with Tom closely following, I climbed on till we were in a vast rift, whose sides were one mass of beautiful verdure spangled with bright blossoms. High overhead, towering up and up, were the mountains, whose snow-capped summits glistened and flashed in the sun, while the ridges and ravines were either glittering and gorgeous or shadowy and of a deep, rich purple, fading into the blackness of night.

I stopped gazing around at the platform above platform of rock rising above me, and thought of what a magnificent site one of the flat table-lands would make for a town, little thinking that once a rich city had flourished there. Even Tom seemed attracted by the beauty of the scene, for he stood gazing about till, seeing my intent, he came close behind me again, and together, with the traveller’s love of treading the fresh and untried soil, we pressed on, climbing over loose fragments of rock, peering into the stream that bubbled musically down the bottom of the gorge, wending our way through the high growth of long tangled grass, till the gorge seemed to plunge into darkness, a huge eminence blocking the way, in whose face appeared a low, broad archway, forming the entrance to a tunnel, leading who could tell where?

Any attempt to follow another track was vain, as I soon perceived; for, as I saw, the gorge seemed to be continued beneath the archway, while right and left the rock was precipitous beyond the possibility of climbing even to the shelves, where ancient trees had securely rooted themselves in the sparse soil, to hang over and lend their gloom to the sombre scene.

But in spite of its mystery there was a something attractive in the vast cavern, from which it now became evident the little river sprang; for it ran trickling out beneath the rocks we clambered over, till we stood gazing in towards the shadowy depth, listening to strange echoes of a murmuring rising and falling sound that dominated all the faint whispers that escaped, as it were, from time to time to the light of day.

“What do you think of this, Tom?” I said, after vainly trying to see the cavern’s extent.

“Think, Mas’r Harry? Why, it looks to me like the front door to Bogyland. But do let’s get back, sir; for I was never so hungry before in my life. I say stop, Mas’r Harry—what are you a-going to do?”

“Do! Why, go in and explore the place, to be sure, Tom,” I cried, beginning to climb the rocky barrier that barred the way into the cavern.

“No, I say, pray don’t, Mas’r Harry!” cried Tom dolefully. “I ain’t afraid in the light, when you can see what you are doing, but I can’t stand the dark, nohow. Don’t go, Mas’r Harry. Think of what your poor mother would say.”

“Hold your tongue, will you, you great calf!” I exclaimed angrily.

For an intense desire seemed to come over me to explore this dim, shadowy region. For what might we not find there treasured? It might be the ante-chamber to some rich, forgotten mine—one of the natural storehouses from which the old Peruvians had been used to extract their vast treasures. There were riches inexhaustible in the bowels of the earth, I knew, and if this were one of the gates by which they could be reached, held back from causes induced by cowardice I would not be—I had too great a prize to win.

But before I had crossed this natural barrier to the entrance, reason told me that I must have light, and provision, and strength for the undertaking; and at that time I had neither. There was nothing for it then but to listen to the voice of reason, as personified by Tom; and with a sigh I climbed back just as he was going to join me.

I saw plainly enough that it must be nightfall before we could reach home; and, getting free of the rocks, I was musing, and wondering whether, after all, I had hit upon a discovery, when Tom whispered to me, with averted head, to look to the right under the trees.

I did so, and became aware of a shadowy figure slinking off amongst the bushes, but I took little heed of it then, trudging on as fast as the nature of the ground would allow; and at last, thoroughly worn out in body, but with my imagination heated, I reached the hacienda.

That evening, when I was alone with my uncle, I mentioned my discovery, and asked him if ever the cavern had been explored.

“Never that I am aware of, Harry,” he said quietly; “and I don’t think it would profit much the explorer. I have heard of the cave; it is a sort of sanctified place amongst the Indians, who people it with ghosts and goblins, such as they know how to invent. Let me see, what do they call the place in their barbarous tongue? Ah! I remember now—Tehutlan. I had forgotten its very existence. One of the old Peruvian gods used to live there in olden times, I believe, as a sort of dragon to watch over the hidden treasures of the earth. You had better search there and bring some of them out, or catch the dragon himself; he would make your fortune as an exhibitor in New York.”

“And you think, Uncle, it has never been explored?” I said, without replying to his last remark.

“My dear boy, for goodness’ sake give up dreaming and take to reality,” he said pettishly. “Explored? Yes. I remember how they say the Spaniards explored it, and butchered a lot of the poor Peruvians there like so many sheep, but they found nothing. Don’t think about treasure-seeking, Hal—it’s a mistake; fortunes have to be made by toil and scheming, not by haphazard proceedings; but all the same I must say,” he added musingly, “they do tell of the golden ornaments and vessels of the sun-worship hidden by the poor conquered people ages ago to preserve them from their greedy conquerors. Their places are known even now, they say, having been handed down from father to son.”

“But did you ever search?” I said eagerly.

“Who? I? Pooh! Nonsense, Hal! My idea always was that gold was to be grown, not searched for; but after all, I might just as well have gone upon a harum-scarum gold-hunt as have sunk my few poor hundreds here.”

The conversation was directly changed, for Garcia came in to take his evening cigar with the family, looking the while dark and scowling; but it had little effect upon me, for my thoughts were running upon the dim, mysterious cavern, with its echoes and shadows; and the more I thought, the more it seemed possible that a natural or an artificial discovery might there be made. By artificial, I meant the finding of a buried treasure. With the old profusion of gold in the land there must have been some rich mines. Why might not this be one of them?

“Anyhow, I have nothing to lose,” I said to myself; and at last I retired to rest, excited with the thoughts of Lilla and the riches I might find—the consequence being that I lay awake half the night, forming all sorts of impossible schemes; but above all determining that, come what might, I would explore the great cavern of Tehutlan—if. If what? If I could find it again.

Chapter Nineteen.

Beginning to “burn.”

The sun was rising and sending his golden arrows darting through the thick mist which hung over the plantation, as I went out into the court-yard, to find all still and peaceful, for work had not yet commenced.

I had taken the precaution of laying in a good supply of provisions, which I carried in a wallet in company with flint and steel, matches, and several candles; for, instead of the morning light making my project seem absurd, I had grown warmer upon the subject, and come to the determination that if buried treasures had lain in the earth all these ages I might as well become the owner of one as for it to lie there another century, waiting some less scrupulous searcher.

The night had not been passed without quiet thought, and I had come to the conclusion that if so much gold had been used for the embellishment of the various temples, and that gold had been hastily torn down and hidden, it would most probably be in the vicinity of a ruined temple.

But at this present time I was red-hot for exploring the cavern, which did not fit with my common-sense argument, without it should prove that there had once existed a temple somewhere on one of the platforms at the side of the gorge, when, if that should be the case, I felt sure that I had hit upon the right place.

What, then, was my first proceeding?

Evidently to search the sides of the ravine for traces of some ancient building.

Tom’s words on the previous day had not been without effect. It was quite possible that I was watched, either by some spy of Garcia’s, or, it might be, by some suspicious Indians who had seen me searching about, perhaps, for aught I could tell, close by one of the buried treasures, of whose existence they were aware.

What a thought that was!—it sent a thrill through me, and roused me to fresh energy and determination.

Under the circumstances, and granting that I had been watched—the figure I had seen corroborating Tom’s words—it was evidently my policy to get away unseen; and to achieve this I had risen thus early, swung on my wallet, and, armed with my gun, a hunting-knife, and a long iron rod, I walked softly round the house, but only to have my nostrils saluted by the fumes of tobacco, and the next instant I was face to face with Tom Bulk, leaning against a post and smoking.

“Startin’ so soon, Mas’r Harry!” he said quietly. “I thought you’d be in good time this morning.”

Then, paying not the slightest heed to my discontented looks, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, shook himself together, and prepared to follow me.

“But I don’t want you with me, Tom,” I said.

“Dessay not, Mas’r Harry; but I’m a-coming all the same, and got my gun cleaned up ready.”

I knew it was useless to complain—for Tom had already given me one or two samples of how obstinate he could turn—so I made the best of it; and, knowing that he was as trustworthy as man could be, I trudged on with him close behind, hour after hour, till, after several wanderings wide of the wished-for spot, we hit upon a little clear, cold, babbling stream.

“I’ll bet tuppence that comes out of that big hole,” said Tom eagerly.

The same thought had occurred to me; and now, just as I had given up all hope of finding the gorge that day, here was the silver clue that should lead us straight to its entrance.

The stream led us, as we had expected, right to the mouth of the gorge—that is, to where the rocks, which had heretofore been only a gentle slope clothed with abundant vegetation, suddenly contracted, became precipitous, and broken up into patches of rich fertility and sterile grandeur.

But now these charms were displayed in vain; for the gorge being reached, I prepared to examine carefully its sides, and accordingly began to climb.

“Thought you meant the big hole, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom, gazing uneasily about, and evidently seeing an enemy in every lump of rock or trunk of tree.

“Up here, Tom, first,” I said.

He followed me sturdily, without a word, up, and up, and up, climbing over the precipitous sides, with tough root or fibrous vine lending us their aid, till, breathless, we stopped to gaze round or down into the rich ravine below.

Platform after platform I reached, and then peered about amongst the dense growth in search of some trace of masonry; but though again and again the blocks of stone wore the appearance of having been piled together, I could find nothing definite—nothing but that ever-recurring dense foliage creeping over and hiding everything, till we had panted up another hundred feet, where a much larger table-land or platform extended before us.

My heart beat painfully now; for, judging from appearances, it seemed that if ever temple had looked down upon the beautiful little vale, this must have been the spot where it was piled. The cavern was sacred to a god; there must, then, have been some temple or place of sacrifice near at hand, it seemed, and I longed to begin investigating; but only to seat myself upon a mossy block, dreading the search lest it should prove unfruitful, and so dash my golden visionary thoughts. But at length I was about to commence, when a throb of joy sent the blood coursing through my veins, for Tom said, in his dry ill-tempered way:

“Been some building going on here some time or another, Mas’r Harry.”

I started to my feet then, to find that the block I had used for my seat had once been squared for building, and on peering about, there, in every direction, amongst creeper, moss, and vine, lay fragments of some mighty temple. Some of the blocks were crumbling away; some square and fresh as if lately cut; and many of a size that was gigantic, and excited wonder as to how they could have been moved.

I was right, then. Here had once been a grand temple; and if its treasures had been hidden by the ancient priests of the place, where so likely a concealment as the mysterious cave, whose gloomy entrance I could just distinguish far-off below us? The building must once have been grand, for every step revealed new traces, with the vegetable world completing the ruin commenced by man: mosses eating away, roots forcing themselves amongst interstices, and moving with mighty force stupendous blocks from their ancient sites.

“Yes, this was the temple. I was right so far,” I exclaimed to myself. “Now, then, for the treasure! This way, Tom!” I exclaimed, turning to descend, eager now, and excited.

But the descent was steep at times, even perilous, though I heeded it not; and in less than half an hour we should have reached the stream meandering through the rugged bottom of the ravine, had not Tom, who was always on the look-out for danger, suddenly dragged me down into the shelter of a mossy boulder, and, in reply to my inquiring look, contented himself with pointing a little below us to the left, when, following the direction of his arm, it seemed to me that my secret starting that morning had been in vain. The golden treasure, if it existed, appeared about to be snatched from my grasp—my knowledge was about to be met by cunning, perhaps force. We were watched. Of that there was no doubt, and my heart sank with bitter disappointment; for there, where Tom pointed, plainly to be seen peering at us from a clump of verdure, was a pair of sharp bright eyes, their owner being carefully hidden from view.

Chapter Twenty.

In Shadowy Land.

For quite a quarter of an hour we remained motionless—the watcher and the watched—Tom and I both well armed, and involuntarily our guns were pointed at the eyes; but the position was not one which justified firing. The ravine was as free to the owner of those eyes as to ourselves, and, after all, we had no proof that this was an enemy.

I was in doubt as to our next proceeding, and had just come to the conclusion that our most sensible plan would be to turn back without going near the cavern at all, and so try to throw the enemy off the scent, for I felt certain that whether I discovered a treasure or no, I was on the right track, when Tom whispered eagerly to me:

“Let’s show him that we know how to use our guns, Mas’r Harry. We won’t shoot him, but only give him a start. Look at that: there’s a poll-parrot—two of ’em—settled in the tree above him! It’s a long shot, but I think I could bring one down; so here goes!”

Tom levelled his piece and the next instant would have fired, when the parroquets began chattering, screaming, and fighting together, fluttering down towards the bushes which concealed our watcher. Then there was a rush, a crashing of the undergrowth, and the owner of the eyes—a good-sized deer—bounded into sight for an instant, and then disappeared in a series of spring leaps, which soon took it out of sight in the dense growth.

“I am, blessed!” exclaimed Tom, in accents of the most profound disgust. “If I’d known, wouldn’t I have fired, that’s all! Had some venison to take back, Mas’r Harry.”

“I’m very glad you did not, Tom,” I said.

For I felt how the report of a gun would have published our whereabouts, if there really were any lurkers near—a thing that I must say I now thought very probable, since the fact of there being a treasure in the cave, held sacred by the Indians, would, as a matter of course, render them very jealous of intruders.

“Where for now, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom.

“The cavern, Tom,” I said.

Finishing our descent we were not long in reaching the rocky barrier, evidently piled by Nature at the entrance of the vast frowning arch.

We stopped and looked around suspiciously; but the gorge was silent as the grave—not a leaf stirred; there was neither the hum of insect nor the note of bird. Heat—glowing heat—reflected from the rocks, already not to be touched without pain—and silence.

“Going in, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom.

“Of course,” I replied.

“Very good, Mas’r Harry; if you will, you will. But if we get lost, and then find ourselves right away down in no-man’s land, don’t you go and say it’s my fault.”

I was in no mood to reply, and clambering up the hot rocks, with little glancing lizards and beetles rushing away at every step, we soon stood gazing in at the gloomy chamber, our eyes, unaccustomed to the gloom, penetrating but a few yards at a time, so that had there been a host of enemies within, they would have been unseen.

“Now, Tom!” I said excitedly, as together we climbed down into the shade, to feel the cool and pleasant change from broiling heat to what was, comparatively, a very low temperature. “Now, Tom, we are going to explore one of the wonders of the world!”

“Humph!” ejaculated Tom, who did not look at all pleased; “it’s very big, and large, and cool. But say, Mas’r Harry,” he exclaimed, brightening up, “it wouldn’t make half a bad place for keeping tallers! Yah! what’s that?”

“Only a bird,” I said, as with a rush a couple of large birds had flown close by us, evidently alarmed at our visit to their home. “That’s a good sign, Tom, and shows that you need not fancy there’s an enemy behind every block of stone. If anyone was within those birds would not be there.”

Tom grunted, and then, as if to show his unbelief, cocked both barrels of his gun, as, with eyes each moment growing more familiar with the gloom, we walked slowly forward into the darkness ahead—slowly, for the floor was rugged in places with fragments from the roof, and stalagmite. The roof was about fifty feet above our heads, and the span of the low corrugated arch, I should say, a hundred more than that. The stream was rippling noisily along, threading its way amongst the massive blocks of stone, murmuring musically over pebbles and sand. Now our way was wet and slimy, and then again rugged and dry, till, having penetrated some little distance with every precaution, we turned round to look back at the entrance, to see as pretty a picture as ever I gazed upon in my life. We could now see plainly the nature of the roof, hung with beautiful stalactites of many graceful forms, giving to the great arch the appearance of some grand specimen of Gothic tracery, through which we looked upon the ravine lit up by the outer sunshine, with its green, and gold, and blushing floral hues. It was a scene to be remembered for ever; but the gold in my thoughts seemed more glorious, and I turned from it without a sigh.

Another dozen yards and a curve in the cave hid the entrance from sight; we were in gloomy shades, where a light was necessary; and before going farther I paused to think.

If the treasure had been hidden there, where would it be?

Reason said directly, in the most distant and inaccessible recesses of the vast cavern.

And where was that? How far from the light of day?

That was the problem I had set myself to solve, and, in spite of a feeling of awe with which the place inspired me, I prepared for the solution. It was no light task, and I have no shame in owning that I felt a strange reluctance to proceed along a rugged path wherein might at any time be yawning some fearful bottomless chasm, ready to swallow up the adventurer; but I would not show my dread, and if Tom felt any he was too obstinate to show his.

By means of string we tied each a candle to our pistol barrels, and then set forward, walking slowly, now with the floor of the cavern ascending, now with it sloping down with a steep and rugged gradient, but always with the little river gurgling in darkness by our side, sometimes almost on a level with our feet, at others, where the path rose, running in a deep chasm whose black darkness made one shudder.

We must have penetrated, I should say, the greater part of a mile when the narrow rocky shelf upon which we were walking came to a sudden end, and holding down our candles, we tried to penetrate the depth before us, but in vain; we could only see a vast black abyss, over which we were standing upon a tongue of rock, while to right, to left, it was precisely the same—an awful falling away of all that was palpable—and we knew that a slip would have sent us to a horrible death.

“This is a fearsome, unked place, Mas’r Harry,” whispered Tom; but his words went floating around as if taken up by a chorus of mocking voices, and a strange shudder crept through me.

It was indeed awful, that vast obscurity, with death threatening us if we took another step; and I could not help thinking how easy it was for a people of a low order of intellect, blindly superstitious, to make this solemn hall the home of their poor idol. It was a place that took no little courage to explore, and often I felt my heart fail me ere I recalled the errand upon which I had come.

Was it likely that, sooner than it should fall into the hands of the Spaniards, gold almost invaluable had been cast into this awful gulf? It was probable; but, as far as I could see, recovery would have been impossible, unless, after all, it was not so profound as the darkness made it appear. But then, how to descend? To swing by a rope over the fearful chasm would have unnerved the stoutest of heart, and I felt that I hardly could have dared such an adventure.

This, then, must be the extent of the cavern—or rather of our power to explore it in this direction—for, as I have before said, we stood right out upon a projecting piece of rock from which descent was absolutely impossible, and there was nothing for it but to turn back.

“Think it’s deep, Mas’r Harry?” whispered Tom loudly.

“Deep—deep—deep—deep—deep—deep!” came whispering back from all sides, making Tom shiver; but he recovered himself directly, and taking a piece of greasy newspaper from his pocket he loosely crumpled it together, knelt down close to the brink of the abyss, lit the paper, and then threw it from him to blaze out brightly, and fall down—down rapidly—as it burned lower, and lower, and lower, till at a vast depth it burned out, but without illuminating anything. We saw no reflection from rocky point or gleaming water, and our feeling of awe was increased.

“I’ll have another try, anyhow,” said Tom. “Ears will sometimes tell us what eyes won’t. Just lend a hand here, Mas’r Harry.”

For a moment or two I shrank from assisting him, on seeing his object, but directly after applied one hand to a rough block of stone that lay at our side, weighing, I should think, a hundred pounds.

We had about a couple of yards to move it, and then it rested upon the very brink, a shrinking sensation coming over me as I saw Tom stand, candle in hand, with one foot resting upon the rock ready to thrust it over.

“Now, then, Mas’r Harry,” he said, “this’ll find the bottom if anything will. We shall soon know now. Say when!”

I did not speak, for I was wondering whether that rough block was going down where that I coveted had been cast, and for a moment I was about to restrain Tom; but I thought that the fall of that stone would teach me whether the bottom was at an attainable depth or no, and I signed to Tom to thrust the fragment off.

“Over, Mas’r Harry?”

“Over!” I said in a whisper; and the next moment there was a grating noise and the stone had been thrust off to fall—fall—fall in silence, while with awe-stricken countenances we leaned over the gulf and listened, second after second, without avail, for no sound came up.

“It’s gone bang through to the other side of the world, Mas’r Harry!” whispered Tom. “There ain’t no end to this place, for if it had been ever so deep you must have heard it touch bottom some time. Ain’t it awful!”

It was awful, and a hand seemed clutching my heart as I thought of falling, ever falling like that, or of some enemy dashing me over into the fearful gulf. There seemed to be indeed no bottom within ordinary range, and the idea of descending by rope in search there of treasure was absurd.

How long the stone had been falling I cannot say; but just as we had given up all thought of hearing of it more there came from the depths below a faint whisper of a splash, or of some pebble falling in water, but only for that whisper to be echoed and re-echoed from distant parts till it increased to a fearful roar that was some seconds in dying away.

It was impossible to help a shudder upon hearing those horrible reverberations, each one telling of the awful profundity of the place—one which, without extensive mining apparatus, I felt that any fathoming for search was out of the question.

Chapter Twenty One.

The Black Arch.

Dreadful place indeed!

“They cannot have thrown any treasure down there,” I mentally exclaimed the next moment. “It must be somewhere recoverable.”

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom then, “hadn’t we better get back?”

“Are you afraid, Tom?” I said.

“Well, no, Mas’r Harry, I ain’t afraid; but I am nearer to being so than ever I was in my life. ’Taint fear, only one of my knees will keep going shikery-shakery, and my teeth have took it into their heads to make believe it’s cold, and they’re tapping together like the lid of a kettle in boiling time. But I ain’t a bit afraid.”

“It’s an awful-looking place, Tom,” I said, “and enough to make any one shudder.”

“’Tis that, Mas’r Harry—’tis that indeed!” said Tom earnestly. “And if I believed in ghosts and goblins I should say as this was the shop where they was made. But—but, Mas’r Harry, what’s that?”

I turned round hastily to look in the direction in which we had come, to see plainly a shadowy-looking form flitting, as it were, out of sight in the dim obscurity, and a feeling of tremor came over me as I thought of our peril should we be attacked now, standing, as we were, with certain death behind and on either side; and determined that, if we were to encounter an enemy, it should be upon less dangerous ground, I called to Tom to follow me; and holding my dim light well in front, began to retrace my steps in the direction of the entrance, when there was a loud echoing cry from behind. I felt a violent blow in the back which dashed me to the ground, and in an instant our candles were extinguished and we were in darkness.

For a few moments I felt paralysed, expecting each instant that I should have to grapple with an enemy; but, save for the whisperings and the distant roar of water, all was silent till Tom spoke.

“Have you got the flint and steel, Mas’r Harry?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “But what was the meaning of that blow and that cry?”

“It was me. I stumbled, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, “for there was a black thing like a devil’s imp flew up out of the big hole and hit me in the face. But pray get a light, Mas’r Harry!”

That Tom’s imp was some huge bat I did not for a moment doubt; but after seeing a shadowy figure in front I knew that it was possible that danger awaited us, so, hastily dragging flint and steel from my pocket, I was soon clinking away till a shower of sparks fell upon the tinder; the usual amount of blowing followed, and at last a match was fluttering its blue, cadaverous light, to blaze out soon and enable us to ignite our candles, now burned down very low, when, hastily pursuing our way, we came again without adventure into the great entrance, the daylight being welcome indeed, when we sat down, about fifty yards from the mouth, to partake of some refreshments.

It is surprising what a tonic those provisions and a moderate taste of aguardiente formed. The daylight, too, lent its aid to restore the equilibrium of our nerves, and things wore an entirely different aspect.

“That must have been my shadow, Tom,” I said at last, just as he was indulging in a pipe. “Your light threw it on to the dark curtain of gloom before us. And as for your imp, that was a huge bat.”

“Well, do you know, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, “I do begin to think that I hollered afore I was hurt. But you know it really is an unked place in there, and wants a deal of getting used to, and I ain’t a bit used to it yet. But don’t you make no mistake, Mas’r Harry; if you want to go in again I’ll go with you, and I can’t say fairer than that.”

“Well, Tom,” I said thoughtfully, “I do want to go in again, for I’m not at all satisfied with my journey. I don’t understand what became of this little river, for of course it must have turned off somewhere this side of the great hole.”

“To be sure it did, Mas’r Harry; I saw where it went off under a bit of a tunnel just before we got to that horrible great place.”

“Then the cavern must branch off there, Tom,” I said. “That must be the part for us to explore.”

“Very good, Mas’r Harry, when you like; but in case of an accident, and I don’t come out any more, I think I’ll tell the truth before I go in: I said I wasn’t, Mas’r Harry, but I was awful scared and cold and creepy, but I think I shall be better this time; so when you’re ready I am.”

I expressed my readiness, and in spite of fatigue we stepped onward again till the darkness compelled us to stop and light candles, when, knowing now that there were no very great perils in the path, we made far more progress, and in a very short time arrived at the spot where Tom had seen that the bed of the stream took a fresh direction.

It was just as he had intimated: it suddenly turned off to the left, but beneath the shelving rock where we stood holding down our candles as far as we could reach; and if we wished to explore farther there was nothing for it but to scramble down some forty feet to where the water ran murmuring amongst the blocks of stone, here all glazed over with the stalagmitic concretion that had dripped from the roof.

I led the way, and with very little difficulty stood at last by the stream, when Tom followed, and we slowly proceeded along its rocky bed till at the end of a few yards we came to the turn where it came gushing out of a dark arch, some six feet high and double that width, the water looking black and deep as it filled the arch from side to side, running swiftly—a river of ink in appearance.

“Tom,” I said dreamily, “we must explore this dark tunnel.”

“Very well, Mas’r Harry,” he said in resigned tones.

And when a few minutes after I turned to look at him, he was leaning against a rock and removing his shoes and stockings.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Gettin’ ready, Mas’r Harry; so as to have something dry to put on when we come back.”

“But I’m not going to try without boat or raft, Tom,” I said. “We must give it up for to-day.”

Tom said no word but hurriedly replaced his extreme garments, and together we slowly made our way back to reach the light in time to see that the sun was very low down in the horizon, when completely wearied out we sat down to finish our provision, a very easy task, for I had only intended my store for one. But I must give Tom the credit of saying that he would not eat without much pressing, declaring that his pipe would satisfy him.

An hour after we were making our way back to the hacienda with, fortunately for us, a bright moon overhead, but it was nearly midnight before we reached the court-yard.

Chapter Twenty Three.

The Waterfall.

I don’t think many could have stood peering into that gloomy tunnel without feeling something like a tremor of dread. However, I mastered it at last, after asking myself the question, Was it wise to run such a risk? The answer came in the shape of gold—it might be the passage to traverse to arrive at inexhaustible treasure, and I turned to Tom.

“Are you ready?” I said.

“Yes, Mas’r Harry, I’m ready when I’ve lit my pipe,” he said.

And coolly filling it and igniting it from the torch, he crept boldly on to the little raft and took a bamboo, one of two cut on our way here, to pole us along.

After placing our guns in safety upon a ledge of rock, I crept on too, and the little raft swayed down heavily; but it was wonderfully buoyant, and with our lights in front we prepared for our subterranean passage.

“All right, Mas’r Harry?”

“Yes,” I replied.

And then we pushed off, poling ourselves along under the arch, the rugged wall being easily reached on either side, the stream widening and not being very rapid after we had passed the first dozen yards.

The navigation proved so easy that we were able to glance about at the sides and roof, which often nearly touched us, compelling us to stoop, while at other times the tunnel opened out and we seemed to be making our way through a narrow lake. But it soon contracted again, and I should think our onward progress must have been through the damp, dark, winding way for quite a couple of miles; when, after seeing nothing but shining, glistening rock above us for hours, we seemed to have come to the end of our uneventful journey in a large irregularly shaped chamber whose roof of veined rock was about forty feet above us, its length being about two hundred feet, and its greatest breadth about sixty.

The stream had widened out into a little lake again, leaving, however, on one side a sandy shore some six or eight feet wide. The waters were troubled, as if in a state of ebullition, and for a while we sat wondering and listening to a loud moaning roar coming apparently from a distance. Then pushing on by the side, in a manner of speaking we coasted round the place till we reached the sandy shore and rested; for though the water flowed out through the arch by which we had entered there was no way of further exit from the great vault.

This, then, was the extent of the cavern river, and it was with disappointment that I went slowly round once more, poling the raft over the troubled waters, to find that there was no likelihood of a discovery here. The sandy shore was the only landing-place, and unless the treasure was buried there I could see no other spot where a search could be made. As to the lake’s profundity, of that we could tell nothing, only that at every attempt to touch bottom we withdrew our poles with a shiver.

Here, then, was the source of the river, which rose from springs somewhere far below—springs which caused the bubbling we saw, making our little raft to rock terribly in one part we passed over, so that we gladly sought the sandy shore and there remained listening to the lapping of the water and the faint distant roar.

“There must be another cavern beyond this, Tom,” I said after a thoughtful pause.

“Ain’t a doubt about it, Mas’r Harry,” he replied. “It’s my belief that if any one would do it he might go on for ever and ever, right through the inside of the earth to find it all full of places like this.”

“Look!” I said eagerly, as I stood on the sandy slip of land and held up the light above my head, pointing the while to the end of the vault; “there’s a rift up there, Tom, if we could climb to it, and that’s where that roaring noise comes through.”

“Mean to try it, Mas’r Harry?”

“Yes,” I said, “if we can climb to it; otherwise we must come again with something we can fit together like a ladder.”

“Oh! I can get up there, Mas’r Harry, I know,” said Tom. “I’ve been up worse places than that in Cornwall after gulls’ eggs.”

Tom sprang ashore, and I gave a cry of horror, for the little raft was moving off; but with a leap Tom was back upon it and drew it ashore by a piece of line, which he tied to one of the poles after forcing it well down into the sand.

“That won’t get away now, Mas’r Harry,” he said.

And then stepping cautiously along over the sand, which gave way and seemed to shiver beneath our feet, we reached the end of the vault, and with very little difficulty climbed from cranny to cranny till we gained the opening—a mere slit between two masses of rock—through which we had to squeeze ourselves, and then wind up and up between block after block, that looked as though they had been riven asunder in some convulsion of nature.

Two or three times we were for going back, so arduous was the ascent; but determined to see our adventure to the end we pressed on and on, ever higher, till the noise became almost deafening, a cold dank wind too made our lights to flutter, and once they threatened to become extinct. But five minutes after the passage widened and the draught was not so fierce, while bright veins running through the rock at my side whispered of some rich metal or other for him who would venture thus far in its search.

“We’re a-coming to it now, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom shouting, for the noise was deafening.

