ON THE SLOOP
Blinded by the dust, tripped by the rolling stones, Bruce turned to
where he had seen Kathlyn fall. The explosion--the last one--had
opened up veins of strange gases, for the whole promontory appeared to
be on fire. He bent and caught up in his arms the precious burden,
staggered down to the beach, and plunged into the water. A small
trickle of blood flowing down her forehead explained everything; a
falling stone had struck her.
"Kit, Kit! I hope to God the treasure went up also." He dashed the
cold water into her face.
The others were unhurt, though dazed, and for the nonce incapable of
coherent thought or action.
"The boats!" Bruce laid Kathlyn down on the sand and signed to Winnie.
"Tend to her. I must take a chance at the boats. We could cross the
neck of sand at ebb, but Umballa will be far away before that time.
Kit, Kit; my poor girl!" He patted her wrists and called to her, and
when finally her lips stirred he rose and waded out into the sea,
followed by four hardy fishermen. The freshening breeze, being from
the southwest, aided the swimmers, for the boats did not drift out to
sea, but in a northeasterly direction. The sloop was squaring away for
the mainland.
Did Umballa have the treasure? Bruce wondered, as at length his hand
reached up and took hold of the gunwale of the boat he had picked out
to bring down. Would Umballa have possessed tenacity enough to hang on
to it in face of all the devastation? Bruce sighed as he drew himself
up and crawled into the boat. He knew that treasure had often made a
hero out of a coward; and treasure at that moment meant life and
liberty to Umballa. On his return to the island he greeted the colonel
somewhat roughly. But for this accursed basket they would have been
well out of Asia by this time.
"Umballa has your basket, Colonel. If he hasn't, then say good-by to
it, for it can never be dug from under those tons and tons of
rock. . . . Here! where are those fishermen going?" he demanded.
The men were in the act of pushing off with the boats, which they had
only just brought back.
Ramabai picked up his discarded rifle.
"Stop!"
"They are frightened," explained the chief.
"Well, they can contain their fright till we are in safety," Ramabai
declared. "Warn them."
"Hurry, everybody! I feel it in my bones that that black devil has the
treasure. Get those men into the boats. Here, pick up those oars.
Get in, Kit; you, Winnie; come, everybody!"
Kathlyn gazed sadly at her father. Treasure, treasure; that first.
She was beginning to hate the very sound of the word. The colonel had
been nervous, impatient and irritable ever since the document had been
discovered. Till recently Kathlyn had always believed her father to be
perfect, but now she saw that he was human, he had his flawed spot.
Treasure! Before her or Winnie! So be it.
"Colonel," said Bruce, taking a chance throw, "we are less than a
hundred miles from the seaport. Suppose we let Umballa clear out and
we ourselves head straight up the coast? It is not fair to the women
to put them to any further hardship."
"Bruce, I have sworn to God that Umballa shall not have that treasure.
Ramabai, do you understand what it will mean to you if he succeeds in
reaching Allaha with that treasure, probably millions? He will be able
to buy every priest and soldier in Allaha and still have enough left
for any extravagance that he may wish to plunge in."
"Sahib," suggested Ramabai, "let us send the women to the seaport in
care of Ahmed, while we men seek Umballa."
"Good!" Bruce struck his hands together. "The very thing."
"I refuse to be separated from father," declared Kathlyn. "If he is
determined to pursue Umballa back to Allaha, I must accompany him."
"And I!" added Winnie.
"Nothing more to be said," and Bruce signed to the boatmen to start.
"If only this breeze had not come up! We could have caught him before
he made shore."
Umballa paced the deck of the sloop, thinking and planning. He saw his
enemies leaving in the rescued boats. Had he delayed them long enough?
As matters stood, he could not carry away the treasure. He must have
help, an armed force of men he could trust. On the mainland were Ahmed
and the loyal keepers; behind were three men who wanted his life as he
wanted theirs. The only hope he had lay in the cupidity of the men on
the sloop. If they could be made to stand by him, there was a fair
chance. Once he was of a mind to heave the basket over the rail and
trust to luck in finding it again. But the thought tore at his heart.
He simply could not do it.
Perhaps he could start a revolt, or win over the chief of the village.
He had known honest men to fall at the sight of much gold, to fight for
it, to commit any crime for it--and, if need be, to die for it. But
the chief was with his enemies. Finally he came to the conclusion that
the only thing to be done was to carry the treasure directly to the
chief's hut and there await him. He would bribe the men with him
sufficiently to close their mouths. If Ahmed was on the shore, the
game was up. But he swept the mainland with his gaze and discovered no
sign of him.
