  When Pant awoke from many bad dreams, he found himself in a cool and comfortable bed on shore. A doctor was bending over him. “That’s fine, old boy,” the doctor was saying. “Now you’ll do. You got quite a welt on the head. But your jolly old bean is hard. Never cracked it a mite.” “But the treasure box!” Pant exclaimed, still unable to think clearly, or use caution. “Where is it?” “The treasure box? I see you are still a little off in the head. Here, take this; it will clear you up,” said the doctor. Pant took the contents of the glass held out to him at a single draught and without a question. In the meantime his head cleared. He said no more about the box of pearls, but learned by judicious questioning that the attacking band had on the night before been driven off with little loss of men or goods. A few sacks of chicle had drifted away in the night, that was all. “And if one of them has a green thread running through the sack!” he thought to himself, and was thrown into a near panic. “And the schooners?” he asked suddenly. “Where are they?” “Got a fair wind and sailed this morning for Belize. Must be there by now.” “They’ll load the chicle aboard the Torentia?” “Naturally.” “And she sails—” “In about twenty-four hours.” “Doctor!” exclaimed the boy sitting straight up in bed and gripping his arm hard. “Fix me up someway. I’ve got to get over to Belize. At once! Right away, doctor. This very minute!” “Well, young fellow,” said the doctor, rescuing his arm and putting on a wry face as he rubbed it vigorously, “you seem to have plenty of strength. I’ll see what I can do.” A half hour later, a trifle unsteady on his feet, but otherwise quite himself, Pant was making his way to the water front of Stann Creek, the port to which he was carried after the battle. He felt the heavy bandages about his head, blinked at the sunlight, looked this way then that, until spying what appeared to be a small store just before him, he hurried in. “I want a boat,” he said to the black proprietor. “What kind of a boat?” “Any boat that will take me to Belize.” “No boat go to-day.” The man settled back in his corner. “You mean they won’t go to-day?” The boy’s brow wrinkled. “No go.” “Not for any price?” “Oh! Special trip, go. Maybe. You got twenty dollars?” Pant hesitated. He had twenty dollars and a little change. To part with it all would seem to be courting disaster. But much was at stake. He threw all in the balance. “Yes, I have twenty dollars. Where is the boat?” “Me see.” The man held out a hand. Pant showed him two golden eagles. “My boat sailing boat. Good boat. Very fast boat. Ready to go, fifteen minutes.” At sight of the gold the man went into action. Action on land is one thing. On sea it is quite another. They were half way up the bay when the wind fell. The sail fell with it, and the boat stood still in a placid sea. For two precious hours the boy with a bruised and aching head lay beneath a pitiless tropical sun. Then the merciful after dinner breeze came up and at once they went booming along. Nothing can be more delightful than a sail in a Carib boat on the Caribbean Sea. To lie on deck and sense the lifting glide of the prow, to feel the cool breeze on your face, to see the water go rippling by, that is joy indeed. Pant would have enjoyed it to the full had not his mind been vexed by many questions. Would he reach Belize in time or would the steamer be gone? Was the chicle sack of the green thread still on the sailing boat of the night before, or had the marauders carried it away? If it were still on board, if it went to America and he did not go with it, what then? Would he recover the treasure? “Not a chance,” he told himself. “I must have been out of my head to hide the box in such a place. But now I must see it through. “Why must I?” he asked himself, and at once came the answer, “The old Don.” Unconsciously he had come to think of the treasure of pearls as belonging as much to the aged Don as to himself. And to that man he owed much. He had, beyond doubt, once saved his grandfather’s life. They were nearing Belize. The white houses with their red roofs showed in the distance. And, joy of joys! There to the left was the Torentia riding at anchor. Still there was much to fear. She might at any moment weigh anchor and put out to sea. “And after all,” he said to himself, “what am I to do? By this time the chicle is stowed away. Dare I make a clean breast of my story? I wouldn’t dare trust them. What then? I must go with the ship to New York. But I have no money. Who is to pay my passage?” Surely here was a situation. “I will find a way. I must!” And in the end he did. Sailing time was only a half hour off when he climbed the rope ladder to the deck of the Torentia. “Hello, brother,” said the purser, looking at his bandaged head. “What revolution did you come from? Did they make you President or only commander of the navy?” “Neither,” said Pant with a grin that went far. “I want to go to New York.” “Got any money?” “No.” “Can’t go.” “That last shipment of chicle you took on board belonged to my grandfather. I’ll wire him for money in New York.” “There’s lots of broke Americans down here. They’ve all got rich relatives.” “I’ll prove it.” Sitting down upon the hatch, Pant told things about Colonel Longstreet that went far to prove that he at least was a boon companion of the old man. “Guess you’re square,” said the purser at last. “Anyway, I’ll take a chance. Steward will fix you up later.” By careful inquiry Pant learned that the chicle had been stored beneath the forward hatch. The hatch was kept open. There were twenty thousand bunches of bananas on board. They must have air. By leaning far over the hatch he could see ends of the chicle bags. Was the one he wanted there? “Can’t be sure,” he warned himself. “Too dark down there. Have to get closer,” he said. “Will, too, after a while. See if I don’t.” |
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