A PERPLEXING MYSTERY
It was not hard in the reassuring sunlight of the “morning after” for
Phil to tell himself that his experience of the night before had been
nothing more than a peculiarly vivid dream.
There was the temptation to tell the fellows about it, but on second
thought he decided to hold his peace. The memory of how they had laughed
when he had thought he heard a shot was still with him and he was not
anxious to give them the chance to laugh a second time.
Besides, as has been said before, he was almost convinced himself that
his imagination had played a trick upon him. And yet—that man’s figure,
sinister, stealthy, stealing from the shadows of the cave into the
blackness of the night. He could have sworn at the moment that he saw
it. Was it possible for his eyes so to betray him?
Since there was no one to answer the question for him, Phil wisely
decided to leave it unanswered and put the incident, as far as was
possible, completely out of his mind.
This was not so hard a task, either, seeing that there was plenty to
occupy his mind in excited plans for the recovery of the treasure.
However, these plans were destined to be nipped in the bud. For the sun
which, early in the morning had given promise of a glorious day, went
suddenly behind a cloud and there was that dead, breathless stillness in
the air which the boys had come to know invariably presaged a storm.
“Confound the luck,” growled Dick, as together they stood outside the
cave, looking uncertainly at the threatening sky. “Seems to me the storm
we had yesterday should have cleared the atmosphere——”
“We’re in for another one, just the same,” said Jack Benton, his own
face clouded with concern. “It’s hard luck just when we fairly had our
hands upon the treasure but after all it only means a delay of a day or
two, perhaps only a few hours. You know how soon these tropical storms
pass.”
“I’m for trying it, anyway,” said Dick, who was always impatient of
delay. “What do you say Phil?” he added, turning to his chum.
But Phil slowly shook his head.
“Can’t be done, old boy,” he said. “It would be suicide to go out in the
teeth of one of these storms. You ought to have seen enough of them by
this time to know that. Guess we’ll have to wait till the weather
decides to be nice.”
Bimbo nodded his head approvingly.
“That’s whar you shows yo’ common sense, Marse Phil,” he applauded.
“’Taint no use invitin’ d’undertaker to make us a visit. He’s done
likely t’ come wivout no invitation, anyways—”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Phil curiously with the grin he always
saved for Bimbo.
“Ah means, Marse Phil,” returned the black boy, emphatically, “thet
there aint no luck, no how lingerin’ on this island. Mah advice to you,
Marse Phil is dat you grab dat treasure an’ skip out o’ here as fas’ you
legs kin carry yo’. Yassir, Marse Phil, ef yo was to ask dis nigger for
advice dat’s what he’d be tellin’ yo’.”
The other boys and Jack Benton were frankly grinning but Phil was still
curious.
“What makes you feel that way, Bimbo?” he asked. “Anything ’special.”
The darky scratched his head with a puzzled expression.
“Nosah, Marse Phil,” he said at last with the air of one striving for
the exact truth, “Ah cain’t go so far’s t’ say they’s anythin’ ’special
makes me know dis island ain’t no good place to linger in, but Ah knows
it aint, jes’ the same. I don’ feel it in my bones—yassir, Marse Phil,
I don’ _feel_ it.”
“Well, as long as you confine the feeling to your bones, Bimbo,” said
Jack Benton, dryly, “I guess it can’t do anyone any harm.”
“Why, you old gloom hound you,” cried Steve, clapping poor Bimbo on the
back with a force that made him wince. “What do you mean by saying this
island isn’t good luck. What do you call the finding of the treasure,
eh? I suppose that was bad luck!”
Bimbo shook his head, still wearing the puzzled look.
“No sah,” he said and turned toward the cave adding something under his
breath that sounded like “yo ain’t got dat treasure, yet, no sir, you
aint _got_ dat treasure, yet.”
Steve looked after him exasperated, then turned to Phil.
“What do you suppose the fellow means?” he asked.
Phil shrugged.
“He doesn’t know himself, probably,” he answered. “Darkies always do
look on the black side of things.”
“Maybe due to their color,” grinned Tom, and so the thing passed off
with a laugh.
By this time the sky had darkened until it was almost like night on the
island and a wind had risen. The boys knew that any further adventuring
for the treasure was off, for that day at least, and so they resigned
themselves to the inevitable. Not without a good deal of grumbling,
however, for their disappointment was keen. They had counted on having
part of the treasure safely stowed away by nightfall.
And that was not the worst of it. The storm, unlike the others which
they had encountered, refused to blow over in a few hours. It continued
all that day and the next and well into the next. Even though the wind
had abated most of its fury it seemed to the exasperated boys as though
the rain would never stop. It came in a steady sheeting downpour until
it seemed as though the heavens must be emptied of every drop of
moisture. And still it rained.
Although there was no chance at present of salvaging the treasure, the
boys refused to be held prisoners with in the cave. Putting on rain
coats and boots and drawing their caps down over their eyes, they
plunged out into the beating rain with a sense of defying the elements.
This was on the afternoon of the third day.
“Maybe if the rain sees we don’t scare for it, it will get tired and
stop,” said Tom boyishly as they trudged along, heads down, collars
turned up about their ears.
“I hope so, but I doubt it,” returned Dick, gloomily. “Looks as if this
state of things were going to continue for another week at least.”
Jack Benton and Bimbo had declined to accompany the boys, the former
because he felt it necessary that some one should stay at the cave, and
Bimbo because he disliked wet weather in general.
“I wonder what that old boy has on his mind,” said Dick, speaking of
Bimbo. “He sure thinks this island is all to the bad. I wonder if he
knows anything that we don’t know.”
“What a crazy idea,” snorted Tom. “What could he know?”
Again it was on the point of Phil’s tongue to speak of the shadowy
figure he thought he had seen, but again he restrained himself. He
wasn’t going to be laughed at.
They had reached a rise of ground which overlooked the ocean, and as
Steve glanced out toward the water he suddenly grabbed Phil’s arm and
pointed.
“Look at that whale out there,” he cried. “And there’s another one.”
“Why there’s a whole school of them,” cried Tom, excitedly. “Say, I’m
glad I lived to see this.”
“They seem to be all-fired excited about something too,” observed Steve.
“I wonder what’s up.”
“A sword fish,” said Phil, beneath his breath. “He’s after
them—attacking the whole bunch single-handed.”
Sure enough, following Phil’s pointed finger the boys saw a gigantic
fish of peculiar shape flashing in and out among the whales attacking
promiscuously. The water was lashed to a froth by the frantic efforts of
the great mammals to get away from their tormentor and soon the surface
of the water showed streaks of blood.
“My, he’s sure some fighter, that swordfish,” said Steve admiringly.
“I’d hate to have him for an enemy.”
“Look,” cried Tom delightedly. “The whole bunch is making for deep water
routed by one sharp-toothed fish. You have to hand it to him.”
They had started on again when suddenly they felt a sickening sensation,
as if the earth were rocking beneath their feet. Then, before they could
even guess what was happening to them there came a terrific upheaval
that flung them from their feet.
There was the sound as of a mighty roar—as though the universe were
crackling and breaking about them.