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diff --git a/1761-0.txt b/1761-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1a2b7d --- /dev/null +++ b/1761-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1141 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of My Buried Treasure, by Richard Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: My Buried Treasure + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Release Date: May, 1999 [eBook #1761] +[Most recently updated: March 19, 2023] + +Language: English + +Produced by: Aaron Cannon and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY BURIED TREASURE *** + + + + +MY BURIED TREASURE + +by Richard Harding Davis + + + + +This is a true story of a search for buried treasure. The only part +that is not true is the name of the man with whom I searched for the +treasure. Unless I keep his name out of it he will not let me write the +story, and, as it was his expedition and as my share of the treasure is +only what I can make by writing the story, I must write as he dictates. +I think the story should be told, because our experience was unique, +and might be of benefit to others. And, besides, I need the money. + +There is, however, no agreement preventing me from describing him as I +think he is, or reporting, as accurately as I can, what he said and did +as he said and did it. + +For purposes of identification I shall call him Edgar Powell. The last +name has no significance; but the first name is not chosen at random. +The leader of our expedition, the head and brains of it, was and is the +sort of man one would address as Edgar. No one would think of calling +him “Ed,” or “Eddie,” any more than he would consider slapping him on +the back. + +We were together at college; but, as six hundred other boys were there +at the same time, that gives no clew to his identity. Since those days, +until he came to see me about the treasure, we had not met. All I knew +of him was that he had succeeded his father in manufacturing +unshrinkable flannels. Of course, the reader understands that is not +the article of commerce he manufactures; but it is near enough, and it +suggests the line of business to which he gives his life’s blood. It is +not similar to my own line of work, and in consequence, when he wrote +me, on the unshrinkable flannels official writing-paper, that he wished +to see me in reference to a matter of business of “mutual benefit,” I +was considerably puzzled. + +A few days later, at nine in the morning, an hour of his own choosing, +he came to my rooms in New York City. + +Except that he had grown a beard, he was as I remembered him, thin and +tall, but with no chest, and stooping shoulders. He wore eye-glasses, +and as of old through these he regarded you disapprovingly and warily +as though he suspected you might try to borrow money, or even joke with +him. As with Edgar I had never felt any temptation to do either, this +was irritating. + +But from force of former habit we greeted each other by our first +names, and he suspiciously accepted a cigar. Then, after fixing me both +with his eyes and with his eye-glasses and swearing me to secrecy, he +began abruptly. + +“Our mills,” he said, “are in New Bedford; and I own several small +cottages there and in Fairhaven. I rent them out at a moderate rate. +The other day one of my tenants, a Portuguese sailor, was taken +suddenly ill and sent for me. He had made many voyages in and out of +Bedford to the South Seas, whaling, and he told me on his last voyage +he had touched at his former home at Teneriffe. There his grandfather +had given him a document that had been left him by _his_ father. His +grandfather said it contained an important secret, but one that was of +value only in America, and that when he returned to that continent he +must be very careful to whom he showed it. He told me it was written in +a kind of English he could not understand, and that he had been afraid +to let any one see it. He wanted me to accept the document in payment +of the rent he owed me, with the understanding that I was not to look +at it, and that if he got well I was to give it back. If he pulled +through, he was to pay me in some other way; but if he died I was to +keep the document. About a month ago he died, and I examined the paper. +It purports to tell where there is buried a pirate’s treasure. And,” +added Edgar, gazing at me severely and as though he challenged me to +contradict him, “I intend to dig for it!” + +Had he told me he contemplated crossing the Rocky Mountains in a Baby +Wright, or leading a cotillon, I could not have been more astonished. I +am afraid I laughed aloud. + +“You!” I exclaimed. “Search for buried treasure?” + +My tone visibly annoyed him. Even the eye-glasses radiated disapproval. + +“I see nothing amusing