As a matter of fact, Ahmed had arranged his elephants so that they
could start at once up the coast to the seaport. He was waiting on the
native highway for the return of his master, quite confident that he
would bring the bothersome trinkets with him. He knew nothing of
Umballa's exploit. The appalling thunder of the explosions worried
him. He would wait for just so long; then he would go and see.
Every village chief has his successor in hope. This individual was one
of those who had helped Umballa to carry the treasure from the cave; in
fact, the man who had guided him to the cave itself. He spoke to
Umballa. He said that he understood the holy one's plight; for to
these yet simple minded village folk Umballa was still the holy one.
Their religion was the same.
"Holy one," he said, "we can best your enemies who follow."
"How?" eagerly.
"Yonder is the chief's bullock cart. I myself will find the bullocks!"
"What then?"
"We shall be on the way south before the others land."
"An extra handful of gold for you! Get the oars out! Let us hurry!"
"More, holy one; these men will obey me."
"They shall be well paid."
Umballa had reached the point where he could not plan without
treachery. He proposed to carry the basket into the jungle somewhere,
bury it and make way with every man who knew the secret; then, at the
proper time, he would return for it with a brave caravan, his own men
or those whose loyalty he could repurchase.
The landing was made, the basket conveyed to the bullock cart, which
was emptied of its bait and leopard trap; the bullocks were brought out
and harnessed--all this activity before the fishing boats had covered
half the distance.
"I see light," murmured Umballa.
He tried to act coolly, but when he spoke his voice cracked and the
blood in his throat nigh suffocated him.
"Sand, holy one!"
"Well, what of sand?"
"You can dig and cover up things in sand and no one can possibly tell.
The sand tells nothing."
They drove the bullocks forward mercilessly till they came to what
Umballa considered a suitable spot. A pit was dug, but not before
Umballa had taken from the basket enough gold to set the men wild.
They were his. He smiled inwardly to think how easily they could have
had all of it! They were still honest.
The sand was smoothed down over the basket. It would not have been
possible for the human eye to discover the spot within a perfect range.
Umballa drove down a broken stick directly over where the basket lay.
He had beaten them; they would find nothing. Now to rid himself of
these simple fools who trusted him.
The man who longed to become the chief's successor was then played upon
by Umballa; to set the two factions at each other's throats; a perfect
elimination. Umballa advised him to rouse his friends, declare that
the white people had taken the gold away from the holy man, to whom it
belonged as agent.
Thus, in this peaceful fishermen's village began the old game of gold
and politics, for the two are inseparable. Umballa, in hiding, watched
the contest gleefully. He witnessed the rival approach his chief, saw
the angry gestures exchanged, and knew that dissension had begun. The
men of the village clustered about.
"Where have you hidden it?" demanded the chief. "It belongs to the
Sahib."
"Hidden what?"
"The treasure you and the false holy one took from the forbidden cave!"
"False holy one?"
"Ay, wretch! He is Durga Ram, the man who murdered the king of Allaha."
The mutineer laughed and waved his hand toward the smoking ruins of the
promontory.
"Look for it there," he said, "under mountains of rock and dirt and
sand. Look for it there! And who is this white man who says the holy
one is false?"
"I say it, you scoundrel!" cried the colonel, advancing; but Bruce
restrained him, seeing that the situation had taken an unpleasant and
sinister trend.
"Patience, Colonel; just a little diplomacy," he urged.
"But the man lies!"
"That may be, but just at present there seem to be more men standing
back of him than back of our chief here. We have no way of getting a
warning to Ahmed. Wait!"
"Jackal," spoke the chief wrathfully, "thou liest!"
"Ah! thou hast grown too fat with rule."
"Ay!" cried the men back of the mutinous one.
"Sahib," said the chief, without losing any of his natural dignity,
"the man has betrayed me. I see the lust of gold in their eyes. Evil
presage. But you have saved the life of my child and mine, and I will
throw my strength with you."
"Father, can't you see?" asked Kathlyn.
"See what?"
"The inevitable. It was in my heart all the way here that we should
meet with disaster. There is yet time to leave here peacefully."
But her pleading fell upon the ears of a man who was treasure mad. He
would not listen to reason. Ahmed could have told Kathlyn that the old
guru stood back of her father, pushing, pushing.