The very next moment we were standing in a vast vault stretching out as far as our feeble light would show us, while about fifty feet to our left, in one black, gloomy, unbroken torrent, fell from some great height above, a cascade of water, black as night, till it reached the basin below us, which, even with our trembling lights, shone forth in a silvery, iridescent foam.

We could hardly hear the words we uttered from time to time, but we felt but little inclination to speak, so awe-inspiring was the scene before us; and it was not until we had been gazing for some time that we ventured to climb down lower and lower, to find that the bottom of the cavern was a basin of restless water, from which it was evident some portion escaped through a natural conduit to the vault below, while probably the rest made its way to the vast gulf we had before seen.

Then up and down—now near the great foaming basin, then with arduous climbing close to the dome that formed the roof—I searched about, well aided by Tom, who seemed to think that I was looking for something precious, though he said nothing. At one time we approached so near the waterfall that we could distinguish, high up, the narrow archway through which it gushed. It seemed, too, that by a little management any one daring enough might have passed round the rocky amphitheatre in which we were, right beneath the waterfall to the other side, where rifts and faintly-discerned chasms whispered of further wondrous passages unexplored, and I felt sure—for the more I searched the more the feeling came home to me—that we were the first human beings who had ever entered this stronghold of nature.

With the exception of the bright veins I have mentioned there was no trace of gem or precious metal. The sides and roof sparkled and glistened again and again, but it was only with some stalactitic formation—beautiful to the eye, but worthless; and at last I felt that this was labour in vain—the treasure was no more here than in the vast chasm where we had hurled the stone; and, shouting to Tom my intentions, we stood and had another look, and then lit upon a mass of rock a large piece of oily oakum which we had brought for the purpose.

Our oakum burned brightly, but it was of little avail, giving us not much more than a glimpse of the wonders of the grand chamber in which we stood; and then we turned to go, but only to encounter an unexpected difficulty. The chamber was so vast and the rift by which we had entered the sloping side so high up amidst crags resembling one another that we had great difficulty in finding it, and I remember shuddering as I thought of the consequences of being lost there in the dark.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Cast on a Strange Shore.

Being nervous or wanting in nerve is a state that would soon prove the ruin of the adventurous.

We had to set ourselves determinedly to the task of finding our way back, and after a weary climb Tom pointed it out.

If anything, the descent was more laborious than the climbing up; but at last, tired out, we reached the vaulted chamber with its troubled lake and narrow sandy strip of shore—a welcome place, gloomy and horrible as it was, for it meant rest upon our raft, and the gliding out with the stream to the entrance arch, and then not so very long a journey to the blessed light of heaven.

“Ah!”

That cry burst from our lips simultaneously, as, climbing down to reach the sand, we held our lights low to see—what?

That there must be a sort of tide in the lake, small as it was; for the water was bubbling up more fiercely with a hissing noise, and there was no sand—the waters had covered it; there was no raft—the pole had been loosened by the water and the raft had gone, floated away, to be driven by the stream to the tunnel, and then swim lightly away to leave us to a horrible death—a self-sought death; and as I thought of what I had done in my insensate greed for gold I could have groaned aloud.

But no, it was no insensate greed, I told myself—it was for Lilla’s sake—and my eyes rilled with tears as I thought that I should never see her more, and that Garcia—

That name sent a thrill of energy through my weary frame, and calling upon speechless Tom, I told him to light a piece more oakum; and he did so, to reveal plainly the raft floating about right at the end of the great vault, and apparently nearing the arch of exit. What were we to do?

There was but one answer. Dash into that horrible black lake and swim to the raft, or else stay and die.

It was dreadful, to plunge into those mysteriously disturbed waters, containing far below who could tell what hideous monsters?—to swim, or try to swim, where the strange eddies and whirlpools might draw the struggling wretch down! To swim, too, in profound darkness; for I felt that if the attempt were made it would be made together.

The thoughts in my breast must have been the same as those in poor Tom’s; for, looking at the faintly-discerned raft and then up at me, he said with a groan: “Mas’r Harry, I daren’t!”

“Tom,” I said, “I dare not!”

“But tell me to try it, Mas’r Harry,” he cried—“order me to swim off to it, and I’ll try. I shall be sucked down like a cork in a sink-hole, but tell me to do it—order me and make me, and I’ll try; but I daren’t go without I was made.”

“Light another piece of oakum, Tom,” I said hoarsely. “Perhaps the water on the sand is shallow and we might walk along to the other end, and then try to swim together: it would not be half so far. But stay—hold my hand while I step down and try.”

We crept down to where the sand had been bare when we left it, though loose and yielding; and, sticking the short piece of candle in a crevice, Tom seized my hand firmly and I stepped down into the water, but only to cry to Tom to draw me forth, for the sand was quick now and watery, and more dangerous to him who ventured upon it than the lake itself.

It was not without a sharp struggle that I once more stood beside Tom upon the ledge of rock, when without a word he drew out the oakum and prepared to light it, while, half beside myself with horror, I tried to calculate how far was the distance, and whether, by well marking the spot where the raft floated, we could not contrive to hit it in swimming in the dark. That we should have to swim in the dark I knew; for neither of us, I felt, could then have swum with one hand, holding a light above the troubled waters with the other.

Just then Tom’s oakum blazed up behind me, to light up the vault with its sparkling stalactitic roof, glistening sides, and strangely-agitated water. There floated the raft plainly enough just in front of the arch, and so near to our reach that in an instant Tom had thrown off cap, wallet, and jacket beside the candles stuck in the rock and the still burning oakum.

“No, Tom—no!” I cried, catching at him; “you must not risk it.”

“Let go, Mas’r Harry—I must!” he shouted. “I swore I’d stick to you.”

He struck me in the chest so that I staggered back, and then there was a loud plash and he was swimming away.

To start up and throw off my own jacket and wallet was the work of an instant, for, with his example, I could not stay back. We were companions, and I felt that it would be cowardly after he had taken the first plunge.

Another instant and I was after him, “plash!” with the noise of my plunge still echoing as I rose above the waters—echoing in a strange whisper along the arched roof. But oh! the painful, numbing sensation of intense cold that struck to my heart! It was fearful, and before I had taken a dozen strokes I felt that I should never reach the raft.

I was not called upon so to do, for the next minute, in answer to my cry came a groan from Tom, and I knew that he was swimming back, and the next moment he shrieked:

“Mas’r Harry, back! lend me a hand! Cramp—cramp!”

And then he gave a shriek of agony which roused me to a state of frenzy, as I could just see him beating the water with frantic effort close by my side.

The raft was forgotten then as with a vigorous stroke I reached him, placed one arm beneath his, and then struck out for the lights.

How I reached them I cannot recall: only a horrible struggle, the echoing of splashing water, the reaching of the cold, slimy rock with something seeming to draw me under, a fierce effort to get out, the dragging forth of poor Tom, who sank by my side with a groan; and then in a dreamy state I pulled the last piece of oakum from Tom’s wallet, held it to one of the candles for it to blaze up, sputtering loudly from the wet hand that held it. I sheltered my eyes after pressing out the water, looked again and again, separated the oakum so that it flared more and more, lighting up the low arch through which we had entered, when I groaned to myself: was this to be the end of my golden dreams—death in this hideous vault? for the stream set swiftly now through the arch, and the raft was gone!

Chapter Twenty Five.

A Night’s Rest.

The bright, flaring, spluttering blaze, glimmering and flashing upon the troubled waters and reflected from the roof; then, as it sank down, comparative darkness, for the two scraps of candle seemed to burn very dimly. Tom lay upon the rocks without speaking, while the agony that passed through my brain was intense. I felt that I had murdered the poor fellow, who was called upon to give up his young life through his fidelity to what any thoughtful man would call my wild follies.

We were to die, then, here, in this wild, mysterious cave, far beyond the reach of aid; for even if we had not by our caution thoroughly concealed our coming, who would dare to follow our route, unless by chance the raft were seen?

That certainly afforded a faint gleam of hope, and another came directly to fortify it. My uncle had talked about the great cave, and its exploration had been mentioned. It was possible, then, that upon our absence causing uneasiness a search might be made in this direction; for I knew my uncle too well to think that he would leave his sister’s child unsought.

But if he did not arrive in time? or if some of Garcia’s spies had seen us enter and were to mislead the searchers?

The thought was too horrible; and I shuddered as I thought of Lilla and her fate, till a maddening sensation of jealousy drove for a few minutes all fear and dread away.

My musings were arrested by Tom, who made me start by suddenly taking my dripping hand between his—damp and icy to the touch.

The next moment he was holding my hand to his breast, so that I could feel the laboured beatings of his true heart as he exclaimed hoarsely:

“Mas’r Harry, you saved my life then, and I’ll never forget it.”

“Nonsense, Tom!” I said with gloomy cheerfulness. “It’s all give and take out here. Why, you saved me from the crocodiles.”

“Cuss ’em! Don’t talk about ’em here, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom in a whisper. “We don’t know but what there’s horrible ones living in these dreadful waters. That there cramp taking me in the leg like that made me feel as if one had got hold of me. I’m a horrible coward, Mas’r Harry, that I am.”

“Tom,” I said, “this place is enough to unnerve any one.”

Then we were silent, for the strange echoings of our voices had an unearthly, terrible effect upon our nerves; and more than once I started at the grotesque shadow of myself upon the wall. The roar of the great waterfall came humming through the rift above our heads, while below the waters hissed, and bubbled, and lapped against the rocks in a curious, whispering, awe-inspiring fashion; and then moved by the same impulse we both took off and wrung all the moisture we could out of our things before standing shivering before the lights, one of which was already beginning to gutter down and threatened to become extinct.

Upon examining our wallets we found that we each had a couple of candles left, but our provision was very low; and the question now arose as to the next proceeding.

“Won’t do to lie down and die, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom. “I’m ever so much warmer now.”

“No, Tom,” I said, “we’ll fight to the last; but what are we to do?”

“Well, Mas’r Harry, I’d first of all get up into the crack of a passage up there before the lights go out, for there’s no knowing how high this water may rise; and if I ain’t to see daylight no more, but to die here, I should like to die dry and warm.”

“Don’t talk about death, Tom,” I said with a shudder. “Let’s fight for life to the last, and, as you say, we’ll climb up to the rift.”

One candle burned out as we tried to move it, and deferring the lighting of another for reasons of economy, we climbed to the narrow crack-like passage and went along it about thirty yards before Tom, who was first, turned round in a part where the passage widened a few feet.

“Now look here, Mas’r Harry,” he said. “We don’t know that there ain’t no other way out of the cave. I should say as there is if we could find it; at all events we mustn’t lie down and die till we’ve looked about and the candles are burned away, and then felt about till we can’t feel no longer. So see here, Mas’r Harry, we’re wet, and cold, and tired out, and we can’t do nothing better than sit down here and have a good sleep. Then we’ll wake up, eat the bit of grub there is left, and go to work again fresh. What do you say?”

“Say? That I think you are right, Tom,” I replied, trying to imitate his cheerfulness. “But about the light?”

“Light, Mas’r Harry? Why, we must put it out. We ain’t little children to be afraid to go to sleep in the dark. Then you’ve got your tinder-box and matches all dry in the wallet, and we can light up and go at it again in the morning, or night, or whatever it is, Mas’r Harry, for there ain’t no difference here. Who knows but what, while we are looking for the way out, we mayn’t find what you want?”

“What I want, Tom?” I said suspiciously. “To be sure, Mas’r Harry? What you want, whatever that may be—I don’t say as it’s gold mines, or dymons, or what not; only whatever it is we may find it, for I shouldn’t be surprised at finding anything here.”

I did not reply; but making the best of the sad lodging that was to be ours for the next few hours, and all wet and shivering as we were, creeping together for warmth, we lay down, and I stretched out my hand to extinguish the candle.

But my hand was arrested half-way, as I looked upon the glittering rock above my head and listened to the hissing, seething noise of the water below us in the long vault and the faint roar of the cataract far above us to the left. Now with a sense of dread indescribable I thought of the water rising to where we were during our sleep, and whether it would not be better to light another candle. Anything was better than lying there in the horrible darkness.

The spare supply of light we possessed, though, would be wanted after our sleep, and reluctantly I pressed down the wick; thinking as I did so what would be the use of the gold if I found it now and there should be no means of escape!

“What time would you like your shaving-water, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom, whose teeth chattered as he spoke.

“This is no time for laughing, Tom,” I said gloomily.

“I don’t see as it’s any time for crying, Mas’r Harry,” he replied, “for I’m quite wet enough without that.”

Then he was silent, and we lay in that awful darkness, which in, spite of my efforts, I kept peopling with multitudinous horrors.

Then I seemed to lose consciousness; in spite of hard rock, cold, and damp, sleeping heavily, and dreaming now of Lilla, who seemed to be in some terrible peril from which I could not save her. I wanted to reach her, but something kept me away, while the danger she was in, as it floated before my distempered imagination, was somehow connected with Garcia, and Indians, and fire, or a mingling of all three. I felt ready to cry out as I struggled against the power that held me back; but at last I saw what it was that stayed me; it was the gold for which I had been seeking—piled-up, heavy masses of gold—holding me down, crushing me almost, while Lilla’s sweet imploring face was turned to me as if asking my help. I strained, I longed to release myself, but in vain; and at last one great ponderous mass began to move towards me slowly, with a heavy, roaring noise, till it rested upon my chest, and with a start I woke to find one of Tom’s arms thrown across my throat and him snoring loudly.

For a few minutes I lay aghast, unable to make out where I was; but by degrees recollection brought back all the horrors of our position, and with a sigh I managed to rid myself of Tom’s arm.

I settled myself to try and sleep once more, so as to be ready for what would, I knew, prove an arduous, wearying task, tiring alike to body and spirit; when my blood seemed to be frozen in my veins, for there came a soft, fluttering noise, the air seemed to fan my cheeks as I lay, and then there echoed through the place three wild, appalling cries, followed by profound silence.

“Who’s that a-calling? It won’t do, Muster Garcia! You left her to drown, eh? What! Hilloa! Say, Mas’r Harry, was I dreaming or did you call?”

“I did not call, Tom,” I whispered; “but there is some one in here besides us. Hark!”

Again, as I spoke, and heard plainly above the distant roar, three more cries came sweeping along, and once more there was silence.

“All right, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “better chance for us to get out. If some one else can come in that only shows that there’s another way; and when it’s time to get up, why, up we get, for I don’t feel a bit disposed to try any more sleep here—it’s too much like hard work!”

“I don’t think the cries were human, Tom,” I said.

“Never mind that, Mas’r Harry, they weren’t ghosts’ cries. I’ll bet that. Now, if my old mother was here she’d stick out as it was a spirit as couldn’t—Oh, Mas’r Harry, though, what a horrid screech!” he whispered, as again a long-drawn, hollow, echoing cry ran through the passages.

I do not think I’m more timid than most lads would have been at a time like this; but my hands trembled as I sought for the flint, steel, and tinder-box, anxious to be out of the darkness that hemmed us in on all sides, and it was not until I had tried for some time that I was able to ignite the tinder.

At last, though, the brimstone match was held down to the spot glowing beneath my breath, the blue flame was succeeded by that of the wooden splint, and once more our spirits rose as the feeble light of a candle was reflected from the rocky walls.

Chapter Twenty Six.

The Amphitheatre.

We were half numbed with the cold, but I found now that, in spite of our troubled dreams and its apparent brevity, our sleep must have continued for a long time, for our clothes were nearly dry.

“Now, then, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, “never mind no shrieks and cries; let’s eat what there is in that bag and drink what there is in that bottle, and then go on our voyage of discovery. It will give us strength for the job, besides being ever so much easier to carry. If anything queer comes near us we’ve got our pistols, so let them look out.”

In spite of the feeling of tremor caused by the mysterious cries I was eager enough to move, and we began to climb up once more through the crack, after stepping back to the vault, holding up our candles, and making sure that by no possibility we had overlooked the raft.

As to its floating away I felt that it would not go very far on reaching the end of the tunnel, there were too many obstacles in the way in the shape of great boulders to block up the stream; so that hope of relief was but faint there even if a search was commenced.

There was no raft in sight; nothing but the strange, troubled water, ever bubbling and leaping up; and with a shudder, as we thought of the struggle we had had, we turned away, but not without seeing that the sand strip was now about half bare.

It was no time for being nervous. We knew that to live we must find a means of exit while our candles lasted, so started once more to thread our way along through the rift and right on to the huge cavern where the cascade of water came thundering down.

Here we halted for a time to gain breath, and then set to work to thoroughly explore the place; so we pushed on nearer and nearer, to find that, as we expected, we could pass right round behind the waterfall, over the slippery, wet stones, worn into seams, as if at one time the stream had rushed down them; but no trace of rift or passage could we find save one small crevice through which it seemed possible that a body might be squeezed.

“Never mind, Mas’r Harry, that can’t be the way; let’s try farther round this other side.”

Tom led now and I followed, leaving the cascade behind us, and thoroughly examining the other side of the amphitheatre, but without avail; when we sat down, worn out, about opposite to the rift where we had entered, too disheartened to speak, till Tom said:

“We shall have to try and crawl through that hole, Mas’r Harry—there, under the waterfall.”

“A dog could hardly do it, Tom,” I said bitterly, and then I started. “Stop a moment,” I cried. “That was a regular crack or split in the rock that we came through, Tom; such a one as might have been made by an earthquake.”

“Sure it was, Mas’r Harry; but you don’t think as another one has come and shut it up, do you?”

“No, no, Tom,” I cried, leaping up and forgetting my fatigue; “but why should not that crack be continued on this side—here, just opposite where we are? Come, climb higher with me, and let us have another try.”

My thought was a bright one; for far up, just where the side of the amphitheatre began to curve into the dome which formed the roof, we found a crack answering to the one through which we entered on the other side; and squeezing ourselves through, we found that we were in another narrow passage—so narrow, though, that we proceeded with great difficulty.

“This must be the way out, Tom,” I said.

“Or the way in, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “one of them two. Anyhow, though, we shall soon see.”

Not so soon, though, as Tom expected; for we crept on and climbed for quite a couple of hours, winding and doubling about, before the rift opened out, sloping, too, at the same time, so that walking became out of the question; and we climbed slowly down till we lost sight of roof and sides. Then on and on, slowly and carefully, where a false step would have sent us gliding we knew not where; and then we stopped, aghast, with a fearful chasm at our feet, to awake to the fact that we had climbed down to the extreme edge of an awful precipice, while, on holding up our lights, there before us was darkness, black and impenetrable, above, around, beneath.

The same thought occurred to both, and in a whisper we gave utterance to that thought together, though in different words.

“Tom, we’ve come round to another part of the great black gulf.”

“Mas’r Harry, this is the same place where we pitched down the big stone. Let’s try another.”

More to prove the truth of our thought than anything else, I assented; and finding a good-sized lump, Tom hurled it outwards with all his might, and then we listened as we had listened before, to hear it at last strike water at a profound depth, with the same roar of echoes to make us shrink shuddering back.

“It is the same place, Tom,” I said, speaking hoarsely, for this was another damp to our hopes.

There was apparently no chance even of reaching the rocky point where we had stood the day before, for that point stood out alone, and I could not see how it could be reached; but in a dull, despondent way, I thought that we would try to the last; and shrinking back a few yards from the edge of the precipice, we began to climb along the side, in the hope of finding some outlet in that direction; for could we but reach that point by any means we were safe.

Ten minutes’ climbing in a state of extreme horror, with the loose fragments of rock slipping from beneath our hands and feet, to roll rattling over the edge of the vast chasm, and then we were brought to a standstill; for there, right in front, was a bare, smooth, perpendicular wall of rock, inexorable as fate itself.

We turned and began to climb back along the horrid slope, when, with a sensation of horror that I hardly dare to recall, I felt my legs slip, my hands, torn, wet, and bleeding as they were, to glide over the stone to which I clung; and, with a feeble cry for aid to Tom, I gave myself up for lost.

With a shriek like that which might have been expected to have emanated from some wild beast, Tom leaped to my side, caught at me, and then, clinging together, we continued our downward course for what seemed an interminable length of time, when there was a sudden stoppage. Tom’s feet rested in a cleft of the rock, and he held me fast, as I lay gasping, with my legs hanging for some distance over the frightful chasm.

For full five minutes we did not either of us move, since it seemed that the slightest attempt to alter our position must result in a plunge into the darkness yawning to receive us.

One candle was extinguished, but the other lay guttering and flaring some twenty feet above us, wasting rapidly, and casting its feeble, weird light upon where we clung.

We neither of us spoke, but softly feeling about, I at length got my fingers in a chink of rock, which gave me courage to move my legs, so that at last they rested upon a rough point or knob. Then, by Tom’s guiding, my other hand found a hole, and by an effort I climbed on to the slope, to lie panting and waiting for nerve.

Help me Tom could not from his position, and had I not stirred myself I must have fallen at last; but he had well paid the debt he owed me for my last night’s efforts, as I told him when we had cautiously made our way back up the slope in a diagonal direction to where the rift opened, to sink down at last, breathless and thankful, in the narrow way; glad even to be beyond reach of the influence of the horrible gulf, which had for me an attraction that was appalling.

We were very quiet now, as we half sat, half lay upon the rocky bottom of the crack, till our strength was somewhat renewed after our late efforts, when, dragging myself up, I wiped the clammy dew from my forehead, and Tom followed my example.

“Tom,” I exclaimed, “inaction means death. Let’s try that hole behind the fall.”

“Right, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, essaying to be cheerful.

And without another word he rose, took his candle from the niche in which he had placed it, and together we made our way back into the amphitheatre. Then we climbed over the blocks to behind the fall, where, going down upon his knees, Tom held his candle in at arm’s-length, and then essayed to creep in at the little opening.

I looked on anxiously as his head and shoulders disappeared, then his whole body; and I was preparing to follow him when he wriggled himself back, to face me with a sad shake of the head.

“No good, Mas’r Harry—a baby couldn’t go through there.”

I took his word, and led the way back till we were clear of the mist shed by the fall, and then I set to and tried if the great problem of our escape could not be solved; and at last when all hope was ready to expire in my bosom the solution came.

We were sitting, sad and dejected, worn by our long toil, when suddenly we were startled by a shriek similar to those which we had heard upon our awaking.

Tom pressed close to me, and I must confess to a strange sensation of awe, as now, one after another, these wild cries came ringing out of the darkness around. Now near, now far-off, and fading away as it were, till one was uttered close by my ear, and I saw a shadowy form sweep past the light shed by our one poor feeble candle; then another and another; when, angry with myself for my superstitious dread, I exclaimed aloud:

“Why, they’re birds!”

“Birds they are!” cried Tom gently. “But are they real birds, Mas’r Harry?”

“Real? yes, Tom!” I exclaimed excitedly. “And there must be some other way of entrance, for I saw one disappear close by the falling water. Yes, and there goes another!” I cried, as I held up the light. “Tom—Tom, they are the messengers of life! There is a way out yet!”

Chapter Twenty Seven.

A Journey in the Dark.

Again the hope which animated our breasts chased away the sense of depression and fatigue, as, lighting our last candle to obtain a better light, we clambered as rapidly as we could high up towards where the water came roaring from its vast culvert, just as with a loud shriek a bird flew out, like some creature of shadow-land, from a niche which had hitherto escaped our notice.

The next moment, after a flit round the amphitheatre, it gave another shriek, and we saw it re-enter the niche and disappear.

That there was an outlet to the upper world there we now had no doubt, but the question arose which exit presented the least peril—the ascent to this niche right over the arch of the torrent, or the way back by the vault of the troubled waters, to swim for our lives down the little river.

We did not pause long to consider, but, drawing our breath hard, sought to climb up to where the bird had disappeared.

We needed the activity and power of some animal born to a climbing life, for it was a terrible task, over slippery, spray-bedewed rocks, that seemed composed of ice. Our feet and hands slipped again and again, and more than once I felt that I must fall upon the bow of that torrent of inky water, at first by our side, soon right beneath us, and so be plunged into the seething cauldron below.

I found myself wondering whether, if I did so, my body would be forced through along some subterranean way to the vault of the troubled waters, from thence float out slowly along the little river, and so to the mouth of the cave and the outer sunshine.

Such thoughts were enough to unnerve one; but, bit by bit, we climbed on in safety, handing the candle from one to the other, and ever and anon stretching out a helping hand, till, how I cannot tell, we clung at length right over the falling torrent, with a piece of rock, smooth as the polishing of ages could make it, between us and the niche, which now proved to be a good-sized split separating a couple of rocks.

“You go first, Mas’r Harry,” Tom whispered, with his mouth close to my ear. “I’ll stand firm, and you can climb up my shoulders, and then lend me a hand.”

I prepared to start, handing him the one candle we now had alight, when I gave utterance to a cry of despair; for the linen band which had crossed my breast, and supported the wallet, had been worn through by the constant climbing, and I suppose must have broken when I was making this last ascent. At all events, the wallet was gone—plunged, I expect, into the torrent, and bearing with it the flint, steel, tinder-box, and matches; so that, should any accident befall our one light, we should be in the horrible darkness of the place.

“Never mind, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom. “It ain’t no use crying after spilt milk. Up you go, sir.”

With failing heart and knitted brow I exerted myself, climbed to Tom’s hips, as he clung to the rock and lighted me; then to his shoulders; stood there for a moment trembling, and then struggled into the cleft, turned round, lay down in a horrible position, sloping towards the torrent, with my head two feet lower than my knees, and then stretched out my hands to Tom.

“Can’t reach, Mas’r Harry,” he said, after one or two despairing trials. “You’ll have to go and leave me. See if you can get out and fetch help.”

For a moment I felt stunned at this unforeseen termination of our efforts, for there really had seemed hope now, unless this fresh passage should prove too narrow to let us pass.

I did not answer Tom, but drew myself up again to think; when, taking off my coat, I rolled it round and round, laid fast hold of the collar, and then, once more lying down, I lowered the coat to Tom.

“Can you reach that?” I said.

“No, Mas’r Harry—not by a foot,” said Tom gloomily, his words being shouted, as the roar of the torrent beneath us swept his voice away.

He stood in a position of awful peril: a false step, and he would be plunged into the torrent; and as I looked down at his upturned face and the flickering candle, I wondered how I could have ever dared to stand there myself.

“Can you reach it now?” I said, lowering myself a little more.

But his answer came in a dull, muffled, despairing monotone:

“No.”

I wriggled and shuffled my body a little more forward, forcing my boot toes into a crevice as I did so, for it seemed that now the slightest strain would draw me over the precipice. But there was no other resource: Tom must have help; and I lay shivering there as, with an upward spring, the candle between his teeth, Tom clutched my coat, I shuddering the while, and wondering whether the cloth would give way, or whether I should be drawn down.

We were looking straight into each other’s eyeballs, lit by the guttering candle, as, with trial after trial, exerting the great muscular strength in his arms, Tom climbed higher and higher till he could touch my hands, my arms, and then hold on by my neck, when he stopped panting, just as, in his convulsive efforts, his teeth met through the candle, ground through the wick, and the upper portion fell far below into the torrent to leave us in that awful darkness.

“Hold fast, Mas’r Harry!” Tom hissed in my ear. “Crook your hands. No! Clasp ’em together, to give me a foothold.”

“Tom!” I groaned, “I’m slipping. I can hold on no longer.”

“A moment—a moment, Mas’r Harry,” he cried.

I clasped my fingers together, when, bending his body into a half circle, he got one foot into my hands, forced himself rapidly up, staying my downward progress of inch after inch, as the weight of his body pressed me to the rock; but as he turned to hold me in his turn, it was just as I felt myself going faster and faster, gliding head downwards towards the torrent.

Another struggle, and, wet and bleeding, I was by Tom’s side, for him to hold tightly by one of my hands, as with the other he felt his way along slowly for some yards, when once more we sank upon the rocky floor, to lie panting, our breath drawn in hysterical sobs, and a darkness around that was too fearful even to contemplate.

Our despair was such that we could find no words; but at last Tom said, in a voice that I could hardly hear for the roar of the torrent, which seemed to be here condensed by the narrow passage:

“Mas’r Harry, I’ll go first; follow close behind, and crawl.”

His words gave me energy, and we set off, crawling slowly, now upwards, now downwards, feeling every foot of the way, lest some new peril should lie in our path. The roar of the torrent rose and fell as we crept away, till by slow degrees it became fainter, fading to quite a soft murmur; but still no new horror assailed us. The dread darkness was forgotten in the hope that shed a light into our hearts, as foot by foot we progressed through what was sometimes a narrow passage, sometimes a wide vault, as we could tell by the echoing of our voices from its arched roof. In one of these, too, our ears were saluted by the shrieks of birds and the rushing of wings—a fact which told us we could not be very far from the light of day; but progress was so slow that I often despaired of seeing that light again.

Often and often I could have lain down and cried like a child, and it required no weak effort to keep my emotion back.

“Seems to me, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom at last, “this is a very big place we’re in, for the more I try about, the less I seem able to get on. Shall we rest a bit?”

Had Tom said, “Shall we keep on?” I should have made the same reply—“Yes.” And then, as we extended our aching limbs upon the soft soil which covered the floor of the cave in this part, a delicious sense of tranquillity stole over me, and almost instantaneously I sank into a deep dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

To Daylight.

How long we lay in that stupor—more than sleep—I cannot tell; but I was awoke by Tom, and once more we slowly continued our journey, walking now though—for the absence of fresh perils had given us courage—and with our arms extended we went slowly on; but ever with the soft earth of the cave beneath our feet, and the stillness only broken by the occasional shriek of a bird.

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom after a long silence. “We are only wandering here and there without finding the passage to go out.”

“I have been thinking so too, Tom,” I said, as a thought struck me. Then loudly—“Look out, and see if you can make out anything when I fire: the flash may guide us.”

Taking out my pistol I fired upwards, when it was as if the whole cave were being crushed up together—thunder, roar, and bellow, in a deafening series of echoes—echoes succeeded by the rustling as of ten thousand wings, and shrieks that were deafening—noises which were quite a quarter of an hour in subsiding.