in the idea,” Edgar protested coldly. “It is a +plain business proposition. I find the outlay will be small, and if I +am successful the returns should be large; at a rough estimate about +one million dollars.” + +Even to-day, no true American, at the thought of one million dollars, +can remain covered. His letter to me had said, “for our mutual +benefit.” I became respectful and polite, I might even say abject. +After all, the ties that bind us in those dear old college days are not +lightly to be disregarded. + +“If I can be of any service to you, Edgar, old man,” I assured him +heartily, “if I can help you find it, you know I shall be only too +happy.” With regret I observed that my generous offer did not seem to +deeply move him. + +“I came to you in this matter,” he continued stiffly, “because you +seemed to be the sort of person who would be interested in a search for +buried treasure.” + +“I am,” I exclaimed. “Always have been.” + +“Have you,” he demanded searchingly, “any practical experience?” + +I tried to appear at ease; but I knew then just how the man who applies +to look after your furnace feels, when you ask him if he can also run a +sixty horse-power dynamo. + +“I have never actually _found_ any buried treasure,” I admitted; “but I +know where lots of it is, and I know just how to go after it.” I +endeavored to dazzle him with expert knowledge. + +“Of course,” I went on airily, “I am familiar with all the expeditions +that have tried for the one on Cocos Island, and I know all about the +Peruvian treasure on Trinidad, and the lost treasures of Jalisco near +Guadalajara, and the sunken galleon on the Grand Cayman, and when I was +on the Isle of Pines I had several very tempting offers to search +there. And the late Captain Boynton invited me——” + +“But,” interrupted Edgar in a tone that would tolerate no trifling, +“you yourself have never financed or organized an expedition with the +object in view of——” + +“Oh, that part’s easy!” I assured him. “The fitting-out part you can +safely leave to me.” I assumed a confidence that I hoped he might +believe was real. “There’s always a tramp steamer in the Erie Basin,” I +said, “that one can charter for any kind of adventure, and I have the +addresses of enough soldiers of fortune, filibusters, and professional +revolutionists to man a battle-ship, all fine fellows in a tight +corner. And I’ll promise you they’ll follow us to hell, and back——” + +“That!” exclaimed Edgar, “is exactly what I feared!” + +“I beg your pardon!” I exclaimed. + +“That’s exactly what I _don’t_ want,” said Edgar sternly. “I don’t +_intend_ to get into any tight corners. I don’t _want_ to go to hell!” + +I saw that in my enthusiasm I had perhaps alarmed him. I continued more +temperately. + +“Any expedition after treasure,” I pointed out, “is never without risk. +You must have discipline, and you must have picked men. Suppose there’s +a mutiny? Suppose they try to rob us of the treasure on our way home? +We must have men we can rely on, and men who know how to pump a +Winchester. I can get you both. And Bannerman will furnish me with +anything from a pair of leggins to a quick firing gun, and on Clark +Street they’ll quote me a special rate on ship stores, hydraulic pumps, +divers’ helmets——” + +Edgar’s eye-glasses became frosted with cold, condemnatory scorn. He +shook his head disgustedly. + +“I was afraid of this!” he murmured. + +I endeavored to reassure him. + +“A little danger,” I laughed, “only adds to the fun.” + +“I want you to understand,” exclaimed Edgar indignantly, “there isn’t +going to be any danger. There isn’t going to be any fun. This is a +plain business proposition. I asked you those questions just to test +you. And you approached the matter exactly as I feared you would. I was +prepared for it. In fact,” he explained shamefacedly, “I’ve read +several of your little stories, and I find they run to adventure and +blood and thunder; they are not of the analytical school of fiction. +Judging from them,” he added accusingly, “you have a tendency to the +romantic.” He spoke reluctantly as though saying I had a tendency to +epileptic fits or the morphine habit. + +“I am afraid,” I was forced to admit, “that to me pirates and buried +treasure always suggest adventure. And your criticism of my writings is +well observed. Others have discovered the same fatal weakness. We +cannot all,” I pointed out, “manufacture unshrinkable flannels.” + +At this compliment to his more fortunate condition, Edgar seemed to +soften. + +“I grant you,” he said, “that the subject has almost invariably been +approached from the point of view you take. And what,” he demanded +triumphantly, “has been the result? Failure, or at least, before +success was attained, a most unnecessary and regrettable loss of blood +and life. Now, on my