DISAPPOINTMENT.
As the speck drew nearer all doubt vanished, it was the captain's canoe
with the old sailor himself in the stern paddling with slow, weary
strokes.
Walter's cheer had brought forth his companions from the wigwam, and
all now gathered on the bank to welcome the wanderer.
Slowly the canoe drew in to the shore, and Walter at last was able to
catch the painter and haul the light craft's bow up on the sand. Its
occupant sat still in the stern unable to move. His clothes were
stained and tattered, his hands torn and bleeding from many scratches,
and his pale, haggard face told of hardship and suffering.
"Don't look scairt, lads," he called out cheerily, "I ain't hurt none;
jes' scratched up a bit, an' powerful tired. I reckon you'll have to
give me a hand to get me out. I'm cramped that bad I can't move a leg."
Walter and Chris flew to the old sailor's help and between them
assisted him out of the canoe and up into the wigwam. Then Chris
quickly kindled a fire and soon presented the weary man with a gourd of
steaming coffee and the cold food which Walter hastened to bring from
the canoe.
The captain ate like one famished, while the boys stood around eager to
hear his story.
"I'll spin my yarn as soon as I've rested a hit, lads," he said, as he
finished the last morsel of food. "I'm clean spent, now, and want to
stretch out for a while."
The boys helped him up and onto his bed, which he had no sooner touched
than he was fast asleep.
It was noon before the old sailor awoke to find a hot dinner ready and
the boys patiently waiting. He was surprised to find that his
stiffness had nearly all disappeared, and, except for the cuts on hands
and face, he was as well as ever again.
"My, this grub tastes good," he exclaimed, attacking the smoking fish
and yams. "I didn't have a bite to eat all day yesterday. But I
reckon I had better start at the beginning of my yarn. I reckon you
boys are some curious how I happened to turn up again in such shape.
Wall, after I left here I paddled on, till I came to that fringe of
cypress right opposite where the smoke was curling up. When I got that
far I got mighty careful, an' the way I coaxed that little craft in
between them cypresses was so quiet that I didn't even wake up the
water moccasins asleep on the roots. When I came near the outer edge
of the cypress, I fastened the canoe to a root and crept forward on
hands an' feet from one cypress tussock to another, sorter calculatin'
that I'd make less noise that way than in the boat. At last, I got
where I could glimpse out between the trees and get a view of the fire.
There was the whole twelve of them rascals workin' away as hard as
honest men. I watched them quite a while afore I caught on to what
they was doing, an', when I found out, it didn't make me feel any
easier. Lads, they was hollowing out the biggest dugout you ever seed.
They had got a giant of a cypress chopped down, hewed it sharp at both
ends and were burning it out inside with fire. While I was watchin',
that varmint of an Injin, Charley, left the gang an' struck into the
cypress an' passed by so close to where I was hid that I was sartin
sure he'd see me, but he didn't. I lay still there for hours, afeard
to move for fear I'd meet him comin' back. It was most sundown when he
returned, and I stayed on quite a bit after that listenin' to the
conversation. As I guessed, he had been out scouting an' had found out
that we were on the island an' that his tribe was too far away to
interfere with any plans he had in his head. Cute as he was, though,
he hadn't learned that the old chief was dead and the young one gone
for help. When I had learned all I could, I crawled back to the canoe
and struck out for the island. It was being cramped up so long in one
position in the cypress and in the canoe, that made me so stiff and
sore."
"They surely can't be so reckless as to think of entering this swamp!"
exclaimed Charley.
"'Tain't so very reckless, the way they look at it," observed the
captain. "You see they think that the Indians are all far off an'
ain't likely to come back for some weeks. When the redskins started on
their hunt they left plenty of signs behind to tell where they had
gone, and them signs are plainer than print to Injin Charley. Now,
them fellows figures they can drop down on this island, kill off all
hands but the chief, an' torture him 'till he gives up the plumes he's
counted on havin', an' be off, an' safe out of reach afore the
Seminoles return from their hunt. No, it ain't such a foolish sort of
undertaking after all."
"How long will it take them to finish the canoe?" Walter inquired.
"I calculate it will take at least three days more," said the captain,
reflectively. "You see, the cypress is green an' burns pretty slowly."
"Three days," mused Charley, "and it will be at least a week before
help can come. We have got to count on meeting this danger by
ourselves."
"I don't see nothin' to do but push on into the swamp," said the
captain disconsolately. "They outnumber us three to one. An' this
island ain't got no shelter for us to find cover behind."
"Let's not worry about it now," urged Walter cheerfully. "The captain
says it will be three days at least before the canoe is finished so we
have plenty of time. If we decide to leave the island, we can easily
keep ahead of a clumsy dugout in our light canoes."
"I am of Walter's opinion," agreed Charley. "Something may turn up in
the next two days, and, anyway, there are some things I want to
investigate before I vote to leave this neighborhood. I can promise
you one thing, captain, those fellows will never handle the plumes that
belonged to the chief."