“We must be near to an opening, Tom,” I said, as soon as I could make myself heard.

“All right, Mas’r Harry, and I’ve seen it,” he said cheerily. “This is a big place, hundreds of feet over, but the passage out lies here; that firing of the pistol was a good idea of yours.”

He took my hand and stepped out boldly. Then feeling his way with caution, he exclaimed joyfully that he had found the opening, into which we stepped, and soon knew by the hollow sound that we were in a rapidly contracting passage.

From time to time I now flashed off a little powder in the pan of my pistol, in which instant we were able to see that we were in one of the riven passages of the cave, similar to those which we had before traversed; and, faint with hunger, we pressed on, till a distant murmur, ever increasing, forced itself upon my notice, and in a voice of despair I exclaimed:

“Oh, Tom, Tom! we are going back, my lad!”

“Mas’r Harry,” he exclaimed, “don’t be down-hearted. ’Tis so, though; and I’ve been thinking it for the past quarter of an hour, but I wouldn’t say it for I wasn’t sure. Never mind, let’s turn back. That’s the big waterfall we can hear, sure enough. But we can step out bold now, as we know there’s no danger; and when we are in the big place where we slept, a little powder will show us the way.”

A weary walk and we were once more upon the soft earth of the cave where we had slept—the bird-chamber we called it—when, by means of flashing off powder, we arrived at a pretty good idea of the size of the place, and, better still, discovered a fresh outlet.

Danger and disappointment had made me now cautious, and I would not proceed until, by the expenditure of more powder, we had made sure that there was no other passage; alarming the birds too, so that they swept round us like a hurricane.

“Right this time, Mas’r Harry,” cried Tom.

Then we were once more on the way, crawling as to pace, as we felt our way cautiously along.

“If it ever fell out, Mas’r Harry, that we wanted a hiding-place, what a spot this would be!” said Tom, little thinking that the day was to come when it should prove the salvation of those who were our truest and best friends. “Why, I don’t believe there’s an Indian ever had the pluck to come a quarter as far, and we know it now well, every foot of it.”

“Except the way out, Tom,” I said sadly.

“Oh, that’s right enough now, Mas’r Harry,” he cried. “Cheer up: here’s the birds flying along by the score. Can’t you hear their wings whistle? They’re some of those we frightened out coming back again.”

I could hear the soft flap of wings plainly enough, and I could not help feeling hopeful as we toiled on, till suddenly Tom exclaimed:

“Keep back!”

“What is it?” I exclaimed, our voices echoing in a way which told us that the cave had once more opened out.

“My leg goes down as far as I can reach here, Mas’r Harry. There’s a hole of some kind. Stop till I flash off a bit of powder.”

I stood firm, while Tom was busy for a few moments, during which I heard the click of his flask. Then there were sparks as he snapped off his flint-lock pistol, but for a few times without effect; but at last he started a train of powder which burned brightly, showing us that we stood on a ledge some fifty feet above where there was the flash of water and many a grotesque rock.

“Why, Tom?”

“Why, Mas’r Harry?”

“Down on your knees!” I cried joyfully as I set the example.

For we were in the first extensive widening out of the cave, at about five hundred yards from its mouth, having emerged through an opening hitherto unknown to us from its being upon a ledge forty or fifty feet above the floor, where in that part it ran on a level with the little river.

We rose from our knees, weak as two children, and contrived to scramble down to the bottom, along which we stumbled slowly and without energy towards the cave’s mouth, going back first to where we had left our guns. Turn after turn, winding after winding, we traversed, and there was the faint dawning of light in the distance—light which grew more and more bright and glorious as we advanced, shading our eyes with our hands, till, utterly worn out, we sank down close to the entrance amongst the soft, warm, luxurious sand, when I gazed at the pale, haggard, blood-smeared face beside me, to exclaim:

“Tom, is that you?”

“Mas’r Harry,” he replied hoarsely, “poor Missus wouldn’t know you if she was here.”

It was the noon of the third day, we afterwards learned, that we had spent in these realms of darkness, and never did the bright face of nature look more glorious than it did to our aching eyes. But in spite of the intense sensation of gnawing hunger we could not proceed till we had rested. Then after bathing our faces, hands, and feet in the cold stream, we slowly journeyed to the hacienda.

“Don’t say a word about the cave, Tom,” I said, as we neared home.

“No, Mas’r Harry, not if you don’t wish it,” he rejoined, looking at me wonderingly.

“I have a reason, Tom,” I said. “We can say that we have been exploring, and that will be true, and will satisfy them.”

“You ain’t done with the cave yet, then, Mas’r Harry?”

“No, Tom,” I said, “not yet.”

Chapter Thirty.

Found.

My excitement was intense; and all dripping as I was with the icy water, I leaped out on to the sand with the intention of climbing over the barrier out into the bright sunshiny vale, to cut a long, thin bamboo with which to probe the sand in a more satisfactory manner.

Then I stopped short, as the recollection of Tom’s words flashed across my brain. His surmises might be correct; and, cautious as we had been, watchers might have seen our goings and comings, while my stepping out into the vale now to cut a pole would show that I had some particular object in view.

Another minute, though, and with my mind teeming with thoughts of rich ingots, plates, and vessels of gold, I began to consider as to what ought to be my next step. Without testing further I felt that I had been successful—that a wonderful stroke of good fortune had rewarded my efforts; and then, how was I to dig it from its wet, sandy bed and get it safely to the hacienda?

“Tom,” I cried excitedly, “I have not spoken sooner lest you should think me an empty dreamer; but I have found that which I sought.”

“Sure, Mas’r Harry?”

“Well—a—well, yes, nearly, Tom,” I stammered, somewhat taken aback by his coolness; “and now I want you to swear that you will take no unfair advantage of what you have seen or may see in the progress of this adventure.”

“Want me to do what, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom sturdily.

“I want you to swear—”

“Then I ain’t a-going to swear, nor nothing of the kind; so you need not think it. If I ain’t worth trusting send me back; leastwise, you won’t do that, because I sha’n’t go. But, howsoever, I ain’t a-going to go swearing and taking oaths, and, there! be quiet! Look there, Mas’r Harry. Make him swear if you like. No, not that way, more off to the left. Turn your eye just past them three big trees by the lump of rock. That ain’t a deer this time, but some one on the look-out. Two on ’em, that there are!”

I glanced in the pointed-out direction, to see plainly that a couple of Indian heads were strained towards us, as if their owners were narrowly watching for our appearance; though I knew from the gloom beneath the arch where Tom was seated that we must be invisible to any one standing out there in the glow of the bright afternoon sunshine.

What did it mean? Were these emissaries of Garcia watching my every act; or were they descendants of the Peruvian priests possessed of the secret of the buried treasures.

I shrank back farther into the cavern to crouch down, Tom imitating my acts, and together we watched the watchers, who remained so motionless that at times I felt disposed to ask myself whether I had not been mistaken, and whether these were not a portion of one of the rocks.

“It’s no good, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “we must make a rush for it. They’ll stop there for a week, or till we go. ’Tain’t nothing new; there’s always some one after you; and if you’ve found anything I can’t see how you’re going to get it away. Let’s go now, before it gets evening, for they’ll never move till we do.”

“But the—”

“Well, they ain’t obliged to know that we’ve found that, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom smiling. “We don’t know it ourselves yet. What we’ve got to do is to play bold, shoot one or two of the birds as they dodge about farther in, then knock off a few of those pretty bits of white stone hanging from the roof, and they’ll think that we’ve come after curiosities.”

Tom’s advice was so sound that I led the way farther into the cave, where we made the place echo, as if about to fall upon our heads, as we had a couple of shots, each bringing down six of the guacharo birds. Then re-loading, we secured three handsome long stalactites, white and glittering, and thus burdened we took our departure, walking carelessly and laughing and examining our birds, Tom stopping coolly to light his pipe just as we were abreast of where we had seen the Indians.

It was bold if the watchers’ intentions were inimical, and we gave ourselves the credit of having thrown them off the scent, for we saw no more of them that evening; returning tired and excited to the hacienda to find my uncle quiet and cordial, for he seemed to be giving me the credit of trying to break myself off my inclination.

Chapter Thirty One.

The Hidalgo’s Dignity upset.

That night I forgot all past perils as I dreamed of gold—swimming in it—rolling in it—for it seemed to possess all the qualities of quicksilver, and whenever I tried to hold it or sweep it up it all escaped through my fingers.

I woke at last with a start, with my chest heaving, and my face and limbs bathed with a cold, dank perspiration.

As far as I could judge it wanted a couple of hours to daybreak; but I felt too much agitated to try and sleep again. So rising and hurrying on my clothes, I sat there, hour after hour, thinking and planning my future course, for a night’s rest had not weakened my convictions.

The determination I came to at last was, that I could not do better than smother my impatience for a whole week; taking, the while, excursions in every other direction so as, if possible, to blind any one who made a study of my movements. Then my journey to the cavern must be made by night, armed with spades, and taking with us a couple of mules to bring home the spoil.

So I mused, little recking of what was to come, till the great golden sun rose from his glorious bed, when, after lying down an hour for the sake of the rest, I rose and sought for Tom, to find him indulging in that bad habit of his, a morning pipe; when I told him my plans, and also asked him if he thought that we ought to take my uncle into our confidence.

“Not by no means, Mas’r Harry,” he said.

“I may depend on you, Tom, of course?” I said, “Depend on me, Mas’r Harry? Ah! I should think so. There never was nobody couldn’t stick to no one no tighter than I’ll stick to you. There won’t be no getting rid of me; so don’t never think so no more. What you say is quite right, and we’ll wait a week. If no one ain’t touched that stuff for three hundred years they’ll leave it alone another week. I’ll be on the look-out for a couple of mules and spades, and we’ll go, like the forty thieves, to the enchanted cavern, eh, Mas’r Harry? I’ll get ’em, and we’ll put them into the little wood under the mountain-side, eh? and keep ’em there till it’s dark, when we’ll start. A week to-day, or a week to-morrow?”

“A week to-day, Tom,” I said; “and if you’ll hang about here, I’ll tell you what time we’ll go for a shooting trip.”

We had a roam after breakfast, and then, returning to the mid-day meal, I spent some time about the plantation, when, feeling tired and overcome with the heat, I went into the house, lay down upon the couch in the darkened room, and, I suppose, from the effects of past fatigue, soon dropped off into a sound slumber.

I have some recollection of hearing voices and a low, buzzing sound that, in my confused state, seemed somehow to be mixed up with gold. Then it was Lilla’s beautiful golden hair, and I was seeing it spread out and floating once more upon the surface of the river. Then I was wide awake, for I had heard Garcia’s voice utter my name with an intensity of bitterness that made me shudder as I rose upon my elbow.

“I tell you he goes to the Indian villages, where there are dark—skinned maidens. I know it; and then he comes back here, pretending to be ill and tired with his travels.”

“It is not true!” I heard Lilla exclaim angrily. “And if he were here now—”

“But he is not here now,” said Garcia sneeringly. “He has some assignation in the moonlit woods with one of his dark beauties, with fire-flies in her hair and flashing eyes, such as those cold-blooded Englishmen love.”

“It is false!” cried Lilla; “and if he were here you would not dare to say it.”

“Look here!” he said. “I will be played with no longer. I have been calm and patient while this English dog has come in here to insult and try to supplant me. He has always been placed before me since the day he set foot in the plantation. Your mother is my debtor, and you are promised to me. Let there be any more of this trifling, and I will bring down ruin upon the place. I have sued gently and tenderly, but it is useless. Now I will show you that I am master; promise me now that you will speak to him no more, or—”

I never knew what threat Garcia would have uttered for just then running forward I dashed out my clenched fist with all my might, and with a crash the Don went down over a chair just as my uncle and Mrs Landell ran into the room.

“What does this mean?” exclaimed my uncle angrily, as Lilla ran, sobbing, to her mother.

“He struck me!” cried Garcia furiously, as he scrambled up. “He has insulted me—a hidalgo of Spain—and I’ll have his blood!”

“Better go and wash your face clear of your own,” I said contemptuously, as I suffered from an intense longing to go and kick him. “He was rude to my cousin, Uncle, and I knocked him down. That’s all.”

With a savage scowl upon his face Garcia made for the door, turned to shake his fist at me, and he was gone.

“Hal,” said my uncle gently—“Hal, my boy, I’d have given a year of my life sooner than this should have happened. You don’t know these half-blood Spaniards as I do. You don’t know what mischief may befall us all through your rashness.”

“I wonder that you admit him to your house, Uncle!” I exclaimed hotly, for anger was getting the better of discretion.

I was sorry, though, the next minute; for, on hearing my words, my uncle glanced in a troubled way at his wife, who was trying to soothe poor weeping Lilla; while, during the next hour, I learned that I had had the misfortune to strike down the man who was my uncle’s creditor to a large amount, as he had been Mrs Landell’s, or they would not have allowed his attentions to Lilla.

“I’m ashamed of it all, my boy,” said my uncle; “but he holds our future entirely in his hands, and he looks for the receipt of Lilla’s little dowry as part payment of the debts. I’ve struggled very hard against ruin, Hal, and now it seems that it must come. But after all, I don’t know that I’m sorry, for it would have been a cruel thing—like selling that poor child. But when a man is embarrassed as I am, what can he do? And besides, we both thought at one time that Lilla had a leaning towards him. It was when he seemed to come forward generously with his money, which I was foolish enough to take. But there, let it pass; and I repeat, mind, Hal, that I cannot allow matters to go on between you and Lilla. All will be at an end with Garcia, I suppose, and we shall have to turn out; but I cannot encourage you. I must begin again, I suppose.”

“Uncle,” I said, “I am deeply grieved that my coming should work such evil in the place,” for my anger had now evaporated. “I ask your pardon for bringing such trouble upon your house. I could not help loving Lilla; to see her was to do that; and even now, if I saw that fellow brutally using his strength against her, I should feel obliged to strike him.”

“Things must take their course, Harry,” said my uncle; “and I don’t know that, after all, I am very much grieved. We have seen the man now in his true colours, and I learn that one of those colours is that which is worn by a coward. But while you stay, Harry, beware! Garcia has sworn that he’ll have your blood, and he will!”

“Yes, Uncle,” I said quietly, “if he can!”

“Just so, Harry; but take care.”

“I’ll be on my guard, Uncle,” I replied.

And then I left him to go and think, my pulses throbbing as I thought of the exciting turn my adventures were taking—the event of the last hour—my discovery, if such it could be called; and I longed for the time when I could put it to the proof.

Chapter Thirty Two.

Not quite.

The time glided on, and I saw no more of Garcia; but, all the same, I could not help feeling that this calm might portend a storm.

My uncle was evidently very uneasy; but he said no more, merely proceeding with his business as usual, while with Tom I took trips here and there, making myself certainly now no burden, for we returned each evening loaded with game of some description—deer, fowl, or fish.

The first two days I saw at different times that we were followed; but afterwards it seemed that the spies, self-constituted or not, had given up their task, and that we were free to roam the forest as we pleased.

I grew hopeful upon making this discovery, and longingly looked forward for the night of our great adventure.

It seemed as if that night would never come, but it came at last.

Instead of going to my bed-room I stole out directly I had seen my uncle take his last cigar; and knowing that my absence would not be noticed, I made my way to the appointed place.

It was excessively dark—a favourable omen, I thought; and on reaching the little wood there was Tom smoking his pipe, with the bowl inside his jacket, though, had the ruddy glow been seen at a distance, it might easily have been taken for the lanthorn of a fire-fly.

“Seen any one, Tom?” I whispered.

“Not a soul, sir.”

“Have you got all we want?”

“I believe you, Mas’r Harry. Two spades, two mules, plenty to eat and drink, plenty of powder and lead, and coffee-bags enough—brand-new ones of your uncle’s—to put in all the treasure we shall find.”

I could not see Tom’s face, but I felt sure that he was indulging in a good grin. However, I said nothing; but enjoining caution, we each took the bridle of a mule and began to thread our way cautiously amongst the trees, taking the precaution of setting off in an opposite direction to that we intended afterwards to pursue.

It was a strange and a weird journey, but we went on hour after hour, and nothing molested us. About midnight we halted to let the beasts graze for half an hour in a grassy vale, while we did what Tom called the same; our pasture being cake, and our drink spirit and water.

Refreshed by our short halt, we again journeyed, and from time to time, after giving Tom the bridle of my mule, I stayed back to listen and try to discover whether we were followed; but, save the cry of some beast, there was nothing to be heard.

About two hours after midnight we struck the little stream, and soon after were well in the ravine, when, for the purpose of exercising greater caution, and, as Tom said, running the risk of being stung, we each took the bridle of our mule over one arm and went down on all fours, crawling forward; and so slow was our progress that, were we watched and a glimpse of us obtained, I felt certain that we must be taken for a little herd slowly grazing towards the mouth of the great cavern.

We reached the rocky pass at last, and then, muffling the feet of the mules with the coffee-bags, we took them cautiously on—the intelligent beasts clambering carefully and with hardly a sound—when we led them right in for some distance, gave them the maize we had brought, and then sat down in the darkness listening to their crunching of the grain and the loud cries of the guacharo birds as they flew in and out, fortifying ourselves the while with a hearty meal—Tom foregoing his pipe for reasons of cautious tendency.

According to my calculations the day would break in about an hour’s time; and during that hour, but always on the alert, we stretched ourselves upon the sand to rest, listening to every sound; for there was the possibility, we knew, of there being enemies, biped or quadruped, within a few yards of where we rested.

Towards daybreak it turned intensely cold—colder than I could have imagined possible in a tropic land; but we were prepared to bear cold as well as danger, for a fire would, of course, have been inviting observation.

Day at last; with a glorious flush of light reaching down the valley, and making the stalactites on the roof to glisten. But our ideas now were bent on the object we had in view, and nature’s magnificence was unnoticed.

As soon as the light had penetrated sufficiently, we led the mules farther in, and secured them in the broad passage, so that they could reach the water of the stream; our next step being to creep cautiously to the rocky barrier, and, well sheltering ourselves, to watch long and carefully for some sign of spies.

We did so for a full hour, but the silence of the place was even awful. Then the grey dawn brightened into the sweet fresh morning, with the heavy dew glistening in the sunshine as it dripped from the great tropic leaves—otherwise all was still; and convinced at length that those who had hitherto dogged our steps had for this time been eluded, I made a sign to Tom; and going in about fifty yards, we seized our spades and began to throw the light soil and sand into the bed of the little stream, shovelful after shovelful, so as to form a dam, which was at first washed down nearly as fast as we piled it up; but at last our efforts were successful, and the dammed-up water began to flow aside, cutting for itself a new channel through the sand, and making its exit a few feet nearer the rocky barrier, but taking up its former course on the other side.

We rested then for a few minutes, faint and hot; but the excitement of the quest took from us the sense of fatigue, for the water had all drained away from the bed of the stream, and the little pool close under the rocky barrier now presented the appearance of a depression whose bottom was covered with a beautifully clean sand.

I had come provided this time with a longer rod, and, taking it in my trembling hands, I stood for a few moments upon the sand, anxious, but dreading to force it down lest it should be to prove that I had been deceived by my over-sanguine nature.

Then, rousing myself, I thrust the rod down, when, at the depth of four feet, it came in contact with some obstacle.

Drawing it up I tried again and again, Tom eagerly watching the while, as I proved to a certainty that there was something buried in the sand, extending over a space of about three feet by two, while elsewhere I could force the rod down to the depth of over five feet without let or hindrance.

“Try yourself, Tom,” I said hoarsely, as I passed to him the rod, which he seized eagerly, and thrust down; while trembling with excitement I cautiously climbed the barrier, beneath which lay the hole, and peered over the rocks into the valley.

Not a leaf moving—all hot and still in the morning sun; and I returned to Tom.

“Well?” I said eagerly.

“Well,” echoed Tom; “I should think it is well! There is something buried here, Mas’r Harry, and it ain’t rocks, nor stones, nor wood. I fancy it’s a lead coffin, for it feels like it with the point of the rod.”

“Nonsense!” I said impatiently. “There would be no lead coffins here, Tom.”

“We’ll see, anyhow, Mas’r Harry,” he exclaimed. And seizing a spade he began to hurl the sand out furiously. “There’s a something down here, that’s certain,” he panted out between the spadefuls, “but what it is goodness knows. All I can say is that it’s a something.”

“Let me come too, Tom,” I cried excitedly.

“No, I shan’t, Mas’r Harry!” he exclaimed. “There ain’t room for both of us to work at once, and we shall only be tripping one another up. Let me work a spell, and then you can take a turn.”

Tom dug away at a tremendous rate, the wet sand cutting out firmly and easily, and soon the hole grew deep and wide, when, suddenly resting, Tom looked up at me.

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” he said, just as I leaped down into the hole, “go and see if there’s anybody coming.”

“No,” I said, looking at him suspiciously; “go you.”

“Course I will, Mas’r Harry!” he exclaimed. “But say, what a s’picious sort of a fellow you do get.”

Then, jumping out, he took his turn at inspecting the ravine, peering cautiously through the creepers that covered the rocks, while I toiled hard at the spade, throwing up the wet sand.

“Don’t throw no more this side, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom on his return. “Pitch it the other way. It’s been falling into the water and making it thick, so as it will go running down and telling everybody as we’re at work in here.”

Tom’s words made me leap out of the hole.

“Gracious, Tom!” I exclaimed, “what a fool I am!”

“Well, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom bluntly, “I did think as you was just now, over that s’picion o’ yourn; but as to throwing the sand into the water, why, one can’t foresee everything. I don’t think there’s any harm done, though.”

“I beg your pardon, Tom,” I exclaimed, holding out my hand, “it was ungenerous.”

“All right, Mas’r Harry,” he said, taking my hand awkwardly, as if I had given him something to look at, and then he seemed to give it to me back again, when, once more turning to our task, we threw out the sand close under the rocky barrier, and it was well we did so, as will be seen in the end.

“There’s something here. I can feel it with my spade, Mas’r Harry,” exclaimed Tom suddenly.

And then, moved by the same tremulous nervous feeling as myself, he leapt out, and together we once more searched the vale with our eyes, to see nothing, though, but the same flagging leaves and the quivering motion of the bright transparent air. But as we descended once more, a snorting, whinnying noise from the mules came from within, and in our excitement and alarm we were about to thrust in the sand again to bury our treasure, only reason told us of the folly of the act.

Spade in hand we ran into the gloom, and followed the winding of the track to where the mules were tethered, to find them uneasy and straining at their halters, as if something had alarmed them.

Chapter Thirty Three.

Mica or Gold.

“Ah! there’s some one about, Mas’r Harry, I’m ’fear’d,” whispered Tom. “I wish we’d covered the stuff up again. What do you say to taking a light and going right in?”

Tom’s advice seemed so sensible that we ran back, fetched a candle and the matches, got a light, and then carefully examined the cave, peering wherever it seemed possible for any one to hide.

But our search was in vain, though we penetrated right to the point on the great gulf, and peered into the dark arch. As far as we could see all was silent, solemn, and grand, and we had nothing to fear from behind us while we worked.

“Well, it’s been a deal of bother, Mas’r Harry; but it’s better than thinking every moment that there’s some one going to jump out on you.”

The mules were quiet as we passed them on our way back, and we then inspected the valley from the spot we called our observatory, but all was still; and hastily seizing a spade, I was once more digging away, Tom casting aside the sand I threw out.

The edge of the spade touched something now every time I thrust it in. I had but to stoop and force in my fingers to feel the buried object; but moved by that spirit which induces people to examine so carefully the outside of a strange letter, when the interior is at their disposal, I feasted expectancy for a few minutes longer, telling myself that I would carefully clear out all the sand before I tried to ascertain what our treasure might be.

That was an exciting period, and I can picture it all even now: the great cave, with its vast arch protruding right over the barrier, so that we were toiling in the shadow of the huge vault, filled by day with an ever-deepening golden mellow gloom—a gloom deepening into blackness in the far depths; the trickling water, fresh from its mysterious source in the great amphitheatre; our splashed and stained figures, toiling together now in the pit we had dug; and the friendly scuffle which took place when, the sand being well cleared out, Tom stooped, but only to be arrested by my hand.

“No,” I exclaimed, “let me, Tom!”

Then, with painfully throbbing heart I bent down, the blood seeming to flush to my head so as to nearly blind me.

The next moment my fingers were groping about amongst the sand and water.

“Be quick, Mas’r Harry, please, or I shall bust!” cried Tom, just as my fingers encountered something hard.

With a cry of joy I rose up, to exhibit to the staring eyes of Tom Bulk a glittering yellow stone.

“Gold, Tom—gold!” I exclaimed. “And here’s more and more!”

I stooped down, to bring up two, three, four more lumps of the same glittering yellow stone.

“No, ’tain’t, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, gruffly, as he turned over one of the fragments in his hand. “That ain’t gold at all; that’s what they calls mica. I allers reclect the name, cause it’s the same as one of the prophets we used to read about at school. You might get plenty of that in the rocks, without much trouble. It’s just the same stuff as some mates of mine once got out of a gravel pit at home, and they took it to the watchmaker in the town, and they says to him, ‘What’s that gold worth?’ they says. ‘Which gold?’ he says. ‘Why, that,’ they says. ‘That’s no more gold than you are,’ he says; ‘that’s mica.’ And then he told them that they might allers tell gold in a moment, by pulling out a knife and trying to cut it, when if it was gold it would cut easy like, just the same as a piece of lead. Try that, Mas’r Harry.”

Snatching out my knife, I cut at one of the pieces of yellow stone, to find it splinter under the keen edge of my blade.

“I’ll swear, though, that the pynt of that rod hit something else besides them bits of stone, Mas’r Harry. Try again; or, no—let me try.”

The disappointment was so keen, that for a few moments I was speechless, and offered no opposition to Tom, who began to grope about with both hands to bring up dozens more pieces of the micaceous rock, and then a piece of flint that seemed to have been chipped into shape, and then a long obsidian blade.

“We’re a-coming to something after all, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom. “Here’s a cur’osity, and here—here—here’s—pah! I don’t like handling them.”

As he spoke, Tom held out to my view three or four blackened bones, which he threw down again amongst the sand and water at the bottom.

“We shall come to the leaden coffin after all, Mas’r Harry,” he said. “This has been a berryin’ place after a fight, p’r’aps; but is it worth while to disturb it?”

I did not answer, for my attention had been taken up by a slight sound towards the interior of the cave.

“Here, quick, Tom!” I exclaimed.

He leaped out in an instant, just as, with a fierce rush, the pent-up water conquered our little dam, took to its old bed, and swept down sand and soil, filling up our pit in a few minutes as it bore all before it, and then subsided quietly into its former course, the sand sucking up the moisture where it had levelled; and to a casual observer the cave seemed as if it had been untouched for ages.

“Well that’s pleasant, certainly,” said Tom coolly; “but ’taint so bad as it might have been. We haven’t got wet. Never mind, Mas’r Harry, we’ll have it out again by-and-by. There’s more in that hole yet than we have seen. Them bits of yaller stuff weren’t put in for nothing. But let’s go up again to the prog and have a good feed before we begin again; and, suppose you bring your spade?”

I followed Tom mechanically, spade in hand, to where, behind a mass of rock, we had made our storehouse, and seating ourselves in the gloomy shade I was busily opening my wallet, when Tom, who was getting some maize for the mules, suddenly pressed my shoulder and pointing in the direction of the cave’s mouth, I heard him whisper the one word:

“Look!”

I looked, with my eyes seeming to be glued to the spot, as slowly there appeared above the rugged line formed by the top of the rocky barrier a human head, another, and another, with intervals of a dozen yards between each; and then they remained motionless, gazing straight forward into the great cavern.

Chapter Thirty Four.

Our Work renewed.

Could they see us, or could they not?

It was a hard trial sitting there motionless, wondering whether those eager, searching eyes could penetrate as far through the gloom as where we sat. It seemed they could not, as, for full ten minutes, their owners rested there peering over the massive rocks.

The least movement on our part, a whinny or a snort from the mules, would have been sufficient to have betrayed our whereabouts, and bloodshed would, perhaps, have followed; but all remained still, save once, when I heard Tom’s gun-lock give a faint click just as first one and then another head was being withdrawn.

“There, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom in a whisper. “What do you think of that? They’re on the look-out for us you see. And we got grumbling about the little dam breaking, when what did it break to do? Why, to smooth over the rough work we had done, so as those copper-coloured gentlemen shouldn’t see it and make a row. But, say Mas’r Harry, I a’most wonder they didn’t see the water look thick. P’r’aps they will yet, so I wouldn’t move.”

Tom’s advice was so good that we sat for quite a couple of hours, when I told him of the plans I had made.

“Tom,” I said, “it was an act of folly for us to be working there without one of us watching. I tell you what we must do, we must rest till it begins to grow dusk, and then begin working in the dark. Do you see?”

“Well, I can see now, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom grinning; “but I don’t see how I’m going to see then. How so be: just as you like. I’m ready when you are.”

The afternoon passed, the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and the dark shadows began to fall, just as with a loud shriek bird after bird winged its way out of the cavern for its nightly quest of food. We stole to the barrier, looked long and cautiously down the valley, and then set to work in the dim and fast-fading light to dam the stream—this time taking the precaution to lay lumps of rock and stalactites in the bed to support our embankment of sand and earth; when once more the stream took another course, the bed was dry, and in silence we stepped down to the site of our former labours.

I was not so sanguine now of the toil proving remunerative; but from the little knowledge I possessed of the Indian’s superstitious character I felt pretty sure that they would not venture by night to a cavern whose interior was clothed by them with endless mysterious terrors, though it possessed terrors enough, as we well knew, without the aid of superstition. But all the same, there was the chance of others having an object in watching us, so every spadeful was thrown out in silence, every word spoken in a whisper. The night came on impenetrably black and obscure, but we worked on, feeling our way lower and lower, taking turn and turn, till once more we stood in the pit we had dug, and commenced groping about with our hands, for the spades told us that we had come to whatever was buried.

“More of these yaller stones,” said Tom.

We threw out as quietly as we could a couple of hundred rough lumps about the size of those fragments of granite used for macadamising a modern road.