expedition, I do not intend that any blood shall +be shed, or that anybody shall lose his life. I have not entered into +this matter hastily. I have taken out information, and mean to benefit +by other people’s mistakes. When I decided to go on with this,” he +explained, “I read all the books that bear on searches for buried +treasure, and I found that in each case the same mistakes were made, +and that then, in order to remedy the mistakes, it was invariably +necessary to kill somebody. Now, by not making those mistakes, it will +not be necessary for me to kill any one, and nobody is going to have a +chance to kill me. + +“You propose that we fit out a schooner and sign on a crew. What will +happen? A man with a sabre cut across his forehead, or with a black +patch over one eye, will inevitably be one of that crew. And, as soon +as we sail, he will at once begin to plot against us. A cabin boy who +the conspirators think is asleep in his bunk will overhear their plot +and will run to the quarter-deck to give warning; but a pistol shot +rings out, and the cabin boy falls at the foot of the companion ladder. +The cabin boy is always the first one to go. After that the mutineers +kill the first mate, and lock us in our cabin, and take over the ship. +They will then broach a cask of rum, and all through the night we will +listen to their drunken howlings, and from the cabin airport watch the +body of the first mate rolling in the lee scuppers.” + +“But you forget,” I protested eagerly, “there is always _one_ faithful +member of the crew, who——” + +Edgar interrupted me impatiently. + +“I have not overlooked him,” he said. “He is a Jamaica negro of +gigantic proportions, or the ship’s cook; but he always gets his too, +and he gets it good. They throw _him_ to the sharks! Then we all camp +out on a desert island inhabited only by goats, and we build a +stockade, and the mutineers come to treat with us under a white flag, +and we, trusting entirely to their honor, are fools enough to go out +and talk with them. At which they shoot us up, and withdraw laughing +scornfully.” Edgar fixed his eye-glasses upon me accusingly. + +“Am I right, or am I wrong?” he demanded. I was unable to answer. + +“The only man,” continued Edgar warmly, “who ever showed the slightest +intelligence in the matter was the fellow in the ‘Gold Bug’. _He_ kept +his mouth shut. He never let any one know that he was after buried +treasure, until he found it. That’s me! Now I know _exactly_ where this +treasure is, and——” + +I suppose, involuntarily, I must have given a start of interest; for +Edgar paused and shook his head, slyly and cunningly. “And if you think +I have the map on my person now,” he declared in triumph, “you’ll have +to guess again!” + +“Really,” I protested, “I had no intention——” + +“Not you, perhaps,” said Edgar grudgingly; “but your Japanese valet +conceals himself behind those curtains, follows me home, and at +night——” + +“I haven’t got a valet,” I objected. + +Edgar merely smiled with the most aggravating self-sufficiency. “It +makes no difference,” he declared. “_No one_ will ever find that map, +or see that map, or know where that treasure is, until _I_ point to the +spot.” + +“Your caution is admirable,” I said; “but what,” I jeered, “makes you +think you can point to the spot, because your map says something like, +‘Through the Sunken Valley to Witch’s Caldron, four points N. by N. E. +to Gallows Hill where the shadow falls at sunrise, fifty fathoms west, +fifty paces north as the crow flies, to the Seven Wells’? How the +deuce,” I demanded, “is any one going to point to _that_ spot?” + +“It isn’t that kind of map,” shouted Edgar triumphantly. “If it had +been, I wouldn’t have gone on with it. It’s a map anybody can read +except a half-caste Portuguese sailor. It’s as plain as a laundry bill. +It says,” he paused apprehensively, and then continued with caution, +“it says at such and such a place there is a something. So many +somethings from that something are three what-you-may-call-’ems, and in +the centre of these three what-you-may-call-’ems is buried the +treasure. It’s as plain as that!” + +“Even with the few details you have let escape you,” I said, “I could +find _that_ spot in my sleep.” + +“I don’t think you could,” said Edgar uncomfortably; but I could see +that he had mentally warned himself to be less communicative. “And,” he +went on, “I am willing to lead you to it, if you subscribe to certain +conditions.” + +Edgar’s insulting caution had ruffled my spirit. + +“Why do you think you can trust ME?” I asked haughtily. And then, +remembering my share of the million dollars, I added in haste, “I +accept the conditions.” + +“Of course, as you say, one has got to take _some_ risk,” Edgar +continued; “but I feel sure,” he said, regarding me doubtfully, “you +would not stoop to open robbery.” I thanked him. + +“Well, until one is tempted,” said Edgar, “one never knows _what_ he +might do. And I’ve simply _got_ to have one other man, and I picked on +you because I thought you could write about it.” + +“I see,” I said, “I am to act as the historian of the expedition.” + +“That will be arranged later,” said Edgar. “What I chiefly want you for +is to dig. _Can_ you dig?” he asked eagerly. I told him I could; but +that I would rather do almost anything else. + +“I _must_ have one other man,” repeated Edgar, “a man who is strong +enough to dig, and strong enough to resist the temptation to murder +me.” The retort was so easy that I let it pass. Besides, on Edgar, it +would have been wasted. + +“I _think_ you will do,” he said with reluctance. “And now the +conditions!” + +I smiled agreeably. + +“You are already sworn to secrecy,” said Edgar. “And you now agree in +every detail to obey me implicitly, and to accompany me to a certain +place, where you will dig. If I find the treasure, you agree, to help +me guard it, and convey it to wherever I decide it is safe to leave it. +Your responsibility is then at an end. One year after the treasure is +discovered, you will be free to write the account of the expedition. +For what you write, some magazine may pay you. What it pays you will be +your share of the treasure.” + +Of my part of the million dollars, which I had hastily calculated could +not be less than one-fifth, I had already spent over one hundred +thousand dollars and was living far beyond my means. I had bought a +farm with a waterfront on the Sound, a motor-boat, and, as I was not +sure which make I preferred, three automobiles. I had at my own, +expense produced a play of mine that no manager had appreciated, and +its name in electric lights was already blinding Broadway. I had +purchased a Hollander express rifle, a _real_ amber cigar holder, a +private secretary who could play both rag-time and tennis, and a fur +coat. So Edgar’s generous offer left me naked. When I had again +accustomed myself to the narrow confines of my flat, and the jolt of +the surface cars, I asked humbly: + +“Is that _all_ I get?” + +“Why should you expect any more?” demanded Edgar. “It isn’t _your_ +treasure. You wouldn’t expect me to make you a present of an interest +in my mills; why should you get a share of my treasure?” He gazed at me +reproachfully. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he said. “It must be hard +to think of things to write about, and I’m giving you a subject for +nothing. I thought,” he remonstrated, “you’d jump at the chance. It +isn’t every day a man can dig for buried treasure.” + +“That’s all right,” I said. “Perhaps I appreciate that quite as well as +you do. But my time has a certain small value, and I can’t leave my +work just for excitement. We may be weeks, months—— How long do you +think we——” + +Behind his eye-glasses Edgar winked reprovingly. + +“That is a leading question,” he said. “I will pay all your legitimate +expenses—transportation, food, lodging. It won’t cost you a cent. And +you write the story—with my name left out,” he added hastily; “it would +hurt my standing in the trade,” he explained—“and get paid for it.” + +I saw a sea voyage at Edgar’s expense. I saw palm leaves, coral reefs. +I felt my muscles aching and the sweat run from my neck and shoulders +as I drove my pick into the chest of gold. + +“I’ll go with you!” I said. We shook hands on it. “When do we start?” I +asked. + +“Now!” said Edgar. I thought he wished to test me; he had touched upon +one of my pet vanities. + +“You can’t do that with me!” I said. “My bags are packed and ready for +any place in the wide world, except the cold places. I can start this +minute. Where is it, the Gold Coast, the Ivory Coast, the Spanish +Main——” + +Edgar frowned inscrutably. “Have you an empty suit-case?” he asked. + +“Why EMPTY?” I demanded. + +“To carry the treasure,” said Edgar. “I left mine in the hall. We will +need two.” + +“And your trunks?” I said. + +“There aren’t going to be any trunks,” said Edgar. From his pocket he +had taken a folder of the New Jersey Central Railroad. “If we hurry,” +he exclaimed, “we can catch the ten-thirty express, and return to New +York in time for dinner.” + +“And what about the treasure?” I roared. + +“We’ll’ bring it with us,” said Edgar. + +I asked for information. I demanded confidences. Edgar refused both. I +insisted that I might be allowed at least to carry my automatic pistol. +“Suppose some one tries to take the treasure from us?” I pointed out. + +“No one,” said Edgar severely, “would be such an ass as to imagine we +are carrying buried treasure in a suit-case. He will think it contains +pajamas.” + +“For local color, then,” I begged, “I want to say in my story that I +went