The captain listened in admiring astonishment as Charley recounted his
solution of the chief's legacy. "We have been wild to dig for the
treasure," Charley concluded, "but we would not touch a spadeful of
earth until you could be with us to share in the excitement."
"Then you needn't wait another minute," cried the old sailor, who was
nearly as excited as the boys. "Get your spade an' we'll start right
in."
"We haven't got one," confessed Charley, suddenly crestfallen. "What a
fool I was not to think of that."
"Golly, I reckon dis nigger goin' to fix up somethin' to dig with
mighty quick," cried Chris, whose eyes were sparkling with anticipation.
Running down to the canoe, the little darkey was back in a moment with
one of the paddles. "Reckon dis will do," he said, "got to be mighty
careful not to break it, though."
Armed with the implement, which Chris' thoughtfulness had provided,
they lost no time in making their way to the lone palm.
The next perplexing question was on which side of the tree to dig.
"It's as likely to be on one side as the other," Charley declared. "We
might as well start in at random and dig a circle around the tree until
we come to it."
The others had no better plan to suggest, and Walter, seizing the
paddle, began to throw the dirt away. Luckily the soil was not packed
hard, for even, loose as it was, progress was very slow with the rude
implement he was wielding. At the end of an hour, he was content to
surrender the paddle to the captain, who, when tired, turned it over to
Chris.
It was slow work and the sun was getting low in the west when the
circle around the palm was at last completed, and the diggers stood
looking at each other with disappointment written on their faces.
"We must go deeper," Charley declared, "I am certain that this is the
right spot, and the chief would have had no interest in deceiving or
misleading us."
"We have gone down two feet already," said Walter, in a discouraged
voice, as he started wielding the paddle again. "I guess there is
something wrong with our calculation, Charley." He stopped suddenly
and looked up with a comical look of surprise and anticipation.
"I struck something," he announced breathlessly, "something kind of
soft and yielding."
"Go on," Charley shouted in his excitement, and Walter bent to his task
again.
The removal of a few more shovelfuls of earth exposed to view a large,
dark, hairy object. Stooping, Walter with difficulty lifted it out of
the hole.
All clustered close around it in their eagerness.
What had looked at first glance like a large, dead animal, proved to be
a deer-hide stretched on framework, the hairy side out. A few slashes
of Charley's hunting-knife laid open this rude leather box and revealed
to their eager gaze a smaller similar box inside. Charley lifted it
out and cut away the top.
By the now dim light, they could only see the tapering shapes of
hundreds of long plumes carefully packed inside.
"There must be all of fifty pounds of them," said Walter, in an
awe-struck voice, "why, they'll make us rich men."
"Give me a hand to carry them up to the wigwam," said Charley. "Run
ahead, Chris, and stir up the fire so we can see what we have got."
The excited captain swung the box upon his shoulder and strode forward
hard upon Chris' heels. He laid his burden down close to the fire and
all crowded around.
One look and a loud murmur of disappointment broke from every lip.
What the dim twilight had hid, the firelight revealed in all its
disheartening truth. What had been once a beautiful heap of valuable
plumes, now lay an ugly mass of mildew and mould.
For a moment no one spoke, so keen was their disappointment. At last,
Charley summoned up a feeble smile.
"Well, we are no worse off than we were before," he remarked with a
voice that he endeavored to render cheerful.
"That's the way to take a disappointment, lad," said the captain,
heartily. "A pound of meat is worth more to us now than a hundred
pounds of plumes, anyway. Now, Chris, quit your grieving an' see if
you can't rustle up some supper. I reckon we'll all feel better after
a warm bite."
"What shall I do with them, Charley?" asked Walter, who had remained
kneeling by the ruined treasure.
"Throw them away, they are valueless," exclaimed his chum somewhat
testily, for his disappointment was almost more than he could bear
cheerfully.
Walter lifted the leather box and disappeared in the darkness toward
the water. He did not throw it into the stream, however, but after a
moment's hesitation on the bank, descended to his canoe and, shoving
his burden far up under the stern deck, retraced his steps to the fire.
In spite of their attempts at cheerfulness, the gloom of their
disappointment hung heavy upon them, and it was rather a silent group
that gathered in the wigwam after supper. Chris and the captain soon
sought their beds and ere long their loud, regular breathing told that
they had found solace for the disappointment of the day. The two boys
felt too excited to sleep and sat long talking over their still
perilous situation.
Suddenly, as on the other two nights, began the now familiar tolling of
the mysterious bell.
The captain stirred uneasily in his sleep and Chris opened his eyes
drowsily but soon fell off to sleep again.
"Come outside, Walt, where we can talk without the chance of being
overheard," Charley whispered.
The two lads stole softly out of the wigwam and down to the water's
edge where they sat down on the grassy bank.
"Now listen closely," Charley commanded.