"He is mad," whispered Bruce, "but we can not leave him."
"What would I do without you, John!"
From down the beach the chief's little girl came toddling to the group
of excited men. She was clutching something in her hand. Her father
took her by the arm and pulled her back of him. Kathlyn put her hand
upon the child's head, protectingly. The child gazed up shyly, opened
her little hand . . . and disclosed a yellow sovereign!
The argument between the chief and his mutinous followers went on.
"John," said Kathlyn, "you speak the dialect. I can understand only a
word here and there. But listen. Tell the chief that all we desire is
to be permitted to depart in peace later," she added significantly.
"What's up?"
"The child has a coin--a British sovereign--in her hand. She knows
where Umballa has secreted the treasure. Since father can not be
budged from his purpose, let us try deceit. You speak to the chief
while I explain to father."
To the chief Bruce said: "The treasure is evidently lost. So, after a
short rest, we shall return to our caravan and depart. We do not wish
to be the cause of trouble between you and your people."
"But, Sahib, they have the gold!"
"The false holy one doubtless gave them that before the explosion."
Bruce laid hold of his arm in a friendly fashion apparently, but in
reality as a warning. "All we want is a slight rest in your house.
After that we shall proceed upon our journey."
The mutineers could offer no reasonable objections to this and
signified that it was all one to them so long as the white people
departed. They had caused enough damage by their appearance and it
might be that it was through their agency that the promontory was all
but destroyed. The fish would be driven away for weeks. And what
would the fierce gun-runners say when they found out that their stores
had gone up in flame and smoke? Ai, ai! What would they do but beat
them and torture them for permitting any one to enter the cave?
"When these men come," answered the chief, with a dry smile, "I will
deal with them. None of us has entered the cave. They know me for a
man of truth. Perhaps you are right," he added to the mutineer.
"There could not have been a treasure there and escape the sharp eyes
of those Arabs. Go back to your homes. These white people shall be my
guests till they have rested and are ready to depart."
Reluctantly the men dispersed, and from his hiding-place Umballa saw
another of his schemes fall into pieces. There would be no fight, at
least for the present. The men, indeed, had hoped to come to actual
warfare, but they could not force war on their chief without some good
cause. After all, the sooner the white people were out of the way the
better for all concerned.
Did the leader of this open mutiny have ulterior designs upon the
treasure, upon the life of Umballa? Perhaps. At any rate, events so
shaped themselves as to nullify whatever plans he had formed in his
gold-dazzled brain.
The colonel was tractable and fell in with Kathlyn's idea. It would
have been nothing short of foolhardiness openly to have antagonized the
rebellious men.
"You have a plan, Kit, but what is it?"
"I dare not tell you here. You are too excited. But I believe I can
lead you to where Umballa has buried the basket. I feel that Umballa
is watching every move we make. And I dare say he hoped--and even
instigated--this mutiny to end in disaster for us. He is alone. So
much we can rely upon. But if we try to meet him openly we shall lose.
Patience for a little while. There, they are leaving us. They are
grumbling, but I do not believe that means anything serious."
"Now, then, white people," said the chief, "come to my house. You are
welcome there, now and always. You have this day saved my life and
that of my child. I am grateful."
Inside the hut Kathlyn drew the child toward her and gently pressed
open the tightly clutched fingers. She plucked the sovereign from the
little pink palm and held it up. The child's father seized it,
wonderingly.
"Gold! They lied to me! I knew it."
"Yes," said Bruce. "They did find the treasure. They brought it here
and buried it quickly. And we believe your little girl knows where.
Question her."
It was not an easy matter. The child was naturally shy, and the
presence of all these white skinned people struck her usually babbling
tongue with a species of paralysis. But her father was patient, and
word by word the secret was dragged out of her. She told of the stolen
bullock cart, of the digging in the sand, of the holy one.
In some manner they must lure Umballa from his retreat. It was finally
agreed upon that they all return to the camp and steal back at once in
a roundabout way. They would come sufficiently armed. Later, the
chief could pretend to be walking with his child.
So while Umballa stole forth from his hiding-place, reasonably certain
that his enemies had gone, got together his mutineers and made
arrangements with them to help him carry away the treasure that night,
the rightful owners were directed to the broken stick in the damp sand.
That night, when Umballa and his men arrived, a hole in the sand
greeted them. It was shaped like a mouth, opened in laughter.