heavily armed.” + +“Say it, then,” snapped Edgar. “But you can’t _do_ it! Not with me, you +can’t! How do I know you mightn’t——” He shook his head warily. + +It was a day in early October, the haze of Indian summer was in the +air, and as we crossed the North River by the Twenty-third Street Ferry +the sun flashed upon the white clouds overhead and the tumbling waters +below. On each side of us great vessels with the Blue Peter at the fore +lay at the wharfs ready to cast off, or were already nosing their way +down the channel toward strange and beautiful ports. Lamport and Holt +were rolling down to Rio; the Royal Mail’s _Magdalena_, no longer +“white and gold,” was off to Kingston, where once seven pirates swung +in chains; the _Clyde_ was on her way to Hayti where the buccaneers +came from; the _Morro Castle_ was bound for Havana, which Morgan, king +of all the pirates, had once made his own; and the _Red D_ was steaming +to Porto Cabello where Sir Francis Drake, as big a buccaneer as any of +them, lies entombed in her harbor. And _I_ was setting forth on a +buried-treasure expedition on a snub-nosed, flat-bellied, fresh-water +ferry-boat, bound for Jersey City! No one will ever know my sense of +humiliation. And, when the Italian boy insulted my immaculate tan shoes +by pointing at them and saying, “Shine?” I could have slain him. Fancy +digging for buried treasure in freshly varnished boots! But Edgar did +not mind. To him there was nothing lacking; it was just as it should +be. He was deeply engrossed in calculating how many offices were for +rent in the Singer Building! + +When we reached the other side, he refused to answer any of my eager +questions. He would not let me know even for what place on the line he +had purchased our tickets, and, as a hint that I should not disturb +him, he stuffed into my hands the latest magazines. “At least tell me +this,” I demanded. “Have you ever been to this place before to-day?” + +“Once,” said Edgar shortly, “last week. That’s when I found out I would +need some one with me who could dig.” + +“How do you know it’s the _right_ place?” I whispered. + +The summer season was over, and of the chair car we were the only +occupants; but, before he answered, Edgar looked cautiously round him +and out of the window. We had just passed Red Bank. + +“Because the map told me,” he answered. “Suppose,” he continued +fretfully, “you had a map of New York City with the streets marked on +it plainly? Suppose the map said that if you walked to where Broadway +and Fifth Avenue meet, you would find the Flatiron Building. Do you +think you could find it?” + +“Was it as easy as _that?_” I gasped. + +“It was as easy as _that!_” said Edgar. + +I sank back into my chair and let the magazines slide to the floor. +What fiction story was there in any one of them so enthralling as the +actual possibilities that lay before me? In two hours I might be +bending over a pot of gold, a sea chest stuffed with pearls and rubies! + +I began to recall all the stories I had heard as a boy of treasure +buried along the coast by Kidd on his return voyage from the Indies. +Where along the Jersey sea-line were there safe harbors? The train on +which we were racing south had its rail head at Barnegat Bay. And +between Barnegat and Red Bank there now was but one other inlet, that +of the Manasquan River. It might be Barnegat; it might be Manasquan. It +could not be a great distance from either; +for sailors would not have carried their burden far from the ship. I +glanced appealingly at Edgar. He was smiling happily over “Pickings +from Puck.” We passed Asbury Park and Ocean Grove, halted at Sea Girt, +and again at Manasquan; but Egdar did not move. The next station was +Point Pleasant, and as the train drew to a stop, Edgar rose calmly and +grasped his suit-case. + +“We get out here,” he said. + +Drawn up at the station were three open-work hacks with fringe around +the top. From each a small boy waved at us with his whip. + +“Curtis House? The Gladstone? The Cottage in the Pines?” they chanted +invitingly. + +“Take me to a hardware store,” said Edgar, “where one can buy a spade.” +When we stopped I made a move to get down; but Edgar stopped me. + +I protested indignantly, “I haven’t _much_ to say about this +expedition;” I exclaimed, “but, as _I_ have to do the digging, I intend +to choose my own spade.” + +Edgar’s eye-glasses flashed defiance. “You have given your word to obey +me,” he said sternly. “If you do not intend to obey me, you can return +in ten minutes by the next train.” + +I sank into my seat. In a moment the mutiny had been crushed. Not even +a cabin boy had fallen! Edgar returned with a spade, an axe, and a +pick. He placed them in the seat beside the boy driver. + +“What is your name, boy?” he asked. + +“Rupert,” said the boy. + +“Rupert,” continued