“Tom,” I said, after trying about with my spade, “there’s something more here. I believe those pieces were put in to deceive whoever searched.”

“Let me clear out a little more of the sand, Mas’r Harry.”

He threw out a few more spadefuls, filling the spade each time with his hands so as to throw out nothing more than sand; and then once more we began to feel about.

“What’s that, Tom?” I whispered hastily.

I knew by his exclamation that he had found something particular.

“Nothin’ at all,” said Tom sulkily.

“I insist upon knowing what it is,” I cried angrily, as I caught him by the arm.

For—it must have been the influence of the gold—I again felt suspicious.

“There it is, then,” said Tom gruffly, “ketch hold.”

I eagerly took that which he had handed to me, and then with a shudder of disgust hurled it away, as the gravedigger scene in “Hamlet” flashed across my mind; and then we worked on in silence.

“Bones,” said Tom, “flint-knife things, and, hallo! what’s that you’ve got, Mas’r Harry?” he exclaimed in a sharp whisper.

In my turn I had uttered an exclamation as my hands came in contact with a flat heavy piece of metal, which, upon being balanced upon a finger and tapped, gave forth a sonorous ring.

“I don’t know, Tom,” I whispered huskily, “but—but it feels like what we are in search of.”

“Do you think it is gold, Mas’r Harry?” he hissed in a voice that told of his own excitement.

“Gold or silver, Tom,” I said in a choking voice.

Then I felt faint. Suspicions of a horrible nature seemed to float across my brain. “Suppose,” I thought, “Tom should murder me now to possess himself of the treasure, load the mules, and then bury me in the grave we had dug. The water would flow over it again in a few hours, and who would ever suspect the man who went away laden with wealth?”

The next moment, though, I had driven away the base thoughts, and was leaning against the rock above me.

“Tom,” I said, “I’m faint; go and fetch the spirits.”

“I will that, Mas’r Harry,” he whispered, “for I don’t know how it is, I’m feeling rather queer myself. It’s this stuff, I think. I’ve got hold of one of these little tiles, and one can’t see it, but it feels yaller.”

Tom passed another plate into my hands, when running my fingers over it my heart beat more rapidly, for I could feel an embossed surface that told of cunning work, and I longed intensely to get a light and examine what we had found though I knew such a proceeding would be folly.

In a few minutes Tom was back, and a draught from the bottle we had brought revived us, so that we quickly cleared out the wet sand and water that kept filtering in, and then as fast as we could grope drew out plate after plate and placed them in one of the coffee-bags Tom had brought.

We did not need telling that it was gold. The sonorous ring told that as plate touched plate. The darkness, as I said, was intense. But I could almost fancy that a bright yellow phosphorescent halo was spread around each plate as we drew it from its sandy bed.

“But suppose, Mas’r Harry, as it’s only brass?” whispered Tom suddenly.

“Brass, Tom? No, it’s gold—rich, yellow gold; and now who dares say I’m a beggar?”

“Not me, Mas’r Harry. But I won’t believe it’s gold till I’ve seen it by daylight. ’Tain’t lead, or it wouldn’t ring. ’Tain’t iron, for it will cut. I’ve been trying it.”

“Hush, Tom!” I said hoarsely. “Work—work! or it will be day, and we shall be discovered.”

As I spoke I bent down into the hole to drag out what felt like a vase, but all beaten in and flattened. Then another, and four or five curiously shaped vessels.

“Fetch another bag, Tom,” I whispered; for the one we now had felt heavy, and I wanted them to be portable.

“Wait a bit, Mas’r Harry,” whispered Tom. “Here’s a rum un here—big as a table top. Lend a hand, will you.”

Both trembling with excitement we toiled and strained, and at last extricated a great flat circular plate that seemed to weigh forty or fifty pounds, and stood it against the rock.

And now in the wild thirst I forgot all about bags or concealment as we kept scraping out the sand and water, and then brought out more plates, more cups, thin flat sheets, bars of the thickness of a finger and six inches long. Then another great round disc similar to the one I had dragged out with Tom; and then—then—sand—water—sand—water—sand—one solitary plate.

“There must be more, Tom!” I whispered excitedly. “Where is the rod?”

He felt about for a few minutes, and I heard the metal clinking upon metal as he drew the iron rod towards him. Then, feeling for the pointed end, he thrust it down here and there again and again.

“Try you, Mas’r Harry,” he said huskily.

I took the rod, and felt with it all over the pit; but everywhere it ran down easily into the sand, and I felt that we must have got all there was hidden there. And now, for the first time, I began to think of the value. Why, if this were all pure gold that lay piled-up by our side, there must be thousands upon thousands of pounds’ worth—twenty thousands at the least. But a pang shot through my brain the next instant, for the thought had struck me, suppose it should prove but copper after all.

The day would show it, and the day I hoped would soon be there. But now a new trouble assailed me. What about Tom—what share would he expect?

“Mas’r Harry,” said Tom just then, “if this here all turns out to be gold you’ll be a rich man, won’t you?”

“Yes, Tom,” I said, “very wealthy.”

My words would hardly leave my lips. “Then you’ll do the handsome thing by me when I get married, won’t you, Mas’r Harry?”

“What shall I do, Tom?” I said, wondering the while what he would say.

“’Low me a pound a week and my ’bacco as long as I live.”

“Yes, Tom, two if you like,” I exclaimed aloud. “But now lend a hand here and let’s get these behind the rock farther in.”

Fatigue! We never gave that a thought, as, each seizing one of the round shields, we carried them cautiously in and felt our way to where was the food, taking back with us more of the coffee-bags, in which we carefully packed the flattened cups, and each bore back a heavy bag, but only hastily to return again and again to collect the plates, and sheets, and bars we had rapidly thrown out; when we returned once more to throw ourselves upon the sand and feel over it with our hands again and again, creeping in every direction, forcing in our fingers and running the sand through them till we felt certain that nothing was left behind.

“Now, then, Tom,” I said. “Quick!—the spades. There must not be a trace of this night’s work left at daybreak.”

Tom’s hard breathing was the only response, as, seizing his spade and giving me mine, he forced back the sand, helping me to shovel it in until the floor was once more pretty level, and we knew the water would do the rest, even to removing the traces of our running to and fro, unless the sharp Indian eye should be applied closely to the floor of the cavern.

We toiled on, working furiously in our excitement, feeling about so as to compensate as well as we could for the want of sight, till I knew that no more could be done, when, retreating inward to where we had dammed the stream, we let the water flow swiftly back into its old channel, leaving the bits of rock where they were, save one or two whose loosening soon set the water free, so that it swept with a rush over the place where we had so lately toiled; and then, dripping with perspiration and water, we went and sat down to eat and rest just as the first faint streaks of dawn began to show in the valley, and we could see that there was a barrier across the mouth of the cave.

Chapter Thirty Six.

Another Encounter.

“Right, Mas’r Harry, I’m here,” he exclaimed.

“Put half those about you in your different pockets, Tom,” I said. And he did as he was bid, handling the little ingots as if they were so much lead. “And, Tom, I want your advice. I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not prudent to take all this through the woods at night, with Indians about.”

“That’s sense, that is,” said Tom, interrupting.

“I think, Tom, we’ll hide it—all but this, which we’ll take back; and then we can come well prepared some other time, to carry the rest away.”

“Good, Mas’r Harry; but where’ll we hide it?”

“That’s what I’m thinking, Tom,” I said. “Where do you think would be a good place?”

“Well, Mas’r Harry, I shouldn’t bury it, because that’s the way it was hidden afore; nor I wouldn’t chuck it down the big gulf place, as you call it; it would be safe enough, only we couldn’t get it again.”

“Don’t fool, Tom,” I said impatiently.

“Who’s a fooling?” said Tom gruffly. “Tell you what, Mas’r Harry, I don’t think those Indian chaps would ever have the pluck to go right in where we’ve been. What do you think of the way under the arch on the raft?”

“The very idea that struck me, Tom,” I said.

Then I told him my plans—the result being that, at the end of a couple of hours, the little raft was prepared, launched, laden with our packages, and once more, with candles stuck in their clay sticks, we were poling ourselves along very slowly in the black tunnel.

The lights flashed on roof, and from off the water, which rippled over the bamboos and soaked us through and through; but we pressed slowly and steadily on till we must have been half-way to the vault of the troubled waters, when I whispered to Tom to stop.

We were now in a part where the tunnel widened out to thirty or forty feet, though the roof was not more than a foot above our heads, and remarkable for the streaks of a creamy spar which banded it in every direction.

“Tom,” I said in a whisper, as I glanced round to see that we were alone, “could we do better than this?”

As I spoke I was trying the depth with my bamboo pole, to find that, wherever I reached, there was not more than five feet of water.

“But suppose it’s that shivering sand, and it swallers it up, Mas’r Harry?”

“But it’s hard rock, Tom. Feel,” I whispered.

There was no mistaking the firmness of the bottom; so, carefully marking the spot by a cross which I scored on the roof with my knife, we softly dropped in six golden packages over the side of our little raft, which seemed ready to leap out of the water on being released from its heavy burden.

A soft gentle splash in each case, and then the black waters closed over each package, a pang striking my heart as they disappeared; and I asked myself whether I was wise, now that I had gained the object of my search, to let it go from me again like that. I was roused, though, from my reverie by Tom, who generally had a word of encouragement for me at the blackest times.

“There, Mas’r Harry, that’s covered up well, and it can be easily uncovered again; and I’ll lay my head agin a halfpenny apple, that if we don’t come to fetch that there, nobody else won’t; for unless we told, nobody wouldn’t never find it.”

I could not help thinking that Tom was right; and now, with my treasure found, and, as it were, banked for my use, I felt lighter of spirit, and we floated easily back in about the quarter of the time occupied in going; when, carefully taking our raft once more partly to pieces, we concealed it behind the rocks, and made the best of our way to the mules.

“Now, Mas’r Harry, you may do as you like; but I say, let’s get twenty or thirty of these stone icicles, just as if we’d come on purpose to fetch ’em, pack ’em atop of the mules, and ride bang out as if we were not afraid of anybody.”

It was good counsel, and I followed it, riding over the stony barrier just as the sun was setting. The stalactites were swung in coffee-bags on either side of the mules, which, delighted at being once more in the open air, cantered off merrily whenever the track would allow.

It was just beginning to grow dark upon as glorious an evening as ever shone upon the gorgeous tropic world, when we reached the end of the ravine, and both became at the same instant aware of about a dozen Indians, who advanced quickly, making friendly signs, and repeating the word—“Amigos! Amigos!”

“They want to see what we’ve got, Mas’r Harry,” chuckled Tom. “Don’t show fight unless they do.”

Professing to ask for tobacco and a light, the little party surrounded us; and, as if by accident, one man touched the bags, and contrived to see their contents, when he said something to his companions, to whom we civilly gave what they asked, showing no trace of tremor; while they were smiling and servile. But I could not help feeling what would have been our fate had the lading of those mules been the treasure, for twelve to two were long odds.

It was evident that they were satisfied, and giving us the country salutation, they bade us good-night, and we moved off; but Tom pulled up, and shouted after the leader of the party, who returned; when, with a face whose gravity could be seen, even in that dim short twilight, to be extreme, Tom took out one of his smallest stalactites, held it up before him, and repeated the word “buono” three times, and then presented it to the Indian, who received it with grave courtesy and retired.

“There,” said Tom, “if he don’t go and tell his tribe that we’re madmen after that, why, I was never born down Cornwall way. Say, though, Mas’r Harry, that was a narrow escape; those chaps watch that gold, and they thought we had it; and if we had been loaded that way I’m thinking that it would have been buried again, with two skulls and bones this time, and those would have been ours.”

I shuddered as I urged my mule onward, anxious to reach the hacienda, which we did earlier than I hoped for, stabled our mules, and then, relieving Tom of his golden burden, I went up to my room and secured it in my travelling case, before descending to find my uncle sitting, with Lilla kneeling beside him, holding his hand; and a glance showed me that both she and Mrs Landell had been weeping bitterly.

I was surprised to see them assembled at so late an hour, but taking no notice, I went up and shook hands.

“Well, Harry,” said my uncle sadly; “had enough of exploring yet?”

“Quite, Uncle,” I said. “I have finished now.”

He looked up at me for a moment, and then fell to stroking Lilla’s golden hair.

“Well, lad, I’m sorry,” he said, after a pause; “but I may as well tell you, and be out of my misery. But don’t think I blame you, lad—don’t think I blame you, for I suppose it was to be.”

“What is it, Uncle?” I said in an indifferent tone. “No new trouble, I hope?”

He glanced at me in a sadly disappointed way, and then said sternly:

“I don’t reproach you, Harry; but that blow you struck Garcia has been my ruin, unless I buy his favour with this.”

As he spoke he laid his hand tenderly upon Lilla’s head, then drew her to him and kissed her lovingly.

“But we can’t do that, my little lamb—we can’t do that,” he continued. “We are to be turned out of the place; but I daresay there’s a living to be got—eh, Harry? You’ll not leave us, I suppose, now we’re in trouble? You said you would not, and now, my lad, is the time to put you to the proof. You’ll work now, won’t you?”

“Not if I know it, Uncle,” I said coolly. “Why should I work? I’m much obliged for your hospitality; but I feel now disposed to go back to England, and the sooner the better.”

My uncle did not speak, and a dead silence fell upon all. I caught one sad, reproachful glance from Lilla’s eyes; and then she clung, weeping and whispering to my uncle, who, however, only shook his head.

“I think, my dears, we’ll go to rest,” he said at last suddenly. “Lilla, my child, fetch the Book—we’ll have one chapter in the old place for the last time, for who can tell where we shall be to-morrow?”

My heart burned within me as I longed to tell the true-hearted old fellow of my success, but I would not then. The news of Garcia’s behaviour gave me an opportunity that I could not resist, and, after sitting in silence till my uncle had read his chapter and offered up a simple prayer for the protection of all, I allowed them to part from me almost coldly, though more in sorrow than in anger, and to go, aching of heart, to bed.

I knew that Tom would not say a word, so I was safe; and the next morning, after a sad, dull breakfast, I sat with them all in the darkened room, my uncle starting at every noise in the yard, where all looked bright and fair, while Lilla’s eyes met mine from time to time in mingled reproach and wonder at what seemed to her my heartless behaviour.

We had not long to wait, for it seemed that Garcia had declared his intention of being there that morning to demand payment of money, the greater part of which had been advanced to Mrs Landell when a widow—a debt which my uncle had undertaken to repay at the same time that he had accepted further favours from this man.

We had not been seated there an hour when we heard Garcia’s voice in the yard, and Lilla crept closer to Mrs Landell.

“Harry,” said my uncle, “you must please leave the room. I was in hopes that you would have gone out. I cannot find it in my heart to give up without making an appeal to Garcia for time.”

“An appeal that shall end in a new bargain being made with respect to that poor girl!” I exclaimed. “Uncle, be a man, or you will make me blush for you!”

My uncle was about to speak when Garcia noisily entered the room, his sneering, triumphant face turning pale with rage as he saw me seated there.

Mrs Landell and Lilla both cast an imploring glance at me, one which I answered by crossing over, taking Lilla’s hand, and whispering a few words of comfort and encouragement.

Garcia’s eyes flashed, but he kept down his resentment, and, advancing to the table:

“SeÑor Landell,” he said, “I come to demand the money that is due to me, and which I must now have. Of course you are prepared?”

“Prepared, Garcia?” said my uncle. “I am not prepared—you know that,” he continued sadly. “But still these stringent proceedings will do you no good. I ask you as a favour for time. I am certain that I can realise more from the plantation than you can. Give me time and it will prove to your advantage.”

“Miss Lilla,” said Garcia, advancing with a smile, “you hear your stepfather’s words. It rests with you. Shall I give him time?”

Lilla’s only reply, as I stood back, was a shudder, and she clung more closely to her mother.

The action was not lost upon Garcia, who stepped back rapidly to the door, uttered some words to a couple of men in waiting, and they followed him into the room.

“You have the papers,” said Garcia fiercely to the elder man, who seemed a sort of notary; “take possession of this place and all thereon, as forfeited to me in accordance with the bonds. SeÑor Landell, in an hour I require you to be off this plantation. As for you,” he exclaimed, turning to advance threateningly upon me, “you are an intruder. This place is my property; leave here this instant! Or stay,” he said with mock courtesy; “perhaps the gay young English seÑor will take compassion upon his uncle’s position and release him by paying his debt. What does SeÑor Grant say?”

“Harry, for Heaven’s sake,” cried my uncle, “let there be no disturbance. Take care, or there will be bloodshed!” he cried.

For as I advanced to confront Garcia he drew out a pistol.

“Stand aside, Uncle!” I exclaimed angrily, for he had caught my arm. “I know how to deal with this cowardly bully! Put up that pistol or—”

I did not finish my sentence, for in obedience to a nod Garcia was dragged back into a chair, and Tom Bulk’s sturdy arms pinioned him, but not in time; for, with a cry of rage, he drew the trigger. There was a sharp report, and then, as the smoke floated upward, a wild cry echoed through the room.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

Slippery Metal.

That cry was from Lilla, who ran to my uncle’s side just as he staggered to a chair, holding his face with both hands.

“Not much hurt, I think,” he gasped; “but it was a close touch—a sort of farewell keepsake,” he said with a faint attempt to smile.

It was, indeed, a narrow escape, for the ball had ploughed one of his cheeks so that it bled profusely, and I could have freely returned the shot in the rage which I felt.

Perhaps it would have been better for all parties had I fired, for it would only have been disabling as black-hearted a scoundrel as ever breathed. But my plans were made, and by an effort I kept to them, just as the notary was about to flee in alarm.

“Loose him, Tom,” I said; and Garcia started up, foaming almost at the mouth. “Keep back there,” I cried, “and do not let me see one of those hands move towards breast or pocket. The instant I detect any such act I fire.”

Garcia stood scowling for a few moments but not meeting my eye, and I continued addressing the notary:

“Give me full particulars of this amount, and I will pay it.”

“You, Harry—you!” exclaimed my uncle.

“You!—you vile impostor! You beggar and vagabond! You do not possess an onza of gold,” roared Garcia, bursting forth into a fit of vituperation. “Don’t listen to him; don’t heed him; it’s a trick—a plan. I take possession. The money was to be paid this morning, and it is not paid, so I seize the plantation.”

“You are the business man,” I said coolly to the notary—with that coolness that the possession of money gives—“this is a mining country, and gold in ounces should be current.”

“The best of currency, seÑor,” said the notary with a smile and a bow.

“Tell me the amount, then, in ounces,” I said, “and I will pay you.”

“Don Xeres,” gasped Garcia, almost beside himself with rage, “I will take no promises to pay.”

The old notary shrugged his shoulders.

“But, SeÑor Garcia, there are no promises to pay. I understand the English seÑor to say that he will pay—at once! Am I not right, seÑor?”

“Quite,” I said. “Uncle, I will lend you this amount.”

“But, Harry, my dear boy, you are mad! You have no idea of the extent.”

“Two hundred and five ounces would equal the amount in pesos d’oro which SeÑor Landell is indebted,” said the notary quietly.

“Good!” I said. “Then will you have proper balances brought? Uncle, see to the return of your papers.”

“I am in the hands of SeÑor Xeres,” said my uncle in a bewildered tone. “He will see justice done.”

The old notary bowed and smiled, while I crossed to where my leather case stood upon a side-table, brought it to my chair, and then seated myself, slowly unbuckling the straps and unlocking it while the balances were brought, when I drew out six of the little yellow bar ingots and passed them over to the notary, who was the banker of the district as well.

He took them, turned them over, wiped his glasses, and replaced them; then examined each bar again.

“Pure metal, I think, seÑor?” I said, smiling.

“The purest, SeÑor Inglese,” he replied with another bow.

Then, placing the ingots in the balances, he recorded each one’s weight as he went on, to find them, with a few grains variation more or less, six ounces each.

Five times, to Garcia’s astonishment and rage, did I bring from the case in my lap six of the golden bars, the notary the while testing and weighing them one by one in the coolest and most business-like way imaginable. Then his spectacles were directed inquiringly at me, and I brought out four more, which were duly weighed and placed with the others. Then again were the spectacles directed at me.

“Another ounce, less a quarter, seÑor,” said the notary. “I have here two hundred and four ounces and a quarter.”

“Fortunatus’s purse wants aiding, Uncle,” I said, unwilling to exhibit more of the golden spoil. “You can manage the three-quarters of an ounce?”

My uncle was speechless; but he rushed to a secretary, took out a little canvas bag, and counted out the difference in coin. When, coolly drawing out bags of his own, the notary made up a neat package of the bars, inclosing therewith his account of the weights, tied it up, lit—with apparatus of his own—a wax taper, sealed the package, and handed it to Garcia, who took it with a fierce scowl, but only to dash it down the next instant upon the table.

“I will not take it,” he exclaimed. “It is a trick—the gold is base!”

“SeÑor Don Pablo Garcia, I have—I, S. Xeres—have examined and proved that gold,” said the old notary. “I say it is pure, and you cannot refuse it. SeÑor Landell, there are your bonds now. SeÑor Garcia is angry, but the business is terminated.”

Rising and bowing to us with a courtly grace that could win nothing less than respect, the old notary handed some deeds to my uncle, and then, picking up the gold, he passed his arm through Garcia’s and led him away—the notary’s attendant following with his master’s writing-case and balances.

But the next moment a shadow darkened the door, and Garcia would have rushed in had not Tom blocked the way.

“Now, then, where are you shovin’ to, eh?” grumbled Tom; and there was a scuffle, and the muttering of a score of Spanish oaths, with, I must say, a couple of English ones, that sounded to be in Tom’s voice, when Garcia shouted, in a voice that we could all hear:

“Tell him there is another debt to pay yet, and it shall be paid in another coin!”

The door closed then, and it was evident that Tom was enjoying the act of seeing Garcia off the premises, while the next minute my uncle was holding me tightly by both hands and my aunt sobbing on my neck.

“And I was saying you were like the rest of the world—like the rest of the world, Harry, my dear boy,” was all my uncle could say, in a choking voice, and there were tears in his eyes as he spoke.

“Say no more, Uncle—say no more,” I exclaimed, shaking him warmly by the hands.

Then he took his wife to his heart, telling her in broken words that there was to be peace at the old place after all.

It must have been from joy at the happiness I was the means of bringing into that home, or else from the example that was set me, for the next moment I had Lilla in my arms, kissing her for response to the thanks looking from her bright eyes; and even when my uncle turned to me I could only get one hand at liberty to give him, the other would still clasp the little form that did not for an instant shrink.

“Too bad—too bad, Harry—too bad!” said my uncle, with a smile and a shake of the head. “I am no sooner free of one obligation than I am under another; and so now, on the strength of that money, you put in your claims.”

“To be sure, Uncle,” I said laughing; “and you see how poor Lilla suffers.”

I repented saying those words the next moment, for Lilla shrank hastily away, blushing deeply.

My uncle and I were soon left alone, when, holding out his hand to me, he said, in a voice whose deep tones told how he was moved:

“Harry, my boy, I can never repay you the service you have done me; but if I live I will repay you the money.”

“Look here, Uncle,” I said, “once and for all—let that be buried. There, light your cigar; and I can talk to you.” Then, taking our places in a recess by one of the shaded windows, I spoke to him in a low tone. “You know how I have spent my time lately?”

He nodded.

“Treasure-seeking?”

He nodded again.

“Uncle, at times it almost seemed to me a madness; but I persevered and succeeded. Look here!”

I tore open the case and showed him the sixteen golden ingots remaining.

“And you found all that, Harry! My boy, you were fortunate indeed.”

“All that, Uncle!” I said with a smile. “That is not a hundredth part. I am rich. I? No! We are rich; and now I want your advice. What are we to do? for I’ve hidden my treasure again till I can fetch it away in safety.”

“You have done well, then,” he said gravely. “But is not this some delusion, my boy?”

“Are these delusive, Uncle?” I exclaimed, clinking together two of the sonorous little bars. “Were those delusive which Garcia has carried off? No, Uncle, I thought once it must be a dream; but it is a solid reality. I have found the treasures of one of the temples of the Sun—ingots, plates, sheets, cups, and two great shields besides, all of solid metal.”

“Harry,” said my uncle, “it sounds like a wild invention from some story-teller’s pen, and I should laugh in your face but for the proofs you have given me. But you must not stay here in this country. It is as much yours as any lucky adventurer’s, but your right would be disputed in a hundred quarters; while, as for the Indians—”

“Disputed, Uncle?” I said interrupting him. “Disputed if it were known. You know it.”

“Does any one else?” said my uncle anxiously.

“Tom was with me. We found it together,” I said, “and he helped me to conceal it again. But I could trust him with my life. In fact, Uncle,” I said laughing, “we owe one another half-a-dozen lives over our discovery, for either I was saving his life or he was saving mine all the time.”

“But the Indians, Harry—the Indians! That is a sacred treasure—the treasure devoted to their gods, hence its remaining so long untouched. If they knew that you had taken it, no part of South America would hold you free from their vengeance. They would have your life, sooner or later.”

“Pleasant place this, certainly, Uncle,” I said laughing; “what with Garcia and the Indians.”

“I don’t think it could become known from those ingots,” said my uncle musingly, “though Garcia will rack his brains to find out how you became possessed of them. And yet I don’t know; you see they have two or three characters stamped on them that the Indians might know. But were you seen?”

“Coming from the place, Uncle? Yes, I suppose I must have been watched constantly. But all the same, I have the treasure hidden away; and as to the risk from the Indians, I don’t feel much alarmed; and you may depend upon it that they are in the most profound—What’s that?”

My uncle uttered an ejaculation at the same moment, for as I spoke, rapid as the dart of a serpent, a dark shadowy arm was passed under the blind close to the little table where we sat, and on looking there were but fifteen of the little ingots left.

“Stop here! I’ll go,” I exclaimed.

In an instant I had torn aside the blind, pushed open the jalousie, and leaped out into the outer sunshine, to stand in the glare, looking this way and that way, but in vain: there were flowers, and trees, and the bright glare, but not a soul in sight.

I stood for an instant to think; and then, feeling for my pistol to see if it was there if wanted, I dashed across the plantation towards the forest, peering in every direction, but without avail; and at last, more troubled than I cared to own, I returned, dripping with perspiration, to the hacienda, to meet Tom.

“Say, Mas’r Harry, what’s the good o’ running yourself all away, like so much butter? ’Tain’t good for the constitution.”

“Have you seen any Indians lurking about to-day, Tom, anywhere near the place?”

“Not half a one, Mas’r Harry, because why? I’ve been fast asleep ever since I saw the Don off the premises.”

“Keep a good look-out, Tom,” I cried.

Then I hurried in to my uncle, who looked troubled.

“I don’t like that, Harry,” he said. “There were eavesdroppers close at hand. I thought I would go too, but I saw nothing. Not a man had been out of the yard. But there, take the gold up to your room and lock it in the big chest; the key is in it. I put it here for safety till you got back, and—confound!”

We gazed in blank astonishment, for as my uncle opened his secretary and laid bare my leather case, which he had locked and strapped up, there it was with the straps cut through, the lock cut out, and the fifteen ingots gone!

Chapter Thirty Eight.

Bars without Bolts.

As soon as my uncle had recovered from his astonishment he took out and loaded a couple of brace of pistols, laying one pair ready to hand and placing the others in his pockets.

“Harry, my lad,” he then said seriously, “we have entered upon something that will take all our wits to compass. We have cunning people to deal with; but Englishmen have brains of their own, and perhaps we can circumvent those who are against us. I wonder whether Garcia will get safe home with his share.”

I was too much put out to think or care much about Garcia just then. Certainly I did think it a good thing that he had been paid off, and the principal current of my thoughts just then tended to a congratulatory point as I thought of how much more serious the loss might have been. That I had done right in concealing the treasure was evident; and there it must lie, I thought, until I could bear it at once away out of the country.

My musings were interrupted by my uncle.

“Harry,” he said, “I’d give something if the women were away from here. I hope I am magnifying the trouble; but I fear that we are going to be between two fires; and, at present I hardly know what course to pursue. I’m afraid of your gold, my lad, but a prince’s fortune must not be slighted; and my conscience does not much upbraid me with respect to helping you to secure it. But we must not pass over this robbery in silence. That was done by no one here, I am sure. We must try and put an end to eavesdropping so close at hand, or more strange things may happen. Now, take my advice: both you and Tom go well armed, don’t stir many yards from the plantation; and now come with me and let us carefully search the place inside and out. Nearly a hundred ounces of gold taken within the last few minutes, and part even from under our eyes. It won’t do, Harry—it won’t do!”

Tom was called in, armed, and then the place was thoroughly searched inside and out, but without avail; not a trace could be seen, till, after a few minutes’ thought, my uncle made a sign to me, placed Tom in one position, me in another, and then disappeared into the house.

Five minutes after there was a loud cry, the sharp crack of a pistol, and what seemed like some beast of prey leaped from one of the upper windows full twelve feet to the ground, about half-way between Tom and myself.

With a rush we made for the falling object, grasping it as it fell to the earth; but the next instant I was sent staggering back, as the Indian—for such it was—bounded up, striking me in the chest with his hand; while, when I gathered myself together again, Tom was standing alone, and my uncle came running out holding a handkerchief to his face, which had recommenced bleeding.

“Did you stop him?” he said.

“Stop!” cried Tom. “It was like trying to stop a thing made of quicksilver. But,” he continued with a grin, “I’ve got his skin; he left that in my hands, and I say, Mas’r Harry, if he wasn’t made of quicksilver he was of gold.”

For at that moment, as Tom shook the dark native cloth garment left in his hands by the fleeing Indian, the sixteen ingots fell to the ground, to be instantly secured.

“Harry,” said my uncle, “I told you we had to deal with a cunning enemy. That fellow was in the space between the ceiling and roof of my bed-room. How he got there I can’t tell; but,” he added with a shudder, “I fear if he had not been dislodged some of us would not have seen the morning’s light.”

