THE DEAD MAN'S HOARD.
The "_Good Hope_!"
What a crowd of memories the name brought buzzing about the boy! The
lone derelict, the figure in the mouldering cabin, the--the plan in his
pocket!
With fingers that trembled Rob drew out the solution of the cryptogram
and read it over.
Then he held his head in his hands a moment to keep it from whirling
round.
Could it be possible that this was the island where the hoard of
century-old ivory was buried? Had he stumbled by a complete accident
upon the cache that had sent one man to his death?
Then he recalled that on his trip of exploration he had noticed a big
dead cypress on the other side of the island. But if this was the
veritable island where the whalers had buried their ivory, why was the
boat lying there mouldering on the beach? Why had they not left again?
The more the boy thought of it, the more mysterious and inexplicable the
whole thing became. He resolved to go back to the dead cypress and
follow the directions of the cryptic message of the captain of the _Good
Hope_.
As has been said, the island was not a large one, and he was not long in
reaching the gaunt, dead tree. Somehow he felt a chill go through him as
he stood beneath its leafless gray limbs. It reminded him oddly of that
skeleton in the deck house of the derelict.
But he pulled himself together and struck off into the woods in a
direction that, by using his watch as a compass, he knew to be the west.
The undergrowth was thick, but after going a few paces, he reached an
open space.
In the centre of this was a sight that made his heart jump and then beat
wildly. Strewn in every direction were big tusks of yellow ivory,
evidently lying just as they had been dug from the ground.
Rob was still contemplating them when his eye caught the flutter of a
rag of cloth at the edge of the open space. Attracted by a curiosity he
could not account for, he made his way toward it. If the sight of the
ivory had made him jump, what he now saw sent a chill of horror down his
spine. The rag that had fluttered had been part of the clothing of what
had once been two men.
Both lay close together, their bones showing where the cloth had worn
away under Time's finger. A pair of rusty pistols lying by each showed
how they had come to their death. The whole tragedy was as clear to Rob
as if he had seen it:--the quarrel between the two ivory stealers, the
duel with the pistols, and the death of both combatants beside the
treasure pile they had done so much wickedness to acquire.
"Truly that figure in the deck house is avenged," thought Rob, gazing
with horror-stricken eyes at the things before him. "Death was indeed
the wages of sin in their case."
Turning from the grisly relics of that far-off duel on the lonely
island, Rob fell to examining the ivory. There was a large quantity of
it.
"It must be worth an immense sum," he thought.
But in the very moment of his triumph, Rob suddenly recollected what, in
his excitement, he had entirely forgotten for the moment. He was a
castaway on a strange, uninhabited island, with only a few tins of beef
between him and starvation. Thirst he did not fear, for close to where
he had struggled ashore was a spring of sweet, cool water.
Rob made his way back to the beach and the boat. Inside the boat he now
noticed what had hitherto escaped his attention. There were several
hundred feet of light rope which seemed to be still in fairly good
condition. There was, too, a pair of oars. At the same moment the boy
was seized by a sudden idea. He could get away from the island, and in a
boat, too!
His Boy Scout training had made him fertile in ideas, and if the present
one succeeded it would mean his escape from a terrible fate.
+ + + + +
Ensign Hargreaves and Mr. Barr looked sternly at each other.
"There is only one man who could have taken that lever," said the
ensign.
"And that is who?"
"The rascal Barton."
"But for what possible object?"
"I cannot think unless he has hidden it and will only give it up as the
price of his liberty."
"But if he keeps us down here, he will die, too."
"He is playing his life against ours and he holds the cards."
"Not for long. Come below at once. We must act quickly. There is a
chance he still has it on his person."
Down the stairs they ran, leaving Merritt at the wheel with a sinking
feeling of fear clutching at his heart. If Barton, turned desperate, had
hidden the key and would not reveal its hiding place, it meant that they
must remain in the depths till death put an end to their sufferings.
In the meantime, the ensign and Mr. Barr, both excited, had rushed
through the cabin and toward the engine room. As they approached the
door, it was slammed and a pistol thrust through a small hole in it,
which had been cut for ventilation.
Then Barton's voice came ringing out:
"Don't come a step closer unless you want to get a bullet in you."
"What's the matter, man, are you mad?" exclaimed Mr. Barr.
A shriek of demoniacal laughter was the sole response.
It sent a shudder through everyone who heard it. The man was mad,
violently insane. The seeds of lunacy, which had been germinating in his
brain for a long time, had burst forth into a terrible harvest.
"And on that man everyone of our lives depends," breathed the ensign.
Then in a louder tone, which rang with authority:
"Barton, did you take that ascending lever?"
"Yes; ha-ha-ha! It's a good joke on you! You thought you'd put me in
prison, but now we'll all die together."
"Barton," pleaded Mr. Barr, "be rational. Return that lever and you
shall have immunity."
"It's too late now!" screamed the demented wretch. "We'll all die
together in the depths of the sea, where dead men's bones rot and the
fish eat their eyes out."
A hasty consultation followed between the ensign and Mr. Barr. The man
was undoubtedly violently insane, and there didn't seem a chance in the
world of dislodging him from his position.
The situation was the more serious from the fact that the fresh air
devices were not working properly and the air inside the submarine was
already getting noticeably stale and foul.
"We must rush that door; it's our only chance," declared the officer in
a whispered voice.
"But he is liable to shoot," objected Mr. Barr, eying the blued-steel
muzzle of the revolver which was pointed threateningly at them.
"It cannot be helped. It means death in a fearful form if we do not
dislodge him from that position, and a man in his condition cannot
listen to reason."
"Well, what do you propose?"
"That you start talking to him to distract his attention, offer him
money or anything to give up the lever. Then I'll watch my chance and
rush in on him; thank goodness, that door has no lock on it."
"Barton!" said Mr. Barr, in a resonant voice.
"Well?" snarled the lunatic.
"Be calm now and listen to reason. Is it money you wish?"
"No, blood! Human lives!" shrieked the maniac.
At precisely that instant, like a projectile from a gun the ensign's
powerful body shot forward. Crash came his solid one hundred and
eighty-five pounds against the door.
At the same instant there was another crash, the sharp crack of a
revolver! In that confined space it sounded terribly loud.
"He's shot him!" cried Mr. Barr.
But Barton had done nothing of the kind. The attack had been utterly
unexpected by him, and as the door banged against him with terrific
force, he had been knocked down. As he fell the revolver exploded;
before he could pull the trigger a second time the powerful young
officer of Uncle Sam's Navy was upon the man. Barton fought like a
wildcat, and with the superhuman strength of those afflicted with
insanity.
At last, however, he was overpowered and, raving incoherently, was tied
hand and foot and carried out to the cabin where he was placed on a
lounge. Mr. Barr, who knew something of medicine, gave him a calming
dose from the submarine's medicine chest, and he became less violent.
"Barton, where did you put that lever?" demanded the ensign.
The man whimpered like a child.
"I--I don't remember," he gasped out.
Consternation showed on every face. Already the air was getting worse
and worse.
The ensign bent over the bound man, who was now crying weakly.
"You must remember, man. You must, I say!" he snapped, in tones that cut
like the crack of a whip. "Think! think! our lives depend upon it!"
"If I knew, I would tell you," murmured the man; "but I don't. I don't
remember."
A stillness like death itself settled on the occupants of the cabin.
Barton had accomplished his insane purpose only too well, it seemed.