Edgar, “drive us to the beach. When you get to the +bathing pavilions keep on along the shore toward Manasquan Inlet.” He +touched the spade with his hand. “I have bought a building lot on the +beach,” he explained, “and am going to dig a hole, and plant a +flagpole.” + +I was choked with indignation. As a writer of fiction my self-respect +was insulted. + +“If there are any more lies to be told,” I whispered, “please let _me_ +tell them. Your invention is crude, ridiculous! Why,” I demanded, +“should anybody want to plant a flagpole on a wind-swept beach in +October? It’s not the season for flagpoles. Besides,” I jeered, “where +is your flagpole? Is it concealed in the suit-case?” + +Edgar frowned uneasily, and touched the boy on the shoulder. + +“The flagpole itself,” he explained, “is coming down to-morrow by +express.” + +The boy yawned, and slapped the flanks of his horse with the reins. +“Gat up!” he said. + +We crossed the railroad tracks and moved toward the ocean down a broad, +sandy road. The season had passed and the windows of the cottages and +bungalows on either side of the road were barricaded with planks. On +the verandas hammocks abandoned to the winds hung in tatters, on the +back porches the doors of empty refrigerators swung open on one hinge, +and on every side above the fields of gorgeous golden-rod rose signs +reading “For Rent.” When we had progressed in silence for a mile, the +sandy avenue lost itself in the deeper sand of the beach, and the horse +of his own will came to a halt. On one side we were surrounded by +locked and deserted bathing houses, on the other by empty pavilions +shuttered and barred against the winter, but still inviting one to “Try +our salt water taffy” or to “_Keep cool_ with an ice-cream soda.” +Rupert turned and looked inquiringly at Edgar. To the north the beach +stretched in an unbroken line to Manasquan Inlet. To the south three +miles away we could see floating on the horizon-like a mirage the +hotels and summer cottages of Bay Head. + +“Drive toward the inlet,” directed Edgar. “This gentleman and I will +walk.” + +Relieved of our weight, the horse stumbled bravely into the trackless +sand, while below on the damper and firmer shingle we walked by the +edge of the water. + +The tide was coming in and the spent waves, spreading before them an +advance guard of tiny shells and pebbles, threatened our boots’ and at +the same time in soothing, lazy whispers warned us of their attack. +These lisping murmurs and the crash and roar of each incoming wave as +it broke were the only sounds. And on the beach we were the only human +figures. At last the scene began to bear some resemblance to one set +for an adventure. The rolling ocean, a coast steamer dragging a great +column of black smoke, and cast high upon the beach the wreck of a +schooner, her masts tilting drunkenly, gave color to our purpose. It +became filled with greater promise of drama, more picturesque. I began +to thrill with excitement. I regarded Edgar appealingly, in eager +supplication. At last he broke the silence that was torturing me. + +“We will now walk higher up,” he commanded. “If we get our feet wet, we +may take cold.” + +My spirit was too far broken to make reply. But to my relief I saw that +in leaving the beach Edgar had some second purpose. With each heavy +step he was drawing toward two high banks of sand in a hollow behind +which, protected by the banks, were three stunted, wind-driven pines. +His words came back to me. + +“So many what-you-may-call-’ems.” Were these pines the three somethings +from something, the what-you-may-call-’ems? The thought chilled me to +the spine. I gazed at them fascinated. I felt like falling on my knees +in the sand and tearing their secret from them with my bare hands. I +was strong enough to dig them up by the roots, strong enough to dig the +Panama Canal! I glanced tremulously at Edgar. His eyes were wide open +and, eloquent with dismay, his lower jaw had fallen. He turned and +looked at me for the first time with consideration. Apology and remorse +were written in every line of his countenance. + +I’m sorry, he stammered. I had a cruel premonition. I exclaimed with +distress. + +“You have lost the map!” I hissed. + +“No, no,” protested Edgar; “but I entirely forgot to bring any lunch!” + +With violent mutterings I tore off my upper and outer garments and +tossed them into the hack. + +“Where do I begin?” I asked. + +Edgar pointed to a spot inside the triangle formed by the three trees +and equally distant from each. + +“Put that horse behind the bank,” I commanded, “where no one can see +him! And both you and Rupert keep off the sky-line!” From the north and +south we were now all three hidden by the two high banks of sand; to +the east lay the beach and the Atlantic Ocean, and to