“But pursuit, Uncle,” I cried. “Let us try and overtake him.”

“No—no,” he said uneasily. “We should only be led into a trap in the forest, and we are too weak for that. I’m afraid, Harry, that this affair is going to assume dimensions greater than we think for. It is evident that the Indians suspected you of having been at their sacred treasure, and despatched a spy to watch if their suspicions were correct. I tried to bring him down, but I had only a momentary glance and I must have missed him. No, Harry, there must be no pursuit but plenty of scheming for defence, if we wish to hold that which we have got. As I said before, there is no knowing where this will end. Which way did he go?”

“Right away towards the forest, sir,” said Tom.

“Perhaps only to slip back and watch by some other path,” muttered my uncle. “Give me the bars, Harry, and I’ll take them in, while you and Tom walk cautiously round before coming to me. Go one each way, right round, so as to meet again here, and then come in and we will talk matters over a little. But stay—tell me—did you see anything of the Indians, do you say, as you came back?”

I repeated the incident of being surrounded, and the way in which Tom presented a stalactite to the principal man.

My uncle smiled grimly.

“Tom,” he said, “you must look out, or that stalactite will come back with interest. I’m afraid that we English do not give the Indians credit for all the brain they possess. They may have once been a simple, childlike race, but long oppression has roused something more in their breasts. You must look out, lads—look out.”

My uncle left us, and Tom started one way, I the other, to look watchfully and carefully round for danger; although, to my way of thinking, it was decidedly a work of supererogation there in broad daylight, with the sun pouring down his intensely bright beams. There was the creeper-overhung verandah on one side, which, at a glance, I could see was untenanted; there, on the other side, was the garden-like plantation, with its gorgeous blossoms and flitting birds. The rows could be easily scanned, and I looked down between them; but it was evident that there was no danger to apprehend nearer than the forest; and I reached one corner of the verandah just as a parrot gave one of its peculiar calls, to be answered by another behind me.

This was followed by a regular chorus from the woods, every parrot within hearing setting up a series of its ear-piercing shrieks, which in turn started birds of other kinds; the toucans hopping about from branch to branch uttering their singular barking cries, as they raised high their huge bills, which looked as if they would overbalance their bodies, but were as light as if made of paper and as thin.

It did not seem a time to notice such things, but somehow they impressed themselves upon my mind, and I could not help letting my eyes rest upon a pair of the most magnificent trogons I had ever seen. They were in the full beauty of their gorgeous golden-green plumage, which contrasted strongly with their brilliant scarlet breasts. Where they were perched there was an opening among the trees and the full blaze of the sun came down upon their backs, crests, and yard-long tail-feathers which glistened and sparkled at every movement as if formed of burnished metal.

This set me thinking of the golden treasure, and a sort of childish fancy came upon me as to whether these birds might be inhabited by the spirits of some of the old gold-loving Incas, who were watching over their treasure and waiting about to see what steps I should take next to steal that store away.

I walked on, met, and passed Tom, who remarked upon the improbability of the copperskin showing up again; and then I continued my patrol slowly round the house, past the court-yard, where all was still, and at last found Tom where we had parted from my uncle.

“Seen anything, Tom?” I said.

“Lizard cutting up the verandy, Mas’r Harry, and a bee-bird buzzing about over the flowers: nothing else.”

I led the way into the room, and Tom followed, to stand at the door, picking his cap, and waiting to be told to come in.

“Don’t stand there, Tom,” I said; “come in and sit down. You are to be one of the privy-councillors.”

“All right, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, seating himself close to the door.

My uncle not being in the room, I supposed that he had gone to secure the gold, and walked across to where lay my cut and destroyed leather valise, which I was turning over when I heard what had never thrilled through the rooms of my uncle’s house since I had been there—namely, a light, heart-stirring, silvery-like song, and for a few moments I stood listening, as it came nearer and nearer, till Lilla tripped into the dark room, to start, stop short, and then colour up upon finding the place occupied.

The next moment I was by her side restraining her, for she would have darted away, and as I looked in her eyes I could read the story of the happy little heart rejoicing at being freed from a hateful bondage.

I must give Tom the credit of being a most discreet companion, for he suddenly found that it would be possible to repair my valise, and for the next quarter of an hour he was busily cutting and unpicking the great coarse stitches.

I was startled from my dreams back to the realities of life, for during that quarter of an hour existence had been bright and golden enough for me, without thinking of anything else; and the gold, the Indians, my uncle—everything had been forgotten, when Mrs Landell entered the room.

“Have you seen your uncle?” she said to me, rather anxiously.

“Not during the last quarter of an hour or so,” I replied. “He left us to come indoors. Go and see if he is in the yard,” I said to Tom.

Tom went, to return in about five minutes with the news that my uncle had not been there for some time.

“Are you sure he came in?” said my aunt.

“Well, no—not sure,” I replied; “he left us to come in. But, by the way, Aunt, where would my uncle put plate or money that he wanted to keep in safety?”

“Oh, in the strong chest in his little office here,” said my aunt, leading the way to a small cupboard of a room just large enough for his desk, a stool, and an old sea-chest in which he kept his books, and, it seemed, such money as he had not in use.

But my uncle had evidently not been there, for the door was closed, and, after a moment’s thought, Mrs Landell remembered that her husband had not asked her for the key, which was in her pocket.

We waited ten minutes, after which both Tom and I went out to make fresh inquiries, but without avail; then, pausing in the doorway, Tom said to me in a low tone:

“Mas’r Harry, you always laughed at me, and said I was making bugbears; but we’ve been watched and dodged ten times as much as you think for.”

“Perhaps so, Tom,” I said moodily.

“And I don’t want to make no more bugbears now,” continued Tom; “but I’m sure as if some one told me, or as if I saw it all myself, that your uncle has been dropped on, and they’ve got him and the gold too this time, Mas’r Harry.”

“Absurd, Tom! Why, he had not half-a-dozen yards to go.”

“Then they was half-a-dozen yards too many,” said Tom sullenly. “We didn’t ought to have left him, Mas’r Harry.”

“But you don’t for a moment think—”

“No, Mas’r Harry, I don’t; but I feel quite sure as they’ve burked him, and got him away with them bars of gold. You see if they haven’t now!”

It seemed so improbable that I was disposed to laugh; but I felt the next instant that it could be no laughing matter, and with a feeling of anxiety at my heart that would not be driven away, I turned to enter the house just as there was a noise and confusion in the yard, and, to my surprise, old SeÑor Xeres, the notary and banker, was assisted into the hacienda, closely followed by his attendant, both bleeding freely.

Tom looked meaningly at me, and the next minute we were helping to bear the old Spaniard to a couch, when, his wounds being roughly bound up, and a stimulant given, he told us in tolerable English that about three miles from the hacienda, while on his way to the nearest town, he had been set upon suddenly, and in spite of the resistance offered by himself and servant, they had been roughly treated, and the gold intrusted to him by Pablo Garcia had been taken away.

Again Tom gave me a meaning look, and I wondered whether the thoughts which suggested those looks could be correct.

“Was SeÑor Garcia with you?” I said at last.

“No,” said the notary; “he left us within ten minutes of our quitting this house, or he might have helped us to beat the scoundrels off. Only think, seÑor—two hundred and five ounces of pure gold!”

“For which you are answerable?” I said, inquiringly.

“No, no,” said the notary. “I would not take it to be answerable, only at the SeÑor Don Garcia’s risk.”

“But why does not your uncle come back, Harry?” said my aunt uneasily. “He would not be out of the way now unless there was something very particular to keep him.”

“We’ll go and have another look, Aunt,” I said. “We may find him somewhere in the plantation.”

Signing to Tom to follow, I walked out to stand beneath the verandah till Tom joined me.

“They’ve got it all back again, Mas’r Harry, safe,” said Tom gloomily, as soon as he stood facing me.

I did not answer.

“And we shall have to look pretty sharp to get the rest away,” he continued, prophetically.

“Never mind the gold, Tom,” I said, with a strange uneasy feeling troubling me. “Let us first see what has become of my uncle.”

Chapter Forty.

My Uncle’s Adventure.

“Let me get a shot at him, Mas’r Harry!” cried Tom excitedly. “Hold up—don’t go down, whatever you do. It’s one of them great beasts—I know it is. There’s thousands of ’em here.”

As if to prove the truth of Tom’s words, one of the monsters dashed, half-running, half-wallowing, by us while, completely unnerved, I could do nothing but stand motionless as Tom beat the canes aside and tried to get a clear view of that which held me.

“Why, Mas’r Harry!” he exclaimed in tones I could hardly understand, “who ever saw such a game as this?”

Tom’s words brought me to myself, and, looking down, I found that which clasped me so tightly was a man’s hand—my uncle’s!

Angry with myself for my cowardice, the next moment I was down upon my knees helping to extricate him from the position in which he lay, with one arm still bound to his side, and the dark cloth garment from which Tom had shaken the gold bound round and round his head and face, effectually gagging him; and if the intention of his captors had been to suffocate him, they had nearly effected their purpose.

“Uncle!” I exclaimed, as I held his head up and he began to draw his breath more freely.

“I thought it was all over, my boy, when I heard your voice,” he said faintly, and evidently not without considerable effort.

With some difficulty we got him upon his legs; but until we had thoroughly chafed them he could not take a step, so tight had been the bonds with which he had been confined.

But at last he seemed to exert himself to the utmost; and, sometimes leaning on Tom’s arm, sometimes on mine, we went slowly along the track we had made to the great prostrate tree, where, after a hasty glance around to make certain that no serpents were in the way, we sat down to rest, and my uncle, unasked, began to speak.

“I must sit down for a few minutes, my lad,” he said, “and then we will make haste on, for those women must not be left for an instant more than we can help. The gold has all gone, though, Harry.”

“Uncle,” I exclaimed, “it seems as if my thirst for gold is bringing down a curse upon your peaceful home.”

“Not so fast, my lad—not so fast. Gold is a very good thing in its way, and helped me this morning out of a terrible difficulty. Remember that it set me free from Garcia.”

“And they’ve got it all back from him again,” chuckled Tom.

“What!” exclaimed my uncle.

“Knocked the poor old lawyer about and grabbed all the bars,” said Tom.

My uncle seemed astonished at the news, but his brow knit the next minute.

“Never mind, Harry,” he said, “we’ll risk the curses of the gold. I’ll help you, my lad, to the last gasp; and if we don’t get the treasure safe on board some vessel bound for old England, it sha’n’t be for want of trying. But you must give me time, lad—you must give me time; for, what with Garcia’s bullet and this blow on the head, I’m as weak as a child.”

“But how was it, Uncle?” I exclaimed anxiously.

“Give me your arm, lad, and let’s make haste back to the hacienda. You, Tom, keep that pistol in your hand cocked, and walk close behind; and if you see one of those lurking copper-skins jump up, shoot him down without mercy. You know how you both left me to go into the house, where I meant to put the gold into a chest in my little office? Well, I stood looking at you for a few moments, Hal, and then I had taken a step forward, when I felt myself dashed to the ground by a tremendous blow upon the head; hundreds of lights danced before my eyes, and then all was darkness, from which I came to myself with the sensation of being suffocated by something bound over my face. I felt, too, that my hands and arms were tightly bound, and that I was quite helpless, for I could not cry out. I did not feel much troubled, though, for a heavy, sleepy feeling was on me. All I wanted was to be left alone, while instead of that I could feel that I was being dragged slowly along over the ground; and then at last came a stoppage, and I knew that I was left.”

My uncle stopped for a few minutes, apparently exhausted, but he soon recovered himself and went on:

“I struggled hard to get at liberty; but, do all I would, I could only get one hand and arm loose as far as the elbow, while as to freeing my legs and face, that I soon found to be impossible; and as I lay there I could feel that the muddy ooze was all in motion beneath me with the spawn of those great alligators of the river.”

“Wur–r–r–ra!” ejaculated Tom in a long shudder.

“Over and over again I felt something crawl over me, and once something seized me, gave me a shake, and then let go; but the height of my horror was reached when I felt slowly gliding and coiling upon me what must have been one of the water-boas. I could feel it gradually growing heavier and heavier with the great thick folds lying upon my chest, my legs, and even up to my throat, till the sense of suffocation was horrible, and I lay momentarily expecting to be wrapped in the monster’s folds and crushed to death, till suddenly I felt every part of the body in motion, and that it was gliding off me, for the sense of the crushing weight was going. For a moment I thought it was to enable the beast to seize me, but the next instant I knew what it meant, for I could faintly hear voices, which I rightly judged to have scared the reptile away. Then something touched me as I heard indistinctly the voices close by, and with what little strength I had left I clutched at whatever it was; and you know the rest.”

By this time we had reached the edge of the plantation, and I was glancing anxiously towards the hacienda in dread lest anything should have happened. But so far all appeared at peace. It was drawing towards evening and the shadows were lengthening, but the whole place seemed to be sleeping in the gorgeous yellow sunlight, so still and placid looked all around.

Still, indeed! for an ominous change met us upon our reaching the court-yard. Every Indian labourer, male and female, had gone, and the place was silent and deserted.

“The rats desert the sinking ship, Harry,” said my uncle huskily. “For Heaven’s sake run in and see if all is well; I dare go no farther!”

I needed no second bidding to rush in and hurry to the room where the wounded Spaniards had lain, to find it deserted.

With a strange clutching at the heart I ran to the inner room and called Lilla by name, when, to my intense delight, she answered, and with my aunt, weak and trembling, she came forth.

We soon learned the cause of the silence about the place. Shortly after I had taken my departure SeÑor Xeres had roused up from the short sleep into which he had sunk, to express his determination to recommence his journey, declaring that he had nothing now to lose; while, half an hour after, Lilla had seen through one of the verandahs the whole of the labourers glide silently away towards the forest, and then a silence as of death had fallen upon the hacienda.

Chapter Forty One.

The Attack on the Hacienda.

“Harry,” said my uncle about sundown, “if I could do as I liked I should rest my cuts and bruises for a few days; but, as it is, I cannot give up. Now, look here, my lad—here, you, Tom Bulk, don’t shrink away, man—this is as much for your ears as for his. I’ve been thinking this over, and, from what I know of the Indians, I’m quite sure that they mean mischief. It seems hard, but I fear that there will be a fierce attack upon this place before many hours are past; and then, unless we can beat them off, ours will be a bad case. You two must see to the closing up of the bottom of the place, and doing what you can to put it in a state of defence.”

“Uncle,” I said, “is not this almost madness? Here we are, only three. How, then, can we defend such a house as this?”

“It is our only hope,” he said gloomily. “If we had your treasure here, we might try to escape down the river; but as it is, we’ll fight to the last, and then take to the woods.”

“And the cave—eh, Mas’r Landell?” said Tom.

“Tom,” I cried joyfully, “why, that would indeed be a place of refuge when all here failed.”

“Yes,” said my uncle thoughtfully. “I did not think of that. Such a place might indeed be useful for a retreat if we could take with us provisions. But now see about this place. I will not leave here yet—not until we are obliged.”

In obedience to his wishes, though with an aching heart, I set to bolting and barring, closing shutters, and providing one or two windows that commanded likely points of assault with mattresses over which we could fire. But all the while I knew well enough that, with anything like a daring attack, the place must be carried directly. The great dread I had, though, was of fire, which I knew would prove the most formidable of adversaries—for a brand applied to one of the posts of the verandah would be sufficient to ensure the total destruction of the light, sun-dried, wooden building.

Meanwhile, on returning, I found that my uncle had nearly forgotten his pains, and was busily arranging such firearms as we had—ample, as it happened; for there were five guns, and he had a couple of brace of pistols, besides those with which we were provided. Ammunition, too, was in fair quantity; while, one way or another, our little garrison could boast of plenty of provision.

“No sleep to-night, Harry,” said my uncle, cheerfully. “We must all watch, for the Indians will not be satisfied till they have thoroughly ransacked the place.”

“Of course we shall beat them off if possible; but what arrangements have you made for retreat?” I said.

Without a word, my uncle led me into the kitchen of the hacienda, where he had stabled four mules, with plenty of fodder.

“We must get off unseen if we can, my lad,” he said, “and the mules will carry plenty of ammunition and food. But about water?”

“Plenty at the cavern,” I said.

“Good!” exclaimed my uncle. “And now look here, Harry,” he said, leading me to the inner room, and taking down a map, “show me, as nearly as you can, where the cavern lies which contains all this rich treasure.”

I examined the map as carefully as I could, and then pointed out the valley in which it seemed to me that, if the map were correct, the cavern must lie.

“You say there is water?” said my uncle—“a stream?”

“Yes, a little rivulet.”

“Then that must run down to this river. Good! And here again this river joins the great Apure, which, in its turn, runs into the Orinoco. Once well afloat, we should be pretty safe, and we could reach the mouth of the great river, and from there Georgetown, Demerara. Why, Harry, it could not be above a dozen miles from the mouth of your cave to the water-way that should see us safe on the road homeward.”

“But about canoes, uncle?” I said.

“Canoes, my boy? Well, of course, it would be well to have them; but we must not be particular. I have known voyages made on skin-rafts before now; and recollect this, that we shall have the stream to bear us along the whole distance. But there, after all, we may be alarming ourselves without cause.”

Tom and I exchanged glances at the mention of the skin-raft, and then we prepared to spend the watchful night.

“I need not hint to you, Hal, about trying to protect poor Lilla,” said my uncle, in tones that bespoke his emotion.

“No,” I said, quietly.

My look, I suppose, must have satisfied Lilla, for I received one in return full of trust and confidence in the efforts of my weak arm.

Night at last—beautiful, though anxious night, with the sky deepening from blue to purple, to black, with the diamond-like stars spangling the deep robe of nature till it glistened with their glorious sheen. Around us on every side was the forest, in a greater or less depth, and from it came the many nocturnal sounds—sounds with which I was pretty familiar, but which, upon this occasion, had a more strange and oppressive effect than usual. Boom, whizz, croak, shriek, yell, and moan, mingled with the distant rush of the great river, ever speeding onward towards the sea. At times I could just distinguish the edge of the forest; then there would be the dark plantation spread around, and nothing more.

It was weary work that, watching—stationed at one of the windows—watching till my eyes ached, as I tried to distinguish the many familiar objects by which I was surrounded, and then to make sure that some low bush was not a crouching or crawling enemy, approaching by stealth nearer and nearer, ready for a deadly spring.

It was just the time for anxious troubled thought, and the gold lay like a dead weight upon my conscience. At that moment I could have gladly given it all wherewith to purchase safety for those beneath this roof.

I was startled from anxious reverie by a whisper at my side, and turning I found that it was Lilla, the bearer of a message from my uncle that he would like me to come to him for a few minutes.

I had scarcely mastered the message, standing there close to the open window, when the words upon my lips were arrested, and my heart beat fast, as now, unmistakably no chimera of the brain, I could see six or seven figures glide out of the darkness towards the house, straight to where I stood with Lilla.

Nearer they came, stooping down and apparently making for the shade of the verandah, till they stopped within a couple of yards of us, and began whispering in what seemed to be broken Spanish, or the patois of the Indians. Then I felt my hands clutched more tightly than ever, as a voice that I recognised in an instant uttered a few words that sounded like an order, given as it was in a tongue very little of which I could comprehend, catching only a word or two, while my imagination supplied the rest.

It was plain enough that, perhaps ignorant of his loss, perhaps condoning it, Garcia had made common cause with the Indians, and Lilla was to be saved before fire was applied to the hacienda.

For a few moments there was a dead silence, and then the party glided along under the verandah.

“What was that Garcia said?” I then whispered to Lilla.

I knew that my interpretation must have been pretty correct from the start Lilla gave, and then her shudder.

“I dare not tell you,” she said, with a half sob.

Then leaving the window, after softly closing and securing it, we hurried, hand in hand, to my uncle.

“How long you have been!” he whispered.

“There was a party of six or seven by my window,” I said; “Garcia heading them.”

“Then I was right!” he exclaimed anxiously. “I thought—”

The next moment my hand was upon his lips; for, dimly-seen through the narrow aperture left, from which my uncle watched, were four dark figures; while at the same moment there was a sharp cracking noise, as of breaking woodwork, from another part of the house.

“Am I to shoot or ain’t I? Is Mas’r Harry there?” whispered a voice from out of the darkness. “Because they’re trying to break in here.”

“You must fire, Tom,” said my uncle huskily; “and mind this, if they do break in, our only hope is in the kitchen, which is stone built and strong. Make your way there.”

“Right, Mas’r Landell,” said Tom coolly.

Then we heard him glide off.

“Lilla, join your mother in there,” I heard my uncle then whisper.

Directly after I knew we were alone.

“Harry,” said my uncle, “it seems to me that we ought to have beaten a retreat; but it is too late to talk of that. Our only hope now is by giving them a sharp reception. If we can keep them at bay till daylight we shall have a better opportunity of escaping.”

“I don’t agree with you,” I said. “I think our hopes should be in the darkness.”

Drawing near to the window, my remarks were cut short by the sharp report of a gun, followed in a few seconds by another, when the crashing noise, evidently made by the tearing down of the jalousie bars at one window, suddenly ceased, and a loud shriek rang out upon the night air.

We neither of us spoke, as we listened attentively, to hear the next moment the sound made by a ramrod in a gun-barrel, and we knew that Tom was safe.

“They’ve gone from my window now, Mas’r Landell,” whispered a voice at our elbow; “and they won’t come back there, I think, seeing how hot it was. But, harken there, isn’t that them trying somewhere else?”

There was no mistaking the sound. Strong hands were striving to tear down a jalousie at the other end of the house; and, hurrying there, my uncle fired, just as several dimly-seen dark figures were beating in the window.

“Crack—crack!” two sharp reports from my uncle’s gun; but this time, as their flashes lit up the room where we stood, the fire was replied to by half a dozen pieces, but fortunately without effect.

Then again fell silence, with once more the same result, that of a breaking jalousie at an upstairs window.

“They’ve swarmed up the verandah posts, lads,” said my uncle thickly; “but you two stay by your windows—you at this, Harry; you, Tom, at the other.”

We heard him steal away to the staircase, and then Tom left my side. The next instant came a loud report from upstairs, then a crash as of a falling body on the lattice-work of the verandah, and directly after a dull thud outside the window.

I had no time for thought, though, for incidents now began to succeed each other with such startling rapidity. As the dull thud came upon the bricks beneath the verandah it seemed to me that the darkness outside the window before which I stood was gradually growing deeper. Another instant, and I knew the reason as I levelled my heavily loaded double gun.

Was I to destroy life? my heart seemed to ask me, but only for the reply to come instantly. Yes, if I wished to help and save the women beneath our charge; and then I drew rapidly, one after the other, both triggers. There was a gurgling, gasping cry, and the darkness grew less dense.

“Crack—crack!” both barrels again from Tom’s part of the house. It was evident, then, that we had neither of us returned to our old posts too soon.

I hastily reloaded, wondering from whence would come the next attack; but I had not long to wait, for three or four sharp discharges came through the window, striking the plaster of wall and ceiling, so that it crumbled down upon me in showers.

Again and again I trembled for those in the kitchen; but the recollection of my uncle’s words encouraged me; and, trusting in the strength of its stone walls, I began to grow excited, firing and loading, till all at once, as if by common consent, there was a cessation of the discharges, followed by an ominous silence.

Chapter Forty Two.

Flight and its Arrest.

I would have given anything to have left my post just then, so as to have seen after the welfare of those who were anxiously awaiting the result of the attack; but I felt that such a proceeding might prove dangerous, and an entry be made during my brief absence.

But a minute had not elapsed before my uncle was at my side.

“They are all safe in the kitchen, Harry,” he said. “But what does this mean?”

“Only a minute or two’s halt before they make a fiercer attack,” I said.

“No ’tain’t,” said Tom, who had stolen up unobserved; “they’re a-going to set us alight, and I’ve come to tell you.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed my uncle. “They’ll never burn the place till they have searched and plundered it.”

“I quite think with you, Uncle,” I said.

“But they’re a striking lights round my side,” said Tom. “Come and look!”

We hurriedly passed round to Tom’s post, just in time to see the truth of his words, for as we peered cautiously from his window there was a little flickering tongue of flame apparently dancing towards one end of an outhouse. Then it was applied to the thatched roof, and a howl of joy arose as the flame ran rapidly up towards the ridge.

Directly after, though, there arose a shout of rage, and more than one voice, so my uncle said, crying out for the fire to be extinguished; amongst which voices that of Garcia could plainly be heard.

The firing was evidently premature, and efforts were directly made to extinguish it.

A glance, though, showed that the attempt would be in vain; for, with a sharp hissing and crackling noise, the light material began to blaze rapidly, and my uncle gave a groan as he saw that his house was doomed to destruction.

A loud voice now shouted what were evidently orders, and a pattering of feet succeeded, as a fierce struggle now began, to tear out the blazing part of the outhouse before it reached the hacienda, against whose sides it was reared.

“Now is the time for escaping, Uncle,” I whispered, as I thought how easily we could have brought down a dozen or so of our assailants, whose dark figures stood out well against the fire.

“Yes,” he said slowly; “we must make the venture now, for in an hour the old place will be level with the ground.”

Then, casting off his lethargy, he hurriedly made for the kitchen, closely followed by Tom and myself, when we closed after us, and thoroughly barricaded, the inner door, while my uncle unfastened and looked out cautiously from that which led into the yard.

All was still on that side—not an enemy to be seen—when, hastily finishing the loading of the mules with the provisions, arms, and ammunition, Lilla was placed on one, my aunt on the other, and we had just determined upon opening the door to start across the yard, when a loud shout told that the enemy had made an entrance, and directly after we could hear footsteps coursing all over the house, as if in search of the gold that they expected to find; whilst one voice, which I twice heard shouting, sent a thrill through my body.

“Quick, Uncle!” I exclaimed, “before they find the kitchen door.”

“It is almost madness to try and escape, my lad,” said my uncle despondently. “Had we not better fight it out from here?”

“No,” I exclaimed fiercely, as I threw open the door and gave a glance out, to see that this side of the house was in shadow, while a bright light was beginning to illumine the trees around. “No; let us make for the forest. Tom, bring the two pack-mules. Uncle, lead the other.”

Then taking the bridle of Lilla’s mule in one hand, gun in the other, I led the way, trembling all the while with excitement, for we could hear the shouts of the searchers, and, above all, those of Garcia. It seemed that every moment they must be upon us; but all four mules were led out at last and stood in the black shadow over on that side of the house.

“Don’t leave me, Harry!” whispered a voice at my side.

For an instant I wavered, and that instant nearly sealed our fate.

“Only for a few moments,” I said huskily.

I rushed to the kitchen door, dragged out the key, and inserted it on the outer side, with the Indians beating the while at the inner door, which was rapidly giving way, as they seemed now to have determined that it was here we had taken refuge.

Then I had the door to, locked it, and hurled away the key into the plantation, just as, with a crash, the inner door succumbed; and, headed by Garcia, the party of Indians rushed into the kitchen, to utter howls of rage and disappointment on finding it empty, and then began battering the door I had that moment locked.

Fortunately for us, the window was strongly barred; but I knew that some of them must be round directly; and dashing to Lilla’s bridle, “Come along!” I whispered hoarsely, and I led the mule towards the nearest packing shed.

To reach this place part of our way was in black shadow, the rest across a broad glowing band of light, after which we could hurry along behind two or three long low coffee sheds, keeping them between us and the fire, when the plantation trees would shelter us, I knew, till we could reach the forest.

“Quick—quick!” I exclaimed. “To the left of the shed!”

The yells behind us were fearful, the light of the fire growing momentarily more intense, for the flames were running swiftly up one side of the house, with the effect of broadening the glowing belt which we had to pass, when, if an eye was turned towards us, or the kitchen door were to give way, I knew that our efforts had been in vain, and that we should be overtaken and surrounded in a minute.

An anxious passage of only a few seconds’ duration, and I had led Lilla across, my uncle had followed with Mrs Landell, and Tom was close behind, when one of his mules turned restive, stopping short in the full glare of the flames, and I felt choking with rage and despair.

There was another shout as the flames shot higher—another shout and another close at hand, with the pattering of feet, to show that the Indians were running round to our side of the house, when I saw Tom stoop for an instant, and his restive mule gave a bound; and then, as a chorus of yells smote our ears, we were once more in the shadow, hurrying along past first one and then another shed, which formed a complete screen, though the glare was momentarily growing brighter.

“I don’t like using the point of a knife for a spur, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom to me, as, leaving Lilla’s bridle once more for a moment, I ran back to urge him on; “but, blame this chap, he was obliged to have it, and he won’t turn nasty no more. Never mind me—I’ll keep up if I can, and you shall have the stuff I’ve got. If I can’t keep up, why, I must be left behind, and you must save the ladies; but don’t hang back for me.”

I squeezed Tom’s hand and ran on, to find Lilla trembling so that she could hardly keep her seat; then, as she clung convulsively to my arm, we passed the shadow of the last shed, but not until we had paused for a few moments to listen to the chorus of savage yells in our rear.

“Now, Uncle!” I exclaimed.

“But where do you make for?” whispered my uncle.

“The great cave,” I said.

As I spoke we issued from the friendly shadow and passed on.

It seemed as if that plantation would never be passed and the shade of the great black forest reached. The yells continued louder than ever, startling us by proceeding from unexpected spots, which showed us that the Indians, certain now of our evasion, were spreading in all directions.

“Another fifty yards,” I whispered to my uncle over my shoulder, “and then safety.”

For the great dense trees now rose like a large bronzed wall right in front; and though full of dangers, we were ready enough to dare those sooner than the peril of meeting the fierce party of Indians who sought our lives.

We pushed forward now, heedless of shout and cry, though some of them appeared to come from close by on our left. There was the forest which was to prove a sanctuary, and at last the cocoa-trees were behind, and we were parting the dense growth that now hid from us the glow of the burning house.

“There is a track more to the right, Harry,” whispered my uncle.

Turning in that direction, I hurried the mule, burning as I did to get on to the direct route to the cavern. I had whispered a few encouraging words to Lilla, and was then thinking how my locking the kitchen door had retarded the enemy and given us time to escape, when I felt that, worn out and overcome by the excitement and terrors of the night, my companion had given way and was sinking, fainting, from the saddle.