the west +stretches of marshes that a mile away met a wood of pine trees and the +railroad round-house. + +I began to dig. I knew that weary hours lay before me, and I attacked +the sand leisurely and with deliberation. It was at first no great +effort; but as the hole grew in depth, and the roots of the trees were +exposed, the work was sufficient for several men. Still, as Edgar had +said, it is not every day that one can dig for treasure, and in +thinking of what was to come I forgot my hands that quickly blistered, +and my breaking back. After an hour I insisted that Edgar should take a +turn; but he made such poor headway that my patience could not contain +me, and I told him I was sufficiently rested and would continue. With +alacrity he scrambled out of the hole, and, taking a cigar from my +case, seated himself comfortably in the hack. I took my comfort in +anticipating the thrill that would be mine when the spade would ring on +the ironbound chest; when, with a blow of the axe, I would expose to +view the hidden jewels, the pieces of eight, coated with verdigris, the +string of pearls, the chains of yellow gold. Edgar had said a million +dollars. That must mean there would be diamonds, many diamonds. I would +hold them in my hands, watch them, at the sudden sunshine, blink their +eyes and burst into tiny, burning fires. In imagination I would replace +them in the setting, from which, years before, they had been stolen. I +would try to guess whence they came from a jewelled chalice in some dim +cathedral, from the breast of a great lady, from the hilt of an +admiral’s sword. + +After another hour I lifted my aching shoulders and, wiping the sweat +from my eyes, looked over the edge of the hole. Rupert, with his back +to the sand-hill, was asleep. Edgar with one hand was waving away the +mosquitoes and in the other was holding one of the magazines he had +bought on the way down. I could even see the page upon which his eyes +were riveted. It was an advertisement for breakfast food. In my +indignation the spade slipped through my cramped and perspiring +fingers, and as it struck the bottom of the pit, something—a band of +iron, a steel lock, an iron ring—gave forth a muffled sound. My heart +stopped beating as suddenly as though Mr. Corbett had hit it with his +closed fist. My blood turned to melted ice. I drove the spade down as +fiercely as though it was a dagger. It sank into rotten wood. I had +made no sound; for I could hardly breathe. But the slight noise of the +blow had reached Edgar. I heard the springs of the hack creak as he +vaulted from it, and the next moment he was towering above me, peering +down into the pit. His eyes were wide with excitement, greed, and fear. +In his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. Like a lion defending his +cubs he glared at me. + +“Get out!” he shouted. + +[Illustration: In his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. . . . “Get +out!” he shouted.] + + +“Like hell!” I said. + +“Get out!” he roared. “I’ll do the rest. That’s mine, not yours! _Get +out!_” + +With a swift kick I brushed away the sand. I found I was standing on a +squat wooden box, bound with bands of rusty iron. I had only to stoop +to touch it. It was so rotten that I could have torn it apart with my +bare hands. Edgar was dancing on the edge of the pit, incidentally +kicking sand into my mouth and nostrils. + +“You _promised_ me!” he roared. “You _promised_ to obey me!” + +“You ass!” I shouted. “Haven’t I done all the work? Don’t I get——” + +“You get out!” roared Edgar. + +Slowly, disgustedly, with what dignity one can display in crawling out +of a sand-pit, I scrambled to the top. + +“Go over there,” commanded Edgar pointing, “and sit down.” + +In furious silence I seated myself beside Rupert. He was still +slumbering and snoring happily. From where I sat I could see nothing of +what was going forward in the pit, save once, when the head of Edgar, +his eyes aflame and his hair and eye-glasses sprinkled with sand, +appeared above it. Apparently he was fearful lest I had moved from the +spot where he had placed me. I had not; but had he known my inmost +feelings he would have taken the axe into the pit with him. + +I must have sat so for half an hour. In the sky above me a fish-hawk +drifted lazily. From the beach sounded the steady beat of the waves, +and from the town across the marshes came the puffing of a locomotive +and the clanging bells of the freight trains. The breeze from the sea +cooled the sweat on my aching body; but it could not cool the rage in +my heart. If I had the courage of my feelings, I would have cracked +Edgar over head with the spade, buried him in the pit, bribed Rupert, +and forever after lived happily on my ill-gotten gains. That was how +Kidd, or Morgan, or Blackbeard would have acted. I cursed the effete +civilization which had taught me to want many pleasures but had left me +with a conscience that would not let me take human life to obtain them, +not even Edgar’s life. + +In half an hour a suit-case was lifted into view and dropped on the +edge of the pit. It was followed by the other, and then by Edgar. +Without asking me to help him, because he probably knew I would not, he +shovelled the sand into the hole, and then placed the suitcases in the +carriage. With increasing anger I observed that the contents of each +were so heavy that to lift it he used both hands. + +“There is no use your asking any questions,” he announced, “because I +won’t answer them.” + +I gave him minute directions as to where he could go; but instead we +drove in black silence to the station. There Edgar rewarded Rupert with +a dime, and while we waited for the train to New York placed the two +suit-cases against the wall of the ticket office and sat upon them. +When the train arrived he warned me in a hoarse whisper that I had +promised to help him guard the treasure, and gave me one of the +suit-cases. It weighed a ton. Just to spite Edgar, I had a plan to kick +it open, so that every one on the platform might scramble for the +contents. But again my infernal New England conscience restrained me. + +Edgar had secured the drawing-room in the parlor-car, and when we were +safely inside and the door bolted my curiosity became stronger than my +pride. + +“Edgar,” I said, “your ingratitude is contemptible. Your suspicions are +ridiculous; but, under these most unusual conditions, I don’t blame +you. But we are quite safe now. The door is fastened,” I pointed out +ingratiatingly, “it and this train doesn’t stop for another forty +minutes. I think this would be an excellent time to look at the +treasure.” + +“I don’t!” said Edgar. + +I sank back into my chair. With intense enjoyment I imagined the train +in which we were seated hurling itself into another train; and +everybody, including Edgar, or, rather, especially Edgar, being +instantly but painlessly killed. By such an act of an all-wise +Providence I would at once become heir to one million dollars. It was a +beautiful, satisfying dream. Even MY conscience accepted it with a smug +smile. It was so vivid a dream that I sat guiltily expectant, waiting +for the crash to come, for the shrieks and screams, for the rush of +escaping steam and breaking window-panes. + +But it was far too good to be true. Without a jar the train carried us +and its precious burden in safety to the Jersey City terminal. And +each, with half a million dollars in his hand, hurried to the ferry, +assailed by porters, news-boys, hackmen. To them we were a couple of +commuters saving a dime by carrying our own hand-bags. + +It was now six o’clock, and I pointed out to Edgar that at that hour +the only vaults open were those of the Night and Day Bank. And to that +institution in a taxicab we at once made our way. I paid the chauffeur, +and two minutes later, with a gasp of relief and rejoicing, I dropped +the suit-case I had carried on a table in the steel-walled fastnesses +of the vaults. Gathered excitedly around us were the officials of the +bank, summoned hastily from above, and watchmen in plain clothes, and +watchmen in uniforms of gray. Great bars as thick as my leg protected +us. Walls of chilled steel rising from solid rock stood between our +treasure and the outer world. Until then I had not known how tremendous +the nervous strain had been; but now it came home to me. I mopped the +perspiration from my forehead, I drew a deep breath. + +“Edgar,” I exclaimed happily, “I congratulate you!” I found Edgar +extending toward me a two-dollar bill. “You gave the chauffeur two +dollars,”’ he said. “The fare was really one dollar eighty; so you owe +me twenty cents.” + +Mechanically I laid two dimes upon the table. + +“All the other expenses,” continued Edgar, “which I agreed to pay, I +have paid.” He made a peremptory gesture. “I won’t detain you any +longer,” he said. “Good-night!” + +“Good-night!” I cried. “Don’t I see the treasure?” Against the walls of +chilled steel my voice rose like that of a tortured soul. “Don’t I +touch it!” I yelled. “Don’t I even get a squint?” + +Even the watchmen looked sorry for me. + +“You do not!” said Edgar calmly. “You have fulfilled your part of the +agreement. I have fulfilled mine. A year from now you can write the +story.” As I moved in a dazed state toward the steel door, his voice +halted me. + +“And you can say in your story,” called Edgar, “that there is only one +way to get a buried treasure. That is to go, and get it!” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY BURIED TREASURE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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