By an effort, though, I kept her in her place, and whispered to my uncle to take the lead, so that our mule might follow.

He did so; and then, with the cries of the searching Indians still ringing in our ears, we pushed on till, under my uncle’s guidance, we reached the open track, and I whispered to him the direction we had followed to reach the cave.

“I think if we pursue this path for about a mile, Harry, we can then turn off to the right and reach your track—that is, if we do not lose our way.”

So spoke my uncle; and then, all burdened as I was, I levelled my gun and uttered a warning cry to my companions; for there was a rustling on our left, a heavy panting, and then with a loud and triumphant yell a couple of savages sprang out into the dim twilight of the open space where we were standing.

“Let them have us all dead, not living, Hal,” said my uncle, his sad tones giving place to those of fierce excitement.

And he, too, levelled his piece just as, with a fresh burst of yells, the savages dashed on.

Two loud, echoing reports—two dimly-seen, shadowy figures falling back into the underwood—and then we were hurrying along the track as fast as we could urge the mules.

“There is another path farther on, Harry,” said my uncle; “we must reach that.”

Onward, then, we went through the gloomy shades, black now as night could make them, not even daring to pause to try whether we could detect the sounds of pursuit. That the reports of our guns would bring the Indians to that spot we had no doubt, but I was hopeful that they might not at first find the bodies of their companions; and if they did not, I knew that all endeavours to trace us by the mule-trail until the morning would be futile.

Now the way was of pitchy blackness, then an opening would give us a glimpse of the stars. The track was found and pursued for a long distance, and then my uncle called a halt, and we listened for some minutes for tokens of pursuit, but all was now still save the nocturnal cries of the inhabitants of the wilderness through which we were passing.

Tom standing now close up, my uncle asked me if I thought I could recognise where we were.

I could not; but Tom made a sort of circle, examining some of the great tree-trunks around.

“It’s all right, Mas’r Harry,” he said; “we’re on the right track for Goldenland. That’s it, straight away there to the left.”

“But are you sure, Tom?” I said. “Recollect how important it is that we should be right.”

“Well, so I do,” said Tom gruffly. “But there, if you won’t believe one donkey, you perhaps will another. Now, look ye here, Mas’r Harry, this here left-hand mule of mine is one of them as we took with us to the cave, and we’ll have his opinion. If he goes off to the right, I’m wrong; but if he remembers the way and goes off to the left, why, it’s being a witness in my favour. Now, then, moke, cock them old long ears of yours and go ahead.”

As he spoke Tom led one of his mules to the front, gave it a clap on the back, and it trotted forward and went off down the dark track Tom had declared for.

“Now, who’s right, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom triumphantly, as he halted at the opening into the ravine, just as, far above us, we could see, pale, cold, and stately, mountain peak after mountain peak, whose icy slopes were just growing visible, lit by the faint streak in the east which told of the coming day.

Tom led on again, and by degrees the familiar sides of the ravine became more and more steep and craggy, the way grew narrower, the music of the little rill was audible; and at last, just as the sun was rising, we reached the rocky barrier of the great cave, and prepared to halt.

But there was no occasion. Tom’s left-hand mule slowly began to climb the rocks, the second mule followed, as did those ridden by my aunt and Lilla, without word or urging, and we were just congratulating ourselves upon our escape, when Tom, who had crept close to me as I turned for an instant to peer back along the valley, pointed with one hand towards the left side where the crags stood out most roughly.

I followed his pointing finger and then started, as I was just in time to see a dark form, barely visible in the shadow beneath some overhanging rocks, crawl silently away with a stealthy, cat-like motion.

“Jaguar, Tom?” I said, though my heart gave my lips the lie.

“Indian!” said Tom laconically; and then I knew that our coming would soon be spread through the tribe of those who constituted the guardians of the treasure, for this was evidently one posted as a sentinel to watch still the sacred place where the treasure might yet again be brought to rest when those who were its enemies should sleep.

Chapter Forty Three.

Tracked.

I was obliged to acknowledge that it was more than we could expect to reach the cavern without being discovered, and that we ought to be well content to have gained a haven of safety without loss or injury; but all the same my heart sank, and I had hard work to keep back the feeling of despair that, cold and deadening, came upon me.

The thoughts I have set down here flashed through my brain almost momentarily, but I was brought back to the necessity for action by a motion now made by Tom.

“Shall I, Mas’r Harry?” he said. And he covered the retreating Indian with his gun.

“No,” I said, arresting him. “It would only be more bloodshed, and would not prevent our being discovered.”

The next moment I thought that I was wrong, and that the destruction of that one foe might be our saving. But it was too late now; the Indian had disappeared.

I led the way farther in till the increasing darkness compelled a halt, and I said a few words of encouragement to the shuddering companions of our travel.

“Tom,” I then said—for the thought had that moment struck me—“we have no lights.”

Tom did not reply, but plunged into the darkness ahead; when, after a while, we could hear the clinking of flint and steel, followed, after a short interval, by a faint light, towards which one of Tom’s mules directly began to walk, closely followed by the rest.

“Is it safe to go on?” said my uncle.

“Quite,” I replied. “I don’t think any enemies would be here.”

I was divided in my opinions as to which way we should go. It was most probable that the Indians would be aware of the existence of the bird-chamber, but would they penetrate to it? I should much rather have made that our retreat; but at last I felt that I hardly dared, and that, if I wished for safety, we must take to the rift beyond the vault of the troubled waters, leaving the mules in the farthest corner by the arch of the tunnel.

Leading the way, then, they followed me right away into this land of gloom and shadow, my brain being actively employed the while as to our defence of our stronghold.

At last we reached the farthest chamber, below the rocky tongue which projected over the great gulf; and then, after securing the mules, with Tom’s help, and to the great astonishment of my uncle, I fitted together the little raft, placed upon it the store of provisions, and then secured it to a piece of rock, ready at any moment for us to embark and continue our retreat along the tunnel; for I had come to the conclusion that it would be better not to expose the women to the terrors of the water passage unless absolutely obliged.

Thus prepared for escape, I felt better satisfied; and after partaking of some refreshment, and urging Lilla and my aunt to try and obtain some rest upon the sandy floor, which was here clean and dry, I whispered to Tom to follow; and, this time in the dark, we began to thread our way towards the entrance.

When we had left them about fifty yards behind we turned to gaze back, to see only the faintest glimmer of the candle they had burning; while at the end of another minute there was nothing but black darkness, for the passage had narrowed and wound round a huge block of stone.

It was slow work, but I wanted to grow more familiar with the way; and at last, by persevering, we passed the vault where was the opening to the bird-chamber, and then pressed on till, nearing the entrance, we proceeded with more caution, for I was quite prepared to see a cluster of savages collected in the mouth of the great subterranean way.

The caution was needed, for upon proceeding far enough we could hear the buzz of voices, and a glance showed me Garcia and a full score of his dark-skinned followers.

In a few moments they crossed the rocky barrier and I could see that they were all armed with pine splints and preparing to light them. It was evident, too, that there was a feeling of awe existing amongst the party, many of the savages hanging back till, by fierce and threatening gestures, Garcia forced them farther in.

“He’s at the bottom of half the mischief, Mas’r Harry,” whispered Tom. “The Indians are after the gold, and he’s after Miss Lilla, so they’ve joined hand. Let me bring him down, Mas’r Harry; there’s a good chance now.”

My only reply was to lay my hand upon Tom’s arm, and then we watched till fire was obtained, the pine torches lit, and, half driven by Garcia, the Indians led the way towards where we crouched.

Compelled thus to retreat, we hurried back for some distance, our part being easy, for we had the black darkness, the knowledge of the way, and the excessively slow, timid advance of the enemy in our favour.

On came the Indians, with their flashing torches lighting up in a beautiful though weird way each passage and vault through which they passed, and still we retreated before them, wondering at their silence; for Garcia’s was the only voice heard beyond a whisper, and even his was subdued, as if the gloomy grandeur had some little influence upon his mind.

Twice over there was a halt, and we learned that the Indians were striving to return, till by violent threats and expostulations Garcia once more urged them on.

I did not wish to shed blood, otherwise we could have brought down enemy after enemy at our leisure, while I could not but think that the loss of one or two of the party would have produced a panic. There was still, though, this for a last resource; and I kept feeling hopeful that the party would return, or else take the way which led to the bird-chamber.

My latter surmises were correct, for, upon crossing the large vault, and gaining a good post of observation, we saw the Indians stop short and elevate their torches, pointing out the opening which led to the great guano-filled chasm, when Garcia placed six men there, evidently as sentinels, and collecting the rest, made a tour of the vault, and then pointed down the rift where Tom and I were hidden—the passage which led to the great gulf.

“No, no, no!” chorused the Indians, giving vent to their negative in a wild despairing fashion.

Then they all threw themselves upon their knees upon the rocky floor and began to crawl back.

Garcia raged and stormed, but it soon became evident that if he explored the passage where we were, it must be alone. Superstitious dread was evidently at the bottom of it all, and I breathed more freely as I felt that for the present, unless he could overcome his companions’ terror, we were safe.

The Indians seemed to be willing enough though to pursue the other route, for as soon as they went back to their six fellows they began pointing up at the dark passage and gesticulating, when, feeling probably that he must submit, Garcia changed the position of his sentinels, intending apparently to leave them to guard the passage where we were. But here again there was a new difficulty; when the men found that the others were to depart, they refused at once to be left alone, and at last, after striking one of them down, Garcia had to submit, and sprang up the rocks, torch in hand, followed by all but two, the stricken man and another, who hastily retreated towards the mouth of the cavern.

Chapter Forty Four.

Illapa.

We were safe yet, and I felt quite hopeful as I thought of what an advantage we, as defenders, possessed in the darkness over an attacking party advancing light in hand.

The sight, too, of the superstitious terror of the Indians was cheering, and I again felt assured that should Garcia persevere in his determination to search our part of the cave, he must seek other companions or else come alone.

“Tom,” I said then, gently, “we have been away some time now; creep back to my uncle and tell him quietly that the Indians are in the cave, but at present there is no danger to fear. Ask him, though, to put out the light in case they should come this way.”

Tom made no answer, but crept away directly, leaving me in that thick darkness watching for the return of the enemy, and wondering whether we should succeed in getting safely away.

My heart sank as I thought of our peril, with the cunning of the savage and the European mingled to fight against us; while, as to our position, we could set them, I was sure, at defiance here; but could we escape to the river? I still hoped that they would not penetrate our part, forcing us to take to the raft; and at times I began to wonder whether it would not be better to resist their entrance for the sake of saving the mules, unless we could compel these to swim after the raft.

My reverie was broken by the return of Tom.

“All right, Mas’r Harry,” he said; “they’re in the dark now; but I think Miss Lilla was disappointed because you didn’t go. I’ll keep watch if you’d like to go.”

If I’d like to go! I fought down the desire, though, just as a distant echoing murmur, ever increasing, fell upon our ears, and we knew that the searchers were on their way back.

Another minute, and with their last torch burning dimly they were scrambling down from the rift to the cavern chamber, and then hurrying away as fast as the obscurity would allow.

The hours glided by, and at last it became manifest that there was to be no further search that night, so, with Tom, I cautiously made my way to the mouth of the cavern, to find that the enemy had made their bivouac just by the barrier, a bright fire illumining the broad arch, and ruddying the swarthy faces that clustered round, some standing, some lying about upon the sand, while a couple were evidently sentries and stood motionless a little farther in, gazing towards the interior of the cave.

“No more visitors to-night,” whispered Tom.

Together we crept back—no light task—through the densely black maze, but at last we felt our way to where we had watched, when Tom, undertaking to be the first guard, I continued my journey to where Lilla, wearied out, was fast sleeping in her mother’s arms.

I told my uncle how we were situated, and then, after partaking of the refreshment he offered me, I lay down for a couple of hours’ sleep; but I’m afraid I far exceeded it before I awoke with a start to try and recall where we were. Soon after, though, I was at Tom’s side, to find that he had twice been to the cave mouth to see the sentries still posted, and the rest of the Indian party sleeping round the fire.

I should think that four hours must have elapsed, and then, at one and the same moment, I heard Tom’s whisper and saw the distant glimmer of approaching lights.

“Look out, Mas’r Harry!”

The lights grew brighter moment by moment, and then we could see once more the party of Indians coming slowly forward, headed by Garcia, upon whose fierce face the torch he carried flashed again and again.

But it soon became evident that the Indians were advancing very unwillingly; and more than once, when, alarmed by the light, one of the great birds went flapping and screaming by, there was a suppressed yell, and the men crowded together as if for mutual protection.

At last they stood together in the centre of the vault, and Garcia made a hasty survey, pausing at last by the passage, where we watched him hold up his light and peer down it, and then turn to his companions.

The conversation we could not understand, but it was evident that Garcia was urging them to follow him, and that they refused.

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” whispered Tom, “why, if we could be in the bird-chamber and fire off both guns, how those niggers would cut and run like a lot of schoolboys.”

“Hist!” I said softly.

For Garcia was now evidently appealing most strongly to one who appeared to be the leader of the Indians—a tall, bronzed giant of a fellow, who pointed, waved his arms about, and made some long reply.

“I’d give something to understand all that, Mas’r Harry,” whispered Tom.

“He says that if the seÑor’s enemies and the searchers for the sacred treasure are in this direction, the great spirit who dwells in this part of the cave has flown with them down into the great hole that reaches right through the world.”

“Uncle!” I exclaimed, as he whispered these words close to our ears.

“I was uneasy about you, Harry,” he replied. “But who is that—Garcia? Ah! he will never get the Indians to come here. They dread this gloomy place, and believe it is full of the departed souls of their tribe. I have heard that they will never come beyond a certain point, and this must be the point.”

Standing where we did we could plainly see all that was taking place, even to the working of the excited countenances. Garcia was evidently furious with disappointment, and, as my uncle afterwards informed me, spared neither taunt nor promise in his endeavours to get the Indians forward, telling them that they risked far more from their gods by leaving the treasure-takers unpunished than by going in there after them. He told them that they must proceed now—that it was imperative, and as he spoke in a low, deep voice, it gave us a hint as to our own remarks, for the cavern was like some great whispering gallery, and his words came plainly to us, though few of them were intelligible to my ear.

All Garcia’s efforts seemed to be in vain, and the Indians were apparently about to return, when our enemy made a last appeal.

“No,” said the Indian, who was certainly the leader; “we have done our part. We have chased them to the home of the great god Illapa, and he will punish them. They took away the great treasure, but have they not brought it back? It would be offending him, and bringing down his wrath upon us, if we did more. If the treasure-seekers should escape, then we would seize them; but they will not, for yonder is the great void where Illapa dwells; and those who in olden times once dared to go as far were swallowed up in the great home of thunder.”

The Indian spoke reverently and with a display of dignity, beside which the rage and gesticulations of Garcia looked contemptible.

As a last resource it seemed to strike him that he would once more have the bird-chamber searched, and, appealing to the Indians, they unwillingly climbed up to the ledge for the second time, and disappeared through the rift, leaving Garcia, torch in one hand and pistol in the other, guarding the passage where we crouched; now walking to and fro, now coming close up to enter a few yards, holding his light above his head; but darkness and silence were all that greeted him. I trembled, though, lest he should hear the whinnying of the mules, which, though distant, might have reached to where he stood. At last, to our great relief, he stepped back into the vault, and began to pace to and fro.

For full two hours Garcia walked impatiently up and down there by the torch he had stuck in the sand at the mouth of the passage, and then came the murmurs of the returning voices of the savages, accompanied by shriek after shriek of the frightened birds, scared by the lights which were intruding upon their domain.

As the searching party descended, Garcia hurried towards them, seeing evidently at a glance that they had no tidings, but now using every art he could command to persuade the chief to follow him. He pointed and gesticulated, asserting apparently that he felt a certainty of our being in the farther portion of the passage where his torch was stuck. But always there was the same grave courtesy, mingled with a solemnity of demeanour on the chief’s part, as if the subject of the inner cavern was not to be approached without awe.

“We are safe, Harry,” my uncle breathed in my ear at last.

For it was plain that, satisfied that their work was done, the Indians were about to depart, when, apparently half mad with rage and disappointment, Garcia cocked the pistols he had in his belt, replaced them, and then, gun in one hand and torch in the other, he strode towards the passage, evidently with the intention of exploring it alone.

The next moment a wild and mournful cry arose from the savage party, while their chief seemed staggered at Garcia’s boldness, but recovering himself, he dashed forward, caught the half-breed by the arm, and strove to drag him back.

Chapter Forty Six.

Taking Flight.

It was with a feeling of thankfulness that can be well understood that we returned once more to the small cavern, to seek the rest and refreshment of which we were all so much in need.

The words of encouragement we were able to utter respecting our present safety were most thoroughly needed, while the lights we now ventured to burn took off something of the sense of oppression caused by the darkness.

Our arrangements were soon made for one to be always on guard, and trusting to the dread of the Indians for our safety in other directions, we gladly partook of the welcome rest.

At the end of some hours we were seated together to consult upon our future operations, and arrived at the decision that the sooner we set off the better, and the next night was fixed upon for our departure.

“You see, Harry,” said my uncle, “that the difficulty is in journeying through the forest; if once we can strike a stream, the rest is easy.”

“Or would be if we had boats, uncle, or—”

I stopped short, for I had recalled the skin-raft once more, and the possibility of increasing its size. As my uncle had said, if once we could hit upon a good stream, the rest would be easy, floating ever downward from stream to river, and from river to one of the great waterways.

Then came the subject of the treasure.

“But are you sure that you have it safe?” said my uncle anxiously.

“As safe, Uncle, as I soon hope to have our other treasures,” I said, cheerfully.

A visit to the mouth of the cave showed that all was still, and the valley to all appearance deserted.

But our walk was not unprofitable, for we were able to collect a good bundle of pine-wood for torches, left behind by the Indians—brightly burning, resinous wood, which cast a powerful light when in use.

We found Tom watching his prisoner on our return, and my aunt and Lilla ready to welcome us gladly. But not a sigh was uttered—not a question as to when they might expect to escape; they were patience exemplified.

As to the prisoner, Tom said that he was as sulky as a bear with a sore head. It was a great tie upon us, but upon retaining him in safety rested our success; for it seemed evident that the Indians believed that their share in the matter was at an end, and had gone away strengthened in their belief that it was death to him who penetrated the mysterious portion of the cave, sacred to the thunder god, Garcia not having returned.

My uncle relieved Tom—not to rest, but to aid me in seeking to recover the treasure; but upon a second consideration it was determined not to proceed further until the next morning.

Watching and sleeping in turns, the next morning arrived, and we once more journeyed to the mouth of the cave.

All in the vale was silent as the grave; not a leaf rustling.

On returning, the mules were well fed, only leaving one more portion. We breakfasted, and the prisoner, compelled at last by hunger, condescended to partake of some food; when we afterwards moved to a narrow part, where our proceedings were to him invisible.

A rather anxious question now arose: what were we to do with him?

We could not leave him bound, to die of starvation in the darkness of the cavern; humanity forbade the thought for an instant. We could not take him with us, neither could we take his life in cold blood, even though our safety depended upon it.

“We must take him a part of the way, and then leave him in some track, where there is a possibility of his being found,” said my uncle. “He ought to die, Harry; but we cannot turn murderers.”

It was evident that our prisoner did not expect much mercy; for we could see that his face was absolutely livid when, pistol in hand, either of us approached to examine his bonds; and once, in his abject dread, he shrieked aloud to Lilla to come and save him from me.

My uncle’s seemed the only plan that we could adopt; and leaving him in charge, Tom and I fixed our light at the head of the raft, and, to the horror of Lilla and Mrs Landell, set off upon our subterranean voyage—one which produced no tremor in us now, for familiarity had bred contempt.

The passage was safely traversed till we came to the hiding-place of the treasure, when, after a few attempts to fish up the packages, we found that there was no resource but for one of us to plunge boldly into the icy water.

Tom would have gone, but I felt that it was my turn; and after divesting myself of my clothing I lowered myself over the side of the raft, waded a little, and then, after a few tries, succeeded in bringing up, one at a time, the whole of the treasure. Then, with a little contriving, I once more obtained a place upon the heavily-weighted raft, dressed, and we floated back in triumph to where, torch in hand, stood Lilla gazing anxiously along the dark tunnel, and ready to give a joyous cry as she saw our safe return.

I sent Tom to relieve my uncle’s guard, and he hurried excitedly to my side and helped me to unload.

“Harry, my boy,” he exclaimed huskily as we lifted the packages on to the rocks, “I can hardly believe it. Is it true?”

I smiled in his face, and then with more rope we bound the packages securely before leaving them to drain off the water.

Our next act was to carefully take the raft to pieces and save the bands by which it was secured. This was no easy task, for the water had saturated and tightened the fastenings, which we did not cut, because they would be extremely valuable in fastening it together again.

It proved to be a very, very long job, but we worked at it with all our might, knowing as we did that our future depended upon our getting the pieces of our pontoon safely with us to some stream, where we could fit it once more together and use it to help in floating down to a place of refuge.

“It’s a rum job, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom. “My word, if these knots weren’t well tied! I never thought about having to undo it over again.”

“Never mind, Tom; work away,” I cried.

“Oh! Ah! I’ll work away,” he replied. “That’s better! That’s one of ’em. They won’t bear the lot, Mas’r Harry, when we fits it together again?”

“If the raft is not strong enough, Tom, we must make it stronger,” I said; and he gave a grunt and worked away, tugging at the knots and very often using his teeth.

At last, though, we had all the ties secured together in a bunch ready for immediate use—the poles bound in small bundles, and the skins fastened together by their necks, they having the advantage of being very light.

Then followed a pause for rest and refreshment, with a short consultation between my uncle and me as to our plans, which resulted in a busy hour at work, two of the mules being laden then with the gold.

This was a very difficult task, as the packages were so awkward and heavy, the object being to make them secure against any antic on the part of the mules if they became restive, and also to guard against the corners of the plates rubbing the animals’ backs.

“I’d give anything to open those bags, Harry,” said my uncle. “I feel as curious as a boy.”

“Take my word for it, Uncle,” I replied, “that they are wonderful treasures. Come, I’ll make a bargain with you.”

“What is it, my boy?”

“You shall do the unpacking and the breaking up when we set to in safety, and melt them down into ingots.”

“If we ever have the chance,” he said sadly.

“Don’t be down-hearted, Uncle,” I cried cheerily. “Recollect we are English, and Englishmen never know the meaning of the word ‘fail.’”

“True, my boy,” he replied; “but we have our work before us.”

“And that’s just the work we mean to get done,” said Tom, interposing his opinion. “And now just you look here, moke,” he continued, addressing the mule he was helping to load—one which kept on laying down its ears and showing its teeth as if it meant to bite—“here am I a-doing all I can to make your load easy and comfortable for your ugly back, and you’re saying you’re a-going to bite. Am I to kick you in the ribs? ’Cause if you’re not quiet I just will.”

The mule seemed to understand either Tom’s words or the threatening movement of his foot, for it allowed itself to be loaded in peace; and soon after the valuable treasure was declared to be quite safe, though I knew perfectly well that any violent fit of kicking on the part of the obstinate beasts must result in the whole being dislodged.

The next task was to apportion the remainder of our extremely reduced stock of provision between the two mules that my aunt and Lilla were to ride; and upon these mules, on the off-side away from the stirrup, I proposed to secure the light poles and skins of the raft.

“They will be very awkward going amongst the trees,” I said, “but it is the best we can do.”

“Why not carry them?” said my uncle.

“Because we must have our hands free to use our weapons,” I replied.

“True, my lad,” he said, “and we might have to drop and not recover them.”

“They’ll be no end of a bother for the ladies, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom. “Lookye here: they sticks ’ll ride as comf’able as can be atop of the gold bags. Why not have ’em here?”

“Because, Tom, it may be necessary to leave the gold bags behind, and we shall want the raft to escape.”

“Leave the gold behind, Mas’r Harry!” he cried; “not if I know it.”

“Life is worth more than gold, Tom,” I said in reply.

Tom made no answer. He only set his teeth very hard, and the skins and poles were secured just as I wished.

Towards evening, according to arrangement, Tom led the way with one of the gold mules; my uncle followed leading another and bearing a light, and the others required no inducement to keep close behind.

Garcia must have imagined that he was to be left to starve, for he did not see me as I stood back listening to the pattering of the mules’ feet upon the hard rock, and the silence that fell directly after when they touched sand; and, raising his voice, he gave so wild and despairing a shriek that my uncle came hurrying back.

“Harry, my dear lad, surely you have not—”

“No, Uncle,” I said contemptuously, “I had not even spoken. It was his coward heart that smote him.”

Loosening his legs, which of late we had slackened so as to guard against numbness, we made him rise; and then forcing my arm under his, I led him along till we overtook the last mule bearing my aunt; and then our slow, dark journey was continued till, nearing the entrance, the lights were extinguished and my uncle, taking Tom’s place as leader, the latter stole forward, and returned in half an hour to say that the sun had set, and that though he had watched long and carefully from the very mouth of the cave, there was nothing to be seen.

We went forward then, to rest for fully an hour in the cavern close now to the barrier, for the darkness fell swiftly into the ravine, rolling, as it were, down the mountain-sides; and then, with beating hearts, we prepared to start, our course being along the little valley to the entrance, and then, according to my uncle’s plans, as nearly south-east as we could travel until we could hit upon a stream.

The time for starting at length came, and after a little further consultation Garcia was once more carefully secured and laid upon his back in the mouth of the cave, that being the only plan we could adopt; and then, panting with excitement, each man with all his weapons ready for immediate action, we started in single file and began to move down the ravine.

The darkness was intense, and but for the sagacity of the leading mule our progress would have been slow indeed; but the patient brute went on at a quiet, regular pace, and his fellows followed, the breathing of the animals and the slight rustle through the herbage being all that smote the ear.

I should think that we had gone about a quarter of a mile, straining our eyes to catch sight of an enemy on either side as we made our way through what was like a dense bank of darkness, when, loud and clear upon the night air, rang out a wild, strange cry, which made us instinctively stop to listen.

Twice more it rang out, evidently distant, but still plainly heard as it echoed along the ravine.

“It is some beast of prey, but it will not come near us,” said my uncle, to encourage Mrs Landell.

“Harry, what is it?” whispered Lilla.

Her soft arm was passed round my neck as she clung, trembling, to me, unable to master her agitation.

“We must push on,” I said.

Once more the mules were in motion when the cry rang out again, louder and clearer this time.

I did not answer Lilla’s question, for I thought it better not; but I had my own thoughts upon the subject, and I was wondering whether my uncle suspected the meaning of the cry, when I was startled by a voice which seemed to rise out of the darkness.

“Mas’r Harry—Mas’r Harry! I shall never forgive myself. Only to think of me being the one as tied the last knot, and then never to think of gagging him. He’ll be there shouting till he brings down all the Indians within twenty miles. Let’s make haste, for I sha’n’t breathe till we get out of this great long furrer here.”

The darkness was still so thick that we could hardly see the bushes against which we brushed, while even when passing beneath dense masses of foliage there seemed to be no difference. A hundred enemies might have been right in front of us, and we should have walked right into their midst.

It was a daring adventure; but it was only by keeping on that we could hope to escape, and if the black darkness did not prove our friend until we were clear of the ravine, I felt that we could hardly hope to get away.

The cries still continued at intervals; but now every cry only seemed to nerve us to greater exertion, and at last they sounded but faintly, as, under the impression that we were now past the entrance to the rift, I was about to tell Tom to try and bear off to the right, if the undergrowth would allow. We had all drawn up, and the mules were reaching down their heads, tempted by the dewy grass, when Tom gave a warning whisper; and directly after, just to our left, came the sound of bodies moving through the bushes, coming nearer and nearer, till about abreast, when they turned off again, and seemed to be proceeding up the ravine towards the cavern.

It was a painful five minutes as we stood there, trembling lest one of the mules should shake buckle or strap; for no one there, on afterwards comparing notes, had a doubt as to the cause of the sounds. It was evidently a body of some half dozen men making their way as fast as the darkness would allow, and it was not until all was once more quiet that we could again breathe freely, and continue our journey as swiftly as we could pass through the trees.

We had no difficulty in journeying to the right, and it soon became evident that we were out of the rift; but I had very little hope of our being able to continue in a straight line, seeking the direction where we expected to find a river.

Our progress was necessarily slow, but every half mile, we all felt, was that distance nearer to safety. I was hopeful, too, about our trail; the dew fell heavily, and that and the elastic nature of the growth through which we passed, would, I thought, possibly conceal our track from those who might try to follow it.

And so we journeyed on through that thick darkness, till the first grey dawn of day found us still hurrying through the dripping foliage, heavy everywhere with the moisture deposited during the night.

Chapter Forty Seven.

On the River’s Brink.

“Now we can see what we’re about, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom cheerfully. “Look, there’s the first peep of where the sun’s coming, and if we’d been boxing the compass all night we couldn’t have been trundling more south-easter than we are. Hooroar, Miss Lilla, keep up your sperrits, and we shall soon be all right.”

Lilla smiled a response, and, cheered by the bright day, we made good progress during the next two hours before the mules began to flag, when, letting them graze, we made a short and hasty meal ourselves, each eye scanning the forest round for enemies, such as we knew might spring up at any moment.

An hour’s rest taken of necessity, and then we were once more journeying on, hopeful that we might soon strike upon one of the tributaries of the great stream fed by the eternal snow of the mountains; but hours went by, and no sign of river appeared, till suddenly, Tom, who was in advance, said softly:

“Here’s water somewhere, not far off, Mas’r Landell, for my mule’s cocking his nose up, and sniffing at a fine rate.”

There was no doubt of its being the case, for no sooner had Tom’s beast given evidence of its power of scent, than similar manifestations followed from the others; and now, instead of nagging and labouring along, the hot and wearied beasts broke into a trot, and had to be restrained as they tugged at the bridles.

The character of the undergrowth now, too, began to indicate moisture, and that floods sometimes swept along the low flat jungle, where we with some difficulty forced our way; and at last, almost overcome by the heat and excitement, we came suddenly upon one of the broad sluggish streams that intersect the vast forest lands, and go to form the vast water system of the Orinoco. The stream, in spite of its sombre current and the desolation of its muddy banks, whispered to us hope and escape from the pursuit that might be now even pressing upon our heels.

My uncle and I hurried forward to scan the bank, ready to shoot at any noxious reptile that might show fight. But we were not called upon to fire; for though a couple of large crocodiles scuttled off into the water, and once or twice there was a sharp rustling amongst the reeds, we were unmolested; and bringing forward our weaker companions, we made a temporary halt.

Now it is quite possible that, had I been a naturalist, I might have called the horrible reptiles that abounded in these muddy streams by some other name than crocodile; but even now, after consulting various authorities, I am not quite satisfied as to the proper term. The English of the district always called them crocodiles, and to me they certainly seemed to differ from the alligator or cayman, whose acquaintance I afterwards made amongst the lagoons of the Southern United States.

But to return to our position on the river bank.

We knew that there was no time to be lost; and having cut a few stout bamboos, we inflated the four skins we had, but not without some difficulty, as they required soaking, and the tying up of one or two failing places.

Our little raft was at length made, and, provided with a couple of poles, afforded easy means of escape for three—at a pinch for four.

And now came the arrangements for the gold.

It seemed cruel, but, situated as we were, what else could we do? I did not like the plan, but could see no alternative; so with Tom’s aid the mules were unloaded, and we led the poor brutes into the leafy screen, so that Lilla and her mother might not be witnesses of how they were to be offered up for our safety.

For our plan was this—to slay the poor beasts, and with their inflated skins to try and make a raft that should bear Tom, myself, and the gold.

My heart failed me as the faithful brutes, that had brought us thus far, turned their great soft eyes up to mine, and for a few minutes I hesitated, trying to think out some other plan for our escape, when a warning cry from my uncle brought Tom and myself back to the river bank, where we could see, half a mile higher up the stream, a couple of canoes, each containing two Indians, who were lazily paddling down towards where we were.

At first we took them for enemies, and gave ourselves up for lost; and I was about to beg of my uncle to risk flight with Lilla and my aunt upon the little raft, while I and Tom covered their escape with our guns; but the distance being lessened each moment, we could make out that these men belonged to one of the inoffensive fishing tribes who lived upon the rivers and their banks; and a new thought struck me—one which I directly communicated to my uncle.

“Keep strict guard,” I then said, “and mind this—a loud whistle shall bring us directly back to your help. Come, Tom—bring your gun, man!”

The next minute Tom and I were upon the raft, dragging ourselves slowly upstream by means of the bushes that overhung the river, till we found that the Indians could see our coming, when we began to paddle the best way we could out towards the middle.

As I expected, the Indians first stopped, and then made as if to turn round and flee, raising their paddles for a fierce dash, when—

“Now, Tom!” I exclaimed; and, standing up together, we presented our guns as if about to fire.

“Ah! they’re like the crows at home,” muttered Tom; “they know what a gun is.”

Tom was right; for the poor fellows uttered a wail of misery, held up their paddles, and then suffered their canoes to drift helplessly towards us.

“Quick, Tom!” I now exclaimed; “lay down your gun; and try and fight against this stream, or we shall lose them after all.”

Tom seized the bamboo pole, and by rapid beating of the water contrived to keep the raft stationary till the Indians were nearly abreast, when, pointing to the bank from which we had come, and still menacing them with my gun, I made the poor timid creatures slowly precede us, and tow us as well, to where my uncle was anxiously watching.

Upon landing, the poor fellows crouched before us, and laid their foreheads upon the muddy grass; when, after trying to reassure them, my uncle, who knew a little of their barbarous tongue, explained that we only wanted their canoes; when, overjoyed at escaping with their lives, the poor abject creatures eagerly forced the paddles into our hands.

“Tell them, Uncle, that we don’t want their fishing-gear,” I said; when there was a fresh demonstration of joy, and Tom threw out their rough lines and nets on to the grass.

“They may as well help us load, Mas’r Harry, mayn’t they?” said Tom—a proposition I at once agreed to.

In a very short space of time the gold was all placed in one canoe while we tethered the other by a short rope to the raft: this boat contained the provisions and ammunition, and in this Tom and I were to go, towing the gold canoe and the raft, upon which more convenient place my uncle, armed and watchful while we paddled, was to sit with Lilla and my aunt.

It was nearly dark when our arrangements were at an end; and thankful that, so far, we had been uninterrupted, I drew the raft close in, secured it to our canoe, and Tom took his place, paddle in hand. My uncle made a couple of good easy seats for Lilla and my aunt, and then took his place beside them; and now nothing was wanted but for me to take a paddle beside Tom, when he exclaimed:

“This here stuff makes the canoe all hang to the starn, Mas’r Harry. Tell you what, I’ll go in that canoe for the present, and get the freight shifted, and then join you again.”

I nodded acquiescence, and then turned to the poor miserable creatures whom we seemed to be robbing, and who now stood, dejected of aspect, watching us.

“What shall I give them?” I thought. “A gun—a knife or two? Pish! how absurd! Here—here!” I exclaimed, catching the two nearest savages by the hand and hastily drawing them into the brake, when the others followed. “One apiece for you, my good fellows, and you gain by the exchange.”

They could not understand my word; but as I pointed to the animals tethered in the gloom, and then placed the bridle of a mule in each of the four men’s hands, their joy seemed unbounded, and, with a nod and a smile, I was turning to depart, eager to continue our flight, when a wild cry from the raft seemed to fix me to the spot.

Chapter Forty Eight.

In the Dark.

The cry was repeated twice before I could make a dash through the thick swampy growth towards the bank.

“Quick—quick, Harry! They are here!”

“Mas’r Harry!” cried Tom in a piteous voice.

The next moment I was on the trampled bank a little below where we had landed, to see in a moment that the little raft was being pushed off; for in cat-like silence our enemies had approached us, and I bitterly repented that I had not joined Tom, instead of wasting time over the fishers whose canoes we had taken. I knew that not a moment had been wasted, and that it would have been impossible to have half-made another raft by this time; but the means of safety had been open to me, and, so as to be fair, I had slighted it; while now I was in despair.

Those were terrible moments! As I emerged from the brake there arose a fierce yell; there was a scattered volley, and the flashes gave me a momentary glimpse of the pale face of Lilla upon the raft. Then there was the loud splashing of the water, and the hurrying to and fro of dimly-seen figures—for the darkness was now deepening with that rapidity only known in equatorial regions.

A moment after, I heard the splashing of water, as of some one swimming; and feeling that it was my only chance, I prepared to dash into the muddy current, when there was a crash, a hoarse cry, and a heavy body struck me on the back, driving me down upon my hands and knees, a tight clutch was upon my throat, and I felt that I was a prisoner, when, with a despairing effort for liberty, I threw myself sidewise towards the river, rolled over in the mud, and then my adversary and I were beneath the water.

We rose directly, and I felt that I was free; for, with a guttural cry, my foe loosened his hold and made for the bank, while, blinded and confused, I swam desperately in the direction I thought might have been taken by the raft.

I almost dashed through the water for a few minutes, as I tried to put in force every feint I knew in swimming; while, as I made the current foam around, I could hear the noise of struggling, muttered imprecations, and then a low, panting breathing, and then once more there was silence.

I began to feel that I had made my last effort, and I was nerving myself for another stroke when my hand touched something hard.

“Loose your hold or I fire!” cried a fierce voice, and the barrel of a gun was pressed against my cheek.

“Uncle!” I gasped, in a voice that did not sound like mine, and as I spoke I grasped the cold barrel of the gun.

There was a loud ejaculation, a faint cry, hands were holding mine, I could feel the raft rocking to and fro, as if about to be overturned; and then, as I felt that I was drawn upon it—that I was saved—my senses reeled, and my mind became dark as the sky which hung over the river.

I believe my swoon did not last many minutes. How could it, when my head was being held to my aunt’s breast, which heaved with emotion, and hot tears were falling upon my forehead.

“Lilla?” I whispered.

“Harry!” was breathed upon my cheek, as she came forward.

But this was no time for talking, and rallying my strength I rose to my knees.

“I thought I should never have reached you, Uncle,” I said.

“I did my best, Harry,” he whispered; “but I felt that when those blood-hounds leaped suddenly out from the brake that I must push off.”

“But what was that struggle I heard? Did I not hear Garcia’s voice?”

“Yes,” said my uncle, huskily.

“And where is Tom?”

My uncle was silent.

“Poor Tom?” I said, in an inquiring voice.

“Yes,” said my uncle, huskily. “It seemed to me that Garcia and another reached the canoe Tom was in—the gold canoe, Harry—and that then there was a desperate fight, which lasted some minutes. I had seized the paddle, and tried to make for where the struggle seemed to be going on; but first there was a faint, gurgling cry, and then utter silence; and though I softly paddled here and there I could find nothing. Harry, that canoe was heavily laden—the gold was a dead weight—”

“And it took down with it what was worth ten thousand times more than the vile yellow trash,” I cried bitterly—“as true a heart as ever beat. Oh, Uncle—Uncle! I have murdered as noble a man as ever breathed, and as faithful a friend. Oh, Tom—Tom!” I groaned.

I could say no more; but out there that night on the breast of the black, swift stream, with not a sound now but the sobs of the women to break the terrible silence, I—a woman myself now in heart—bent down to cover my face with my hands and cry like a child.

At last I grew more calm, for there was work to be done. I found that we had floated on to a kind of mud bank, and were aground, and I had to help my uncle to get the raft off, which we managed by drawing the canoe up alongside, and then getting in and paddling hard, with the effect that the raft at last floated off, and we retained our places in the canoe guiding the raft down the swiftly flowing stream.

Morning at last, to bring no brightness to my heart.

We paddled on, the little raft, buoyant as possible, following swiftly in our wake.

“Harry,” said my uncle, almost sternly, “I have thought it over during the darkness of the night, and I cannot feel that we have been wanting in any way. Poor lad! it was his fate.”

“Uncle,” I cried, throwing down my paddle, “I can bear this no longer. I must go back!”

“Harry,” cried my uncle, “you shall not act in that mad fashion. You have escaped with life, and now you would throw it away.”

“Is it not mine to cast away if I like?” I said bitterly.

“No,” he said in a low tone, as he bent forward and whispered something in my ear.

“Say no more, Uncle—pray say no more,” I groaned. “Indeed, I believe that I am half mad. I would almost sooner have died myself than that this should have happened. How can I ever face those at home?”

“Harry, my lad,” said my uncle, “take up your paddle, and use it. You are thinking of the future—duty says that you must think now of the present. We have two lives to save; and, until we have them in one of the settled towns, our work is not done.”

I took up my paddle in silence, and plunged the blade in the stream, and we went on, swiftly and silently, along reach after reach of the river.

Many hours passed without an alarm, and then, just as we were passing into another and a wider river, there came from the jungly edge of the left bank a puff of smoke, and a bullet struck the canoe.

“To the right,” whispered my uncle softly; “we shall soon be out of that.”

The paddles being swiftly plied, we made for the opposite bank, striving hard to place those we had with us out of reach of harm. But with bullets flying after us our efforts seemed very slow, and the raft was struck twice, and the water splashed over us several times, before I felt a sharp blow on my shoulder—one which half numbed me—while a bullet fell down into the bottom of the canoe.

“Spent shot, Harry,” said my uncle, striking on alternate sides with his paddle, for I was helpless for the next quarter of an hour. “There will be no wound, only a little pain.”

The skin-raft held together well—light and buoyant—so that our progress down stream was swift, but apparently endless, day after day, till our provisions were quite exhausted, and our guns had to be called into requisition to supply us with food.

We were suffering too much to appreciate the wonders of the region through which we were passing; but I have since then often recalled it here at home in the quiet safety of my chair by my fireside, wondering often too how it was that we managed ever to get down to a civilised town in safety.

There was, of course, always the consciousness of knowing that, if we kept afloat, sooner or later we must reach the sea; but what an interminable way it was! At one time we were slowly gliding down a wide river whose banks were not only covered to the water’s edge with the dense growth of the primeval forest, but the huge branches of the great trees spread far over the muddy flood. These trees were woven together, as it were, by the huge cable-like lianas which ran from tree to tree. From others hung the draperies of Spanish moss, while others were clothed with flowers from the water’s edge to the very summits, whose sweet blooms filled the air with their spicy odours. This wondrous wall of verdure rose to a great height; and when the current sometimes swept us near what was really a shoreless shore great herons would sometimes take flight, or a troop of monkeys rush chattering up amongst the leafy branches, going along hand over hand with the most astonishing velocity, or making bounds that I would think must end in their falling headlong into the river. But no, they never seemed to miss the branch that was their aim, and this, too, when often enough one of these agile little creatures would be a mother with a couple of tiny young ones clinging so tightly to her neck that the three bodies seemed to be only one.

Curious little creatures these monkeys were, but as a rule exceedingly shy. Sometimes on a hot mid-day I would be seated listlessly, paddle in hand, dipping it now and then to avoid some mass of tangled driftwood, and then watching the great wall of verdure, I would see the leaves shake a little and then all would be still; but if I watched attentively as we glided by, it was a great chance if I did not see some little, dark, hairy face gazing intently down at me with the sharp, eager eyes scanning my every movement, and if I raised a hand the little face was gone like magic, a rustling leaf or waving strand of some convolvulus-like plant being all that was left to show where the little creature had been.

At other times, instead of the winding river with its walls of verdure, we passed into what seemed to be some vast island-studded lake, some being patches of considerable extent, others mere islets of a dozen yards across, but all covered with trees and tangled with undergrowth. Landing on any of these was quite impossible unless through one of the verdant tunnels in which now and then there would be a swirl of the water that formed their bottom, showing where some huge reptile had dived at the sight of our boat and raft; while at other times a great snout, with the two eminences above its eyes, would be thrust out of the water and then slowly subside, to be seen no more.

At these times the current swept us through winding channels in and out among the islands, and if I could have felt in better spirits I should have found endless pleasure in investigating the various beauties of the vegetable world: the great trumpet-shaped flowers that hung from some of the vines, with endless little flitting and poising gems of humming-birds feeding upon the nectar within the blossoms. Then squirrels could be seen running from branch to branch, at times boldly in sight, at others timid as the other occupants of the tree, the palm-cats, that were almost as active.

Once I caught sight of the spots of a jaguar as the agile beast crept along a branch in its hunt for food, the object of its aim being a group of little chattering and squealing monkeys which were feasting on the berries of a leafy tree.

Lilla shuddered on one occasion as I pointed out the long, twiny body of a large boa which was sluggishly making its way through the dense foliage of an india-rubber tree, apparently to get in a good position where it could secure itself in ambush, ready for striking at any bird that might come within its reach.

As it happened the current drove us right in close to the tree and beneath some of its overhanging branches, with the result that the creature ceased its slow gliding movement through the dense leafage, and raised its head and four or five feet of its neck, swaying it slowly to and fro as if hesitating whether or no to make a dart at us.

It was by no means a pleasant moment, and I felt for the time something of the sensation that I had so often read of as suffered by people who have been fascinated by snakes. I had a gun lying close by me, but I made no movement to reach it; and though I had a paddle in my hand I believe that, if the creature had lowered its head, I should not have struck at it. In short, I could do nothing but gaze at that waving, swaying head, with the glistening eyes, and the beautiful yellow and brown tortoiseshell-like markings of the neck and body.

Then the stream swept us slowly away, and we were beyond the reptile’s reach.

Taking; the recollection of these wild creatures of the South American forests, though, altogether, there was not so much cause for fear. As a rule every noxious beast seemed to aim at but one thing, and that was to escape from man. Even the great alligators, unless they could find him at a disadvantage in their native element, would rush off through the mud and undergrowth to plunge into the water and seek safety right at the bottom of the river. The jaguars were timid in the extreme; and though they would have fought perhaps if driven to bay, their one idea seemed to be to seek safety in flight. It was the same with the poisonous serpents, the most dangerous being a kind of miniature rattlesnake which was too sluggish and indifferent to get out of the traveller’s way, and many a poor fellow suffered from their deadly bite.

In fact the most dangerous and troublesome creatures we had to encounter on our journey down the river, excepting man, were the mosquitoes—which swarmed all along the river borders and pestered us with their bites—and an exceedingly small fish that seemed to be in myriads in parts of the stream, and to make up in absolute ferocity for their want of size. This savageness of nature was of course but their natural instinctive desire for food, but it was dangerous in the extreme, as I knew later on. Our experience was in this wise:—

It was one lovely afternoon when we were floating dreamily along between two of the most beautiful walls of verdure that we had seen. Many of the trees were gorgeous with blossoms, the consequence being that bright-winged beetles, painted butterflies, and humming-birds abounded.

My uncle was seated half asleep with the heat, and his gun across his knees, waiting for an opportunity to shoot some large bird that would be good for food; I was dipping in my paddle from time to time so as to keep the canoe’s head straight and away from the awkward snags that projected from the river here and there—the remains of trees that had been washed out of the bank by some flood—and I was thinking despondently about the loss of poor Tom.

Then my thoughts reverted to home and those I had to meet there, with our accounts of how it was that poor Tom had met his death.

“All due to my miserable ambition,” I said to myself; “all owing to my wretched thirst for gold. And what has it all come to?” I said bitterly. “I had far better have settled down to honest, straightforward labour. I should have been better off.”

I gave the paddle a few dips here, and noted that the water was much purer and clearer than it had seemed yet. We were very close in to the shore, but we had floated down so far that we had ceased to fear the Indians, believing as we did that they were now far behind.

Then I began to think once more of how much better off I should have been if I had settled down to work on my uncle’s plantation.

Not much, I was obliged to own, for my settling down would not have saved me from quarrelling with Garcia, neither would it have cleared my uncle from the incumbrance upon his home.

“Perhaps things are best as they are,” I said; and then I looked back to where Lilla was thoughtfully gazing down into the river from where she reclined upon the raft, and letting one of her hands hang down in the water, which she played with and splashed from time to time.

I was just going to warn her not to do so, for I remembered having read or heard tell that alligators would sometimes make a snap at a hand dragging in the water like that, when she uttered a sharp cry, snatching her hand away; and as she did so I saw a little flash, as if a tiny, silvery fish, dropped back into the water.

“What is it?” I said.

“Something bit me—a little fish,” she said. “It has nipped a morsel out of my finger.”

She held up her hand as she spoke before wrapping a scrap of linen round it, and I could see that it was bleeding freely.

“Surely it could not have been that tiny fish,” I said, thrusting one hand into the water and snatching it back again, for as it passed beneath the surface it was as if it had been pinched in half a dozen places at once; and when I thrust it in again I could see that the water was alive with little fish apparently about a couple of inches long, and instantaneously they made a rush at my hand, fastening upon it everywhere, so that it needed a sharp shake to throw them off; and when I drew it out, hardened and tough as it was with my late rough work, it was bleeding in a dozen places.

“Why, the little wretches!” I exclaimed; and by way of experiment I held a piece of leather over the side, to find that it was attacked furiously; while even later on, when I had been fishing and had caught a small kind of mud-carp, I hauled it behind the canoe, in a few minutes there was nothing left but the head—the little ravenous creatures having literally devoured it all but the stronger bones.

I remember thinking how unpleasant it would be to bathe there, and often and often afterwards we found that it would be absolutely impossible to dip our hands beneath the water unless we wished to withdraw them smarting and covered with blood.

What more these little creatures could effect we had yet to learn, but we owned that they were as powerful in the water as the fiercer kind of ants on land, where they were virulent enough in places to master even the larger kinds of snakes if they could find them in a semi-torpid state after a meal—biting with such virulence and in such myriads that the most powerful creatures at last succumbed.

At last, as the days glided on, we became more and more silent. Very little was said, and only once did my uncle talk to me quietly about our future, saying that we must get to one of the settlements on the Orinoco, low down near its mouth, and then see what could be done.

A deep, settled melancholy seemed to have affected us all; but the sight, after many days, of a small trading-boat seemed to inspire us with hopefulness; and having, in exchange for a gun, obtained a fair quantity of provisions, we continued our journey with lightened spirits.

In spite, though, of seeing now and then a trading-boat, we got at last into a very dull and dreamy state; while, as is usually the case, the weakest, and the one from whom you might expect the least, proved to have the stoutest heart. I allude, of course, to Lilla, who always tried to cheer us on.

But there was a change coming—one which we little expected—just as, after what seemed to be an endless journey, we came in sight of a town which afterwards proved to be Angostura.

Chapter Fifty.

The Use of the Treasure.

It is one thing being possessed of a treasure and another knowing what to do with it. Here was I with the fortune, as my uncle called it, of a prince, found, as I had found it, and to which some people may say I had no right, and I often thought so myself. But on the other hand I felt that I could do more good with it than it would do left there in the bed of that stream—so many relics of a superstition—of a pagan idolatry carried on three hundred years ago. The traditions of its being hidden there had of course been handed down, but it had never been seen since it was buried at the time of the conquest, and all who had a right to it had been dead for ages.

So I comforted myself that I was only the one who had brought it to light, and that it was my duty to put it to as good a purpose as possible, and that I meant to do.

Well, here I had the treasure; but the next thing was, should I be able to keep it?

If the Indians could trace me and dared to come across the river all this distance down and into the civilised region, I knew that my life would not be safe, and that they would have the treasure back at any cost.

But then it was not likely that the simple savages would venture after me even if they could find out where I had come.

Then there were the Spaniards about us. If they knew of the wealth we had in the ordinary house of which we had taken possession they would either get it away by legal means, claiming it as belonging to one or the other government, or else make a regular filibustering descent upon us and secure it by violence, even taking our lives as well.

Secrecy, then, seemed to be the only thing possible; and after a good deal of thinking and planning, my uncle, Tom, and I constructed a little furnace in a corner of the house, after boarding up the window and covering it with blankets as well. Here we purposed to melt down the treasure into long ingots, which we hoped to mould in sand—little, long, golden bars being the most convenient shape in which we could carry our gold.

I knew even then that it was a great pity to destroy what were equally valuable as curiosities as for their intrinsic worth as precious metal; but any attempt to dispose of them would have meant confiscation, and such a treasure was not to be introduced to the notice of strangers with impunity.

My uncle joined with me in lamenting the difficulties of the case, and that we should be under the necessity of melting the cups and plates down; but he urged me to do it as soon as possible, and we soon set to work, carrying on our metal fusing in secret by the help of a crucible and a great deal of saltpetre, which soon helped to bring the heat to a pitch where the gold would melt like so much lead, and then by the help of a strong handle the pot was lifted out and its glowing contents poured forth into the moulds.

The ingots we thus cast had to be filed and the rough projections taken off, the dust and scraps being remelted down with the other portion.

It was a tremendous task, though. The plates we managed pretty easily, but the discs had to be cut up first by means of a great hammer and a cold chisel, and the progress we made upon some days was very small.

The cups, too, were very difficult to manage; and Tom and I used to work exceedingly hard, hammering and breaking the gold into small pieces that would go into the melting-pot. Sometimes our fingers were quite sore with the hammering and filing.

Still we kept on making progress, nervous progress, lest people should find out what we were about; and by slow degrees we added ingot to ingot—little, bright, yellow bar after bar—to one heap, and bar after bar of silver to another heap, which were kept buried under a stone in the floor of one of the rooms.

Over and over again we hesitated before breaking up some beautifully-worked cup, though without exception these had been battered and flattened, perhaps three hundred years ago, for the convenience of carriage and hiding from the Spaniards, who had gone west with such a thirst for gold. Several of the best cups were almost flat, the tough, soft metal having evidently been driven in with blows from stones.

We did not get through our task without alarms; for now and then some kindly-disposed person would call, and then we were obliged to hurriedly conceal our work, smothering the fire, and this perhaps when we were at some particular part of our task. But there was no help for it, as we were compelled to work by daylight for fear of the glow of our furnace-fire taking attention if we attempted anything of the kind by night.

That melting down was like a nightmare to me, and over and over again I used to ask myself whether the gold were worth all this trouble. Slave, slave, slave, till our fingers were sore; and now I would be blistering my hands with a small-toothed saw which Tom had bought one day and brought home in triumph for cutting through the gold, and next time toiling away with a great file.

Yes, it seemed as if we were working ourselves to death for this bright yellow metal; and several times over, without being led up to it by me, Tom quite took my view.

“S’pose this here stuff’s going to be very useful, Mas’r Harry,” he said.

“Useful, Tom?”

“Ay! I mean I hope it’s going to be worth all this work and trouble. My word, Mas’r Harry, soap-boiling’s nothing to this!”

“Tired, Tom?” I said.

“Tired, Mas’r Harry? Not I! But I tell you what I am, and that’s hot.”

“Yes, it is hot work, Tom,” I said.

“Ay, Mas’r Harry, that’s just what it is, ’specially when you gets ladling out the soup and pouring it into the moulds. Fine rich soup, ain’t it?” he said with a grin.

“The richest of the rich, Tom.”

“Ah! it is, Mas’r Harry; but it is hot work, and no mistake, and it sets me thinking a deal.”

“Well, Tom, what of?” I asked, for we were waiting for the melting.

“’Bout setting up soap-boiling out here, Mas’r Harry,” he said, grinning.

“Well, what about it, Tom?”

“’Twouldn’t do, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom. “First of all, the work would be a deal too hot; second of all, the trade wouldn’t pay, ’cause the people look as if they never washed. No, Mas’r Harry, I don’t think the folks here are fond of soap.”

Two months of hard toil did we spend over that melting down. For first of all, there was the preparation of the furnace; and a very hard task that was, there being such difficulty in getting proper materials. Stone seemed to go first into scales, and then into powder. The bricks we obtained cracked; and it was not until my uncle had mixed up some clay in a peculiar manner, and beaten it up into bricks of a big, rough shape, that we managed to get on. These bricks we built up into the furnace, and then slowly dried by leaving in a small fire; and this we increased till it was hot enough to burn the rough bricks, which, as we increased the fire to a furious pitch, seemed to fuse the whole together into a solid mass.

Then we had our hiding-place to dig out; and all this work had to be done in such a secret way that it used to make me think of Baron Trenck in prison, so careful and watchful were we in all we did.

Industry mastered it all though at last; and, weary as Tom must have been of his job, he began to feel at last that the gold was worth working for.

“I usen’t to think so at one time, Mas’r Harry,” he said; “but since I’ve been working away here, melting of myself away almost as fast as I melted gold, it’s seemed to me as if, when I get home, and Sally Smith knows as I’m a gentleman with a large income of two pound a week, she may be a bit more civil like to me.”

“Very likely, Tom,” I said smiling.

“That’s just what I say, Mas’r Harry—very likely; that is, you know, if there’s anything more left of me than the ivory.”

“Ivory, Tom?” I said, wondering what he meant.

“Yes, Mas’r Harry—the bones, you know. Don’t you see, I mean if I ain’t melted all away.”

Two months, I say, had it taken before the rich metal was all reduced to neat little bars ready for packing up.

Then we had to discuss the question of the size and material of the cases in which we were to carry home our treasure so as not to excite suspicion.

“We must risk suspicion and inquiry too,” said my uncle. “Our way now, Harry, is to get the stuff packed up and go straight away.”

“I should do it quite openly,” said Lilla quietly, “and if inquiries are made you can say that the chests in which it is packed contain gold. No one can be suspicious then. The people will only think that you are very rich, and be the more respectful.”

“You are right, Lilla,” said my uncle. “We can show our ingots—I mean your ingots, Harry. No one can prove how you came by them.”

The result was that we boldly ordered some little cases to be made of the strongest South American oak, and corded together and bound firmly with hoop-iron; and into these, bedding them neatly with the finest sawdust, we packed the little shining bars.

Chapter Fifty One.

Our troublesome Burden.

By the time we felt that we might very well make a start for home, we found out that though Lilla’s advice had seemed so good, it would not do to act upon, and she laughingly owned that she was wrong.

For, feeling the necessity for obtaining a little spare cash in hand, my uncle undertook to dispose of half a dozen of the little bars of gold, and the adventures were such that he came back to me to say that we should have to be very careful.

“It would never do to attempt a passage in a Spanish vessel boldly, my boy. The very sound of the word gold seems to fill the people full of suspicion, and the dealer I went to to-day has been questioning me in all sorts of ways. He thinks, evidently, that I have discovered a rich gold mine somewhere, and is boiling with curiosity to know where.”

“And you did not tell him, Uncle,” I said laughing.

“No, my boy; but seriously, we must not make these people suspicious. We have to pass through their custom-house places if we go in the regular way, and if we attempt that, depend upon it we shall be stopped, and have to give the fullest of explanations as to where the gold was obtained, before we are allowed to quit the country, even if we are then.”

“Depend upon it, Uncle, we should not be allowed to go then. How vexatious!” I ejaculated. “After all this trouble it will be hard if we are stopped now! We will not be,” I cried, with a stamp of the foot. “I have succeeded so far, and if I fail it shall not be for want of foresight.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” said my uncle, who seemed to be pleased with my energy and determination.

“I mean, Uncle, that if the treasure is lost it shall be through storm and shipwreck, not from the scheming of men. If they know of our rich treasure they will plan to get it away from us. Well, we must scheme harder to save it.

“Here, let’s take Tom into consultation,” I said after a pause, and Tom was called in. “Here, Tom,” I said, “we’ve got all the gold packed, how are we to get it away?”

“How are you to get it away, Mas’r Harry?” he said, giving his head a rub, not that it itched, but so as to clear his thoughts, I suppose.

“Yes. How are we to get it away?”

“Stick direction cards on, same as we did with the soap boxes at home, and shove it aboard ship.”

“To be stopped as something contraband. No, Tom, that won’t do. They would want to know what it was.”

“Serve them same as we did the Injins,” said Tom grinning: “pretend as they are all forsles and stigmy tights, as you called ’em, Mas’r Harry.”

“That may do for Indians, but it will never do for people who are civilised. No, Tom, if you cannot give better advice than that, it is of no use.”

“That’s the best I’ve got, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom. “I never was a good one that way. You tell me what to do and I’ll do it. And as for sticking to you—There, Mas’r Landell, sir, haven’t I stuck to Mas’r Harry through thick and thin?”

“Most faithfully, Tom.”

“Thanky, sir, thanky,” cried Tom.

“Yes, yes, Tom, we know all about that,” I said. “No one doubts your fidelity, but it is not the question. We want to know what to do about getting the treasure home safely.”

“Oh! Ah! Yes, I see,” said Tom, as if he had not understood before, and it made me so vexed, what with being hot and nervous and bothered, that I felt as if I should have liked to kick Master Tom.

“I have it,” I exclaimed suddenly, and I gave the table a thump.

“He’s got it,” cried Tom, rubbing his hands. “Mas’r Harry’s got it, Mas’r Landell, sir. He’s a wunner at hitting out things, he is.”

“What is your idea, Harry?”

“It is rather a risky one, sir,” I replied; “but it seems to me the only likely one. We must put up with some inconvenience to get our treasure safe. Once we are at a good British port, of course we need not mind, and can do as we please.”

“Well,” he said, “what do you propose doing?”

“Find out some small vessel going to Jamaica, and arrange with the captain to take us. If we pay him pretty well he will ask no questions about what our luggage is.”

“And you might make him think it was forsles and them what-you-may-call-’em tights. He wouldn’t be much cleverer than the Injins,” said Tom.

“We’ll see about that, Tom,” I said, and my uncle having approved of my plan, we began at once to see if we could not set it in force.

It sounded very easy, but when I had to put it in practice I found it extremely difficult, and to be hedged in with prickles of the sharpest kind.

We wanted to go to Jamaica, as being a suitable port for our purpose, and an easy one to obtain passage home in a mail steamer; but though I could find small vessels, schooners, and brigs going everywhere else, there did not seem to be one likely to sail for Kingston; and try how I would, it appeared as if the very fact of our wanting to go otherwise than by the regular mail route made our conduct suspicious.

In fact more than one of the skippers seemed to think so, and as a rule they declined to take us, saying that it would get them into trouble, while in one case, where the captain of a schooner eagerly agreed to take us, merely stipulating to be well paid, the vessel was such a cranky, ill-found affair that I shrank from trusting my aunt and Lilla in such a crazy hull.

“There’s a chap out in the river yonder going to sail for New York at the end of the week, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom one morning. “I got into conversation with him last night when I was smoking my pipe, and in about half a minute he’d asked me what my name was, where I was born, how many teeth I’d got, why I came here, what I was going to do next; and when I told him I wanted to go back to England, he hit me over the back and says: ‘Case o’ dollars, stranger. I’ll take you.’ He’s coming to see you this morning.”

About an hour after I saw a tall, thin, yellow-looking man coming up to the house. He had a narrow smooth face, and two very dark eyes that seemed to have been squeezed close up to his nose—a sharp nose—and a very projecting much-pointed chin. His face was as devoid of hair as a baby’s, and taking him altogether, if Tom had not told me he was curious, I should have said at once that he was a man who loved to ask questions.

“Mornin’, stranger,” he said to both Tom and me, and then, with his queer-looking sharp little eyes searching me all over, he went on: “I guess you’re the Englishman who wants to get home with all your tots.”

“I am,” I said. “May I ask your name?”

“Perks,” he said sharply. “’Badiah P. Perks, o’ New York. What’s your’n?”

I told him.

“Hah, yes. I could see you warn’t an A-murray-can. I’ll take you if you’ll pay.”

“Oh, I’ll pay a reasonable fare for our party,” I replied.

“Party, eh? How many?”

“My uncle, his wife and daughter, and us two,” I said.

“And that makes five, stranger. Baggage?”

“Yes,” I said, “Let’s look.”

I hesitated for a moment, and then took him into the room where our neat little chests were packed, one on the top of the other, with a couple of blankets thrown over them.

“Hah!” said the skipper, trying one of the iron-bound cases. “Precious heavy, mister. What’s in ’em?”

“Curiosities,” I replied.

“Just so,” he said, winking one eye. “I said they was to myself soon as I see the iron bands round ’em. Wal, they’ll weigh up pretty smart. You’ll have to pay for them.”

“Of course,” I said; “anything reasonable.”

“That’s square, mister,” he said, scanning the whole place eagerly. “Now, what might bring you out here, eh?”

“I came to see my uncle,” I replied, annoyed at the fellow’s impertinence, but thinking it better to be civil.

“Did you, though, mister? Find him?”

“Yes, I found him right enough.”

“Did you, though? Old man all right?”

“Quite right.”

“Didn’t stop with him, though?”

“No, we are all going home together.”

“Wonder at it when you might stay in A-murray-kay. I say, mister, you know, what’s in them chesties?”

He accompanied the question with a wink and a grin, and pointed over his shoulder towards the cases.

“I told you,” I replied, “curiosities.”

“Are they, though? Wonder what the custom chaps would call ’em when they overhauled them, eh?”

I was silent, for it was evident that the fellow suspected me of a desire to evade the regular authorities of the port.

“Come, mister,” he said with a grin, evidently divining my thoughts, “out with it, come; you want them chesties smuggled off on the quiet, don’t you now? Best take ’Badiah P. Perks into confidence, I guess; makes it smooth for all parties.”

“If you like to take our party and luggage to New York, Mr Perks,” I said quietly, “I am ready, as my uncle will be ready, to pay you well for the passage. Is it agreed?”

“Luggage, of course, mister; but them there arn’t luggage. Curiosities, didn’t you say? What’s in ’em?”

“That is my affair, Mr Perks.”

“’Badiah P. Perks, please mister. Now, then, is it square and confidence, and ’Badiah P. Perks’ friends, or isn’t it?”

“I shall place every confidence in the captain of our vessel, Mr Perks.”

“’Badiah P. Perks, mister.”

“Mr Obadiah P. Perks,” I said.

“Drop that O, stranger. Don’t belong. ’Badiah P. Perks, mister.”

“Mr ’Badiah P. Perks,” I said.

“And my folks calls me Kyaptin,” said the skipper. “Say, it’s wonderful how much ignorance there is ’mongst you Englishers. Wal, I won’t say I’ll take you, stranger, till I’ve brought one o’ these here yellow nigger officers to look over them chesties, and see if there’s anything in ’em as is contraband.”

I could not help changing colour, and the fellow saw it. He suspected my motives evidently, and with a smile he turned to go, reaching the door slowly and then pausing, as if he expected me to call him back, but as I did not he hesitated.

“Say, mister,” he said, “s’pose anny time’ll do for me to bring down the yaller nigger chap?”

I was so wroth with the scoundrel and his cool impudence that I took a defiant tone and said shortly:

“Any time you like, Captain Perks.”

“’Badiah P. Perks, mister. All right. I won’t be long.”

“But mind this,” I said, “you are doing it for your own amusement, for I shall advise my uncle not to go by your vessel.”

“Riled, mister? Jest a little bit, eh? All right. You’ll cool down by the time I’ve got the custom-house chap here, and then we can settle terms.”

He went off laughing, and for the moment I felt as if we were in his power.

“All my labour will have been thrown away, Tom,” I cried, “and we shall be called upon for explanations that I cannot give.”

I called my uncle into the consultation, and we agreed that the best line to take was the defiant one.

“We are under no engagement to this fellow, Harry,” said my uncle; “and we need not enter into one, as he would fleece you—perhaps rob you. For, once at sea on the vessel of such a man, he can play tyrant and do as he pleases.”

“You are right, uncle; we will not go. But if he returns with one of the Spanish officials, what then?”

“Set him at defiance; and if you are driven to extremities, appeal to the British vice-consul for aid.”

Chapter Fifty Two.

Help at a Pinch.

Captain Obadiah P. Perks came back at the end of an hour, when I had pretty well ripened my plans, and, retiring within the house, I left Tom to deal with him.

A tall, dark Spaniard was the captain’s companion, and he might have been an official or an impostor in the skipper’s pay. It was impossible to judge, though he wore something purporting to be a uniform.

“Wal, mister,” the skipper said to Tom, “where’s your young boss?”

“Busy,” said Tom, blocking the doorway and coolly smoking his pipe.

“Then just you go and tell him that Kyaptin ’Badiah P. Perks is here with a gentleman who’ll overhaul that stack o’ chesties, and say whether I can take ’em board o’ my schooner without getting into trouble.”

“Oh! Mas’r Harry won’t get you into no trouble, cap’en,” said Tom, “nor he won’t give you no trouble. He’s altered his mind and won’t go.”

“Oh, no, he haven’t,” said the skipper. “Just you go and say Kyaptin ’Badiah P. Perks is here and wants to see him tew wunst.”

For answer Tom drew a long breath and puffed out a cloud of smoke at the skipper.

“Air yew a-going?” said the latter.

“No,” said Tom, “I air not. My young master don’t want you, nor your ship, nor anything else. You wouldn’t take the job when you could get it, so now it’s gone.”

The Yankee skipper turned of a warmer yellow, and there was a malignant gleam in his closely-set eyes as he thrust one hand into his pocket and drew it out directly.

“Here, I don’t want to quarrel along o’ you,” he said sharply. “Go and tell him I want him, and he must come.”

“Sha’n’t,” said Tom coolly. “Who are you ordering about? This here ain’t aboard ship.”

“It would be okkard fur yew, boy, if it weer board ship,” snarled the skipper, going close up and thrusting his ugly face almost in Tom’s. “Yew just do as I tell yew, my lad, ’fore it’s worse for yew. Guess I don’t want to quarrel.”

“And guess I don’t want to quarrel with you,” said Tom; “though I allus have felt as if I should like to whack a sailor.”

The man’s hand went to his pocket again, but in spite of his furious glances Tom did not for a moment quail, giving him back again look for look.

“Guess it ’ll be the worse for yew, stranger,” said the skipper, “if you don’t go and fetch out that theer fellow o’ yourn.”

“Guess it ’ll be the worse for you, skipper, if you get shoving that sharp nose o’ yours in my face,” said Tom. “You ain’t skretched me with it yet, but if you do, ware hawk!”

The man’s face was a study. He wanted evidently to seize Tom and thrust him aside, but there was something so solid and muscular about Tom’s body, and something so hard and bull-like about Tom’s head, that few people would have cared to tackle him; and certainly, seeing how determined he was, the skipper did not feel disposed.

“Here, hi! you Englisher,” shouted the fellow, “come out. I want a word with you.”

“I say, don’t make that row front of our house,” said Tom. “There’s ladies here; and if you do it again I shall have to do what they does at home with noisy people—move you on.”

The skipper made a menacing movement towards Tom, and I was ready to go to his assistance, but Tom did not stir, only clenched his hand slowly in so ominous a manner that the skipper went no farther, but turned and advanced to his companion, before again approaching my faithful companion.

“Now, look ye here, mister,” said the skipper. “I don’t want to hurt you, so just you either get out o’ the way or fetch your boss.”

“If you don’t get out,” said Tom slowly, “I shall have to make you. Mas’r Harry don’t want no trade with you at all, so s’pose you be off while your shoes are good.”

“I will be off,” said the skipper with a snarl, “and bring them here as will open some of your eyes a bit, and them chesties too.”

Then saying something in a whisper to his companion they both hurried off, and for the rest of the day, in spite of the aspect I carried before those in the house, I was in no little trepidation.

Late in the afternoon, when we had been expecting a call every moment from some one in authority, and Tom had been waiting ready to run off at the first attack to the British vice-consul, a quiet, firm-looking, sailor-like man came up to where I was standing.

“Are you the Englishman who wants to go with his family to Kingston?”

“Yes,” I said, looking at him earnestly, for I was wondering whether it was a trap laid by the Yankee skipper.

“I just heard of it down at the wharf,” he said. “I’ll take you, only I sail to-night.”

I was going to exclaim, “That’s just what I want!” but restrained myself, and said quietly, “That’s a very short notice.”

“Well, ’tis, sir; but I’m all laden, and time’s money. If you can be ready I’ll take you, and be glad to earn the passage money, and do the best I can to make you and the ladies comfortable, but if you can’t I must lose the job.”

“We will be ready, then,” I said; “only I have these heavy chests to go.”

“Oh, they’re nothing,” said the skipper good-humouredly. “I’ll bring the boat up abreast here, and four o’ my lads. We’ll soon have them in.”

We soon settled about terms, which were reasonable enough, and promising to be there with the boat in an hour, the man left.

“Well, Tom, what is it?” I said excitedly. “A trap or honesty?”

“Honesty, Mas’r Harry,” he cried sharply. “That chap’s straight-forrard enough.”

“So I think,” I cried, “and we’ll risk it. To-morrow we may be stopped.”

My aunt and Lilla were almost startled at the suddenness of the proposed departure, and my uncle looked anxious; but they said nothing, only made their final preparations, and soon after dark the fresh skipper came up with half a dozen men.

“I thought I’d bring enough,” he said. “Now, my lads, be smart. Chest apiece, they ain’t big.”

It was all so sudden that my breath was almost taken away; but I had said that I would risk it, and there was nothing else to do but go on. In the darkness, too, it was hard to tell whether our property was all being fairly dealt with, but I watched as keenly as I could, and Tom went down to the boat with the first men, my uncle taking charge of Lilla and my aunt, while I stopped back at the house and sent all the luggage off.

It was pitchy dark now, and matters were carried out with a rapidity that was startling. In fact, in a quarter of an hour everything was on board the heavy boat, the men in their places, my aunt, Lilla, and my uncle in the stern sheets, and Tom and I were about to step in when Lilla exclaimed:

“Oh, Harry! I’ve left the great cloak in my room!”

I was about to exclaim “Never mind,” and, in my excitement to get clear, order the men to push off, but it was Lilla’s wish, and without a word I started back to fetch the cloak.

It was the most painful passage I ever had in my life. It was only minutes but it seemed hours, and with my heart beating furiously, I tried to crush down the fancies that kept coming into my head.

“Suppose,” I thought, “that man is in the American skipper’s pay, and that, now they have possession of my treasure, they should carry it off, and I should never see it more.” I knew that I might go back and find the boat gone, pursuit would be vain in the darkness; and so tortured was I as I reached the house we had left, that I turned instead of going in, and stepped back to run down again to the boat.

That bit of indecision saved me, for just at my elbow a voice I recognised said:

“Now then, four o’ you just go round to the back and stop whoever comes out. Two watch the windows, and we’ll go in. I guess it’ll make the Englisher star’.”

The Englisher did stare as he tried to gaze through the darkness, and then, feeling satisfied that the new skipper had nothing to do with the American, I stepped softly back, trembling with eagerness and excitement, and made my way down to the boat.

“All right,” I said in as composed a manner as I could, and jumping in we were soon after being rowed softly down the river, past great vessel after vessel, all showing their mooring lights, till, wondering the while what sort of ship we were to have for our passage, we came at last alongside a large schooner, and were soon after safe aboard, treasure and all, of what proved to be a very good swift vessel.

In the morning when the sun rose we were going rapidly down towards the mouth of the great river, but it was not until we were well out at sea that I felt safe from pursuit, and told my uncle of our narrow escape.

“But I have not been able to find the great cloak, Harry,” said Lilla.

“No,” I replied; “it was a question whether I should leave the cloak or myself, so I left the cloak,” and then I told her of my adventure in the dark.

Chapter Fifty Three.

“Huzza! We’re Homeward bound.”

And now it seemed as if our difficulties were at an end, for the passage to Kingston, Jamaica, was a pleasant one, and we took our berths from there in the mail, which landed us in safety at Southampton, without a soul suspecting the nature of the treasure that we had on board, one which we had gone through so much peril to obtain.

It was a fine evening in July, that, after leaving my uncle and the others at a comfortable London hotel, Tom and I, after a quick run down by rail, found ourselves once more in the streets of the little town which we had left upon our setting off to foreign lands in quest of our fortunes.

How familiar everything seemed and yet how shrunken! Houses that I used to consider large appeared to have grown small, and people that I had been in the habit of considering great and important, somehow looked as if they were of no consequence at all.

“Lor’, look ye there, Mas’r Harry, they’re practising in the cricket field. What a while it seems since I have handled a bat! Come and give us a few balls, the chaps would be glad enough to see us.”

“No, no, Tom,” I said hastily, “I want to see the old people.”

“Oh, yes, of course, I forgot all about that, Mas’r Harry. I haven’t got no one to see.”

“Why, what about Sally?” I said.

“Pooh, it’s all nonsense! What stuff! How you do talk, Mas’r Harry!” he cried indignantly. “Just as if Sally was anything to me!”

“Come, Tom,” I said, “you know you were always very great friends.”

“Friends, Mas’r Harry! Why, she were allus giving me spanks in the face. I do wish you wouldn’t be so foolish, Mas’r Harry.”

“All right, Tom,” I said, for he was speaking in quite an ill-used tone. “There, what’s that?” I cried, as with beating heart, longing to look into the old home and yet almost afraid, I stopped short at the corner of the lane, and caught Tom by the arm.

“What’s that?” cried Tom grinning, as he took a long sniff. “Taller. Say, Mas’r Harry, after missing it all this long time, it don’t smell so very bad after all.”

“Well, it is not nice, Tom,” I said smiling, “but how familiar it all does seem! What days and nights it does recall! Why, Tom, we hardly seem to have been away.”

“Oh, but don’t we though?” said Tom, pulling down the front of a new waistcoat and pushing his hat a little on one side. “We went away nobodies like, at least I did, Mas’r Harry, and I’ve come back an independent gentleman. I wonder whether Sally’s altered.”

I did not make any reply, but walked steadily on till I reached the familiar gates leading into our yard, and through which I had seen the laden van pass so many hundreds of times. There beyond it was the soap-house with its barred window, the tall chimney, and, on looking over, there were the usual litter of old and new boxes, while an unpleasantly scented steam was floating out upon the evening air.

How strange and yet how familiar it all seemed! How old and shabby and forlorn everything looked, and yet how dear! I wanted to creep in and catch my mother in my arms, but something seemed to hold me back, so that I dare not stir.

I walked straight by, with Tom following me slowly, looking across at the opposite side of the road, and whistling softly, and as we walked on I could see into the garden, and my heart gave a throb, for, instead of being neat and well stocked as of old, everything appeared to have been neglected—creepers had run wild, the apple and pear trees were covered with long shoots, and tall thistles and nettles stood in clumps.

My heart seemed to stand still, and I hesitated no longer. My father must be ill, I thought, or the garden in which he took so much pride would never have been allowed to run wild like that.

“Tom,” I said, “there’s something wrong.”

“Lor’, no, Mas’r Harry, not there. Nothing’s wrong, only that Sally’s left, and that’s all right, ain’t it?”

I did not answer, but, going to the yard gate, pushed it open, and the hinges gave a dismal creak.

“Bit o’ soap would not hurt them,” said Tom sententiously, and he followed me through the yard.

I peeped in at the old, familiar boiling-house, but though work had lately been in progress there was no one there; so I went on to the back door and was about to enter, but Tom laid his hand on my arm.

“Would you mind my going in first, Mas’r Harry?” he said softly. “I know it ain’t right, but I should like to go in just once—first.”

I drew back and Tom stepped forward to go in, but as he raised his hand to the latch he dropped it again and turned back to me.

“’Twouldn’t be right, sir, for me to go afore you; and don’t you think, Mas’r Harry, now that you’re a great, rich gentleman just come over from foreign abroad, that it would be more genteel-like to go round to the front and give a big knock afore you went in?”

“Well, let’s go round to the front, Tom. Perhaps it isn’t right to come round here. We might startle them.”

“Wouldn’t startle Sally, even if she were here, Mas’r Harry. Nothing never did startle she, though she ain’t here now.”

The fact was that I felt as nervous and tremulous about going in as poor Tom, and accordingly we went round to the front, and after a moment’s hesitation I gave a rap at the door.

No answer.

I rapped again, and then, finding the door unfastened, I pushed against it with trembling hand to find it yield, and, walking straight in, I turned to the right and entered the little parlour.

As I went in some one who had been sitting back asleep in the easy-chair started up and took a great red handkerchief from his face.

As he did this I was advancing with open hands, but only to stop short, for it was not my father.

“Hillo!” said the stranger, a dirty-looking man with an inflamed nose.

“Hallo!” I said; “who are you?”

“Who am I?” said the stranger, staring at me as if I were asking a most absurd question. “Why, persession—that’s about what I am. Are you come to pay me out?”

“Pay you out!—possession!” I faltered. “Why, what does it mean?”

“Sold by hockshin without reserve by one of the morkygees,” said the man, “soon as the inwintory’s took.”

“Where are my father and mother?” I said, with my heart sinking at the idea of the distress they must have been in.

“Now, then!” said a sharp voice, and a young woman came to the inner door; “who do you want?”

“Sally!” whispered Tom excitedly.

“Why, Sally!” I exclaimed, “don’t you know me again?”

“It isn’t Master Harry, is it?” she said wonderingly.

“Yes, Sally,” I said. “Why, how you have altered and improved!”

“Get along, Master Harry; it’s you that’s improved. Who’s that big, stoopid-looking young man with you?”

“Oh, I say!” groaned Tom.

“Oh, I see!” she said carelessly, “it’s the boy!”

“Ain’t she hard on a fellow, Mas’r Harry?” whispered Tom; but I did not reply, for I was questioning Sally.

“What! haven’t you heard?” she said.

“No, I’ve heard nothing,” I exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“’Bout master’s having failed, and a set o’ wretches,”—here she glanced at the dirty-looking man—“coming and robbing him of his business, and his house, and his furniture, and everything a’most he’s got.”

“No, no, Sally, I have heard nothing. But are they well?”

“Oh, yes, as well as folks can be as is being robbed by folks who come sitting in all the chairs with hankychers over their heads, and going to sleep all over the place.”

“But where are they?” I cried; “upstairs?”

“Upstairs? No,” cried Sally. “They’re down at the little cottage in Back Lane, where old Mrs Wigley used to live.”

“I’ll run down at once,” I cried. “Come along, Tom!” I did not look back, for I was intent upon my task; and if I had I should have had no satisfaction, for Tom had stayed behind, as he afterwards said, to look after old master’s property; but I never believed that tale for several reasons, one being that Tom looked shamefaced and awkward as he said it, and circumstances afterwards tended to show that he had some other reason.

The old cottage named was one that I well remembered, and my spirit seemed to sink lower and lower as I neared the place; for it was terrible to think of those whom I had left, if not in affluence, at least in a comfortable position in life, brought down to so sad and impecunious a state, suffering real poverty, and with the home of so many years now in the broker’s hands.

Then I felt a wave of high spirits come over me, as it were, to hurl me down and then lift me and carry me on and on, till I literally set off and ran down turning after turning, till I came to the little whitewashed cottage where my father and mother had their abode.

I half-paused for a moment, and then tapping lightly, raised the latch and entered.

My father was seated at a common uncovered deal table, poring over an old account-book, as if in hopes of finding a way out of his difficulties. My mother, looking very care-worn and grey, was seated by a back window mending some old garments, and now and then stopping to wipe her eyes. At least that is what I presumed, for she was in the act of wiping them as I dashed in.

“Mother! father!” I exclaimed, and the next moment the poor old lady was sobbing in my arms, kissing me again and again, and amidst her sobbing telling my father that she knew how it would be—that it had been foolish of him to despair, for she was certain that her boy would come back and help them as soon as he knew that they were in trouble.

“When did you get the letter, my darling?” she said as she clung closer to me.

“Letter!” I said; “I’ve had no letter.”

My mother looked up at me wonderingly.

“Had no letter, Harry?”

“No, my dear mother; I have not had a line since I have been gone.”

My mother loosened her hold of me and turned to my father as he stood looking on.

“You did not write to him,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I daresay he did, mother,” I cried, “but of late I have been travelling about a great deal.”

“Then the letter would have come back, Harry,” said my mother. “He did not write.”

“No,” said my father quietly; “I did not write. What was the use of troubling the poor fellow about our miserable affairs when he was far away?”

“Then you did not come, Harry, because we were in trouble?”

“No, mother,” I replied. “I came home because my task was done.”

“Your task was done?” said my mother. “I don’t understand you. I thought you went to work at your uncle’s.”

“I was with my uncle, mother,” I replied, enjoying the knowledge of the surprise I had in store, and feeling that now, indeed, the treasure I had found was worth having, for what changes it would work! “but he was in trouble too.”

“In trouble!” said my father and mother in a breath.

“Yes, he was in the same predicament as you are, and his coffee plantation was going to be sold up.”

“What an unhappy family ours is!” said my mother. “Harry—Harry! you might as well have stayed at home.”

“If I had stayed at home, mother, would it have spared you this trouble?”

“I—I don’t know, my boy. Would it, my dear?” she said, turning to my father.

“No, wife—no,” he said; “Harry was quite right to go. He foresaw what was coming, and how useless it was for me to try. The hardest part of it, my lad, is that I can’t go out of business an honest man and pay every one his due.”

“Don’t fret, dear,” said my mother; “you’ve done your best and given up everything. But tell me, Harry,” she cried, “what did my poor brother do? Had he no friend to help him?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And did he?”

“Yes, mother.”

“What! paid his debts?”

“Yes, dear mother.”

“God bless him!” said my mother fervently. “I wish I could take him by the hand. And how is your uncle now?”

“He was quite well when I left him to-day, mother.”

“Left him!—to-day?” said my mother wonderingly.

“Yes, he is in town. I brought him with me, and he will come down and see you with some one, mother, I want you very much to love.”

“You foolish boy!” said my mother. “Ah, Harry—Harry! you are too young to think of that.”

“I’m sorry he’s coming to see us,” said my father sadly. “We are not in condition to see company, wife.”

“No,” said my mother, sighing as she glanced round. “But don’t be down-hearted, dear,” she cried more cheerfully; “when things are at their worst they always mend, and I think they have got to their worst now, and have begun to mend, for Harry has come back.”

“Yes, mother,” I cried, unable to keep back my good news, knowing as I did how welcome it must be to them at such a time. “Yes, mother, I have come back, and brought with me the friend who helped my poor uncle in such a strait, and now he shall help you.”

“Ah, but my dear boy, we have no claims upon your uncle’s friend.”

“The greatest of claims, mother,” I cried excitedly, “for he is your own flesh and blood.”

“Harry!” cried my father, “what do you mean? Did you help your uncle?”

“Yes, father,” I said modestly.

“And paid his debts?”

“Yes, father, and now I’m going to pay yours, or rather you are going to pay them yourself, and be what you called—an honest man.”

His eyes lit up, and he looked as if he were about to catch me by the hands, but he stopped short and shook his head.

“No, no, no, my boy, you do not understand these things. I owe nearly five hundred pounds.”

“My dear father,” I cried, “I’m ready to pay it if you owe nearly five thousand. I went out to make my fortune and I have made it, and I never knew its value thoroughly till I came home to-day. There, come away home and I’ll pay out that fellow, and—oh, come, mother—mother, mother!” I cried as I took hold of her hands to raise her up, for she had sunk upon her knees and was embracing my legs. “You must not give way like this, or you will make me behave like a great girl.”

“It is because I am so happy,” she sobbed, and as I raised her so that she could weep on my shoulder, my father caught me by the hand.

“God bless you, my boy! God bless you!” he cried. “I won’t question you now, for like your mother I feel as if this is more than I can bear.”

We lost no time as soon as they had grown calmer. For though I had not the money with me sufficient to pay all my father’s debts, I had plenty to pay what was needed to get rid of the unpleasant tenant of my old home, and that night I slept happily once more beneath its roof.

I had hard work to satisfy the old people about my right to the large sum of money I had brought back, but I found no difficulty with their creditors, who took the cash without asking any questions, and were very loud in their praises, saying that I was the best of sons, which was all nonsense, for I should have been the worst of sons if I had not done my duty as I did.

The next few months were chiefly spent in getting things into order, and in the midst of my busiest time Tom came to me one day, bringing with him Sally.

“Hallo!” I said, “what does this mean?”

“Oh, nothing at all, Mas’r Harry; only now I’m settled as a gentleman of property I’m going to be married.”

“Don’t you believe him, Master Harry,” said Sally; “it’s all his nonsense,” and she was scarlet as she spoke.

“Don’t you believe her, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom grinning; “she promised me she would, and she can’t draw back, can she?”

“Certainly not, Tom,” I said. “A lady’s under her bond just as a gentleman is.”

“There! hear that, Sally?” said Tom.

“Yes, I hear,” she said, “so I suppose I must;” and Sally spoke in quite a resigned way, keeping her word to Tom within three months, my father saying that Sally had been the most faithful of servants, and had forced upon them all her little savings in the time of their distress.

You may be sure I did not forget this on the day when my father gave her away, and Tom had a nice little dowry with his wife.

It may be thought that, with so great a sum of money—so large a fortune—I must have lived in great splendour during the rest of my life. But it was not so. Certainly I have always since enjoyed the comfort of a pleasant, well-kept, unostentatious home; but the fact is this—it was my fate to marry a woman generous almost to a fault. As you have seen, she began by giving the greatest treasure I found in the New World—herself—to me; and then, upon the strength of our having plenty of money, she was of opinion that its proper purpose was being spent in doing good to others.

My uncle and Mrs Landell were settled in a pleasant little estate of their own; and after a great deal of persuasion my father was induced to take upon himself the position of a country gentleman. One way and another our income became shrunk down to very reasonable proportions; though, after Lilla has done all the good that she can in the course of the year, we have always a little to spare.

My story is ended. And now that grey hairs have made their appearance, bringing with them sounder thought and the ripe judgment of experience, I often go over my adventures again, and chat about them with Tom, and Sally his wife, when I have taken a run over to their prosperous farm; but in spite of all the success that has attended me and mine, I think, have thought, and I hope I shall still think to my last day, that my journey to the New World, my adventures, and all I gained, would have been but so much vanity and emptiness had I not won Lilla, who has shed upon my life a sunshine such as has proved that after all she was the true gold.

The End.