HARVEY AS A SENTRY.
Harvey was called at two o’clock in the morning, and he posted himself
as sentinel under a small tree that grew near the shelter-tent. He had
become somewhat accustomed to being rudely awakened and to being alone
while the others slept, and now that an attack by Indians was
improbable, and it was no longer necessary to strain his sense of
hearing that he might note the slightest sound, the novelty of the
situation appealed to him.
This night the moon in its third quarter shone from out a cloudless sky,
and at the altitude of the great intermontane valley in which they
rested, the rays were brighter than at points nearer the sea level, so
the river bank and the open country were visible with nearly the
distinctness of day.
As the boy walked a few times back and forth, a rifle on his shoulder,
then paused for a short rest under the tree, he puzzled his brain to
account for their not having found the second white rock. He believed
implicitly in the truth of all that Huayno had said, and was confident
that not far from where he stood great riches were stored in the ground.
But could they ever locate the mine? It would be a task of years to
demolish all those mounds and ascertain which hid the entrance to the
old workings; and should it be attempted, others must learn what they
were doing on the banks of the Marañon, others would flock to the place
with picks and shovels, and among these others some one or two might
first find the store of yellow metal.
Thus cogitating he walked closer to the river and stood beneath the
great white rock, which shone resplendent in the moonlight, glistening
and seeming to be translucent. Studying the strange geological formation
attentively, he noticed for the first time that only the side facing up
stream and the side facing the woods were white; those facing down
stream and the opposite shore were much darker, almost a slate color.
This peculiarity had not been remarked, because no member of the party
had gone farther down stream. The boy also saw that the rock was several
feet from the river and that its lower portion, where the water washed,
had turned this same slate color.
He paced slowly back to the tree, meditating on these observations, and
endeavoring to solve the reason for the varying of the physical features
of the unique landmark. In the midst of this his mind strangely reverted
to the time of a dinner party that had been given at his father’s home
in Chucuito about six months before, and try as he might he could think
of nothing else than this entertainment and the people who were present;
then of the conversation that had occurred—and the moment the mind cell
that contained the impression left by that conversation opened, he had
the solution of the problem which confronted them.
At this dinner Don Isaac Lawton, editor of the _South Pacific Times_,
had been asked to explain the absence of rain on the Peruvian
coast-line. He had done so in these words:—
“The absence of rain on the coast is caused by the action of the lofty
uplands of the Andes on the trade-wind. The southeast trade-wind blows
obliquely across the Atlantic Ocean until it reaches Brazil. By this
time it is heavily laden with vapor, which it continues to bear along
across the continent, depositing it and supplying the sources of the
Amazon and the La Plata. Finally, the trade-wind arrives at the
snow-capped Andes, and here the last particle of moisture is wrung from
it that the very low temperature can extract. Coming to the summit of
that range, it rushes down as a cool and dry wind on the Pacific slopes
below. Meeting with no evaporating surface, and with no temperature
colder than that to which it is subjected on the mountain tops, this
wind joins the south trades and reaches the ocean before it becomes
charged with fresh moisture.”
Harvey, recalling this conversation, for it had been imprinted upon his
mind, because it was the first explanation he had heard of this Pacific
coast phenomenon, began to reason that if the trade-winds blew in a
certain direction over Brazil and in a certain direction on the coast,
there was undoubtedly a regularity of the wind currents in this
intermontane valley. He had noticed since leaving Huari that what breeze
stirred, blew in their faces; therefore the general direction of the
wind was up stream, or toward the southwest.
That being true, the reason why a portion of the great white rock had
turned a slate color was evident—it was weather-stained, and the
remaining portion, sheltered from the winds, retained its lustre. At
this stage in his reflections he recalled a sentence from his geology:
“Alabaster is soluble to a certain extent in water.”
This white rock was high above the river and had not been dissolved by
the stream. Its northern portion had undoubtedly been worn by rains, and
it was probably not so high as when old Huayno was a young man; still it
had been better preserved than if the full force of the stream had been
brought to bear upon it.
“What if conditions had been different and the rock had been wave-washed
all these years?” Harvey asked, and then answered himself: “It would
have been worn down and all sides would have been weather-stained, even
as the more exposed portions are.”
In the region of the peculiar mounds they had noticed a depression, and
all had agreed that it probably formed the course of a stream during the
rainy season. Perhaps the second white rock had stood in this
depression; it was undoubtedly not so high as that which was nearer the
river, even in old Huayno’s day. What then would have been the natural
result of a low rock of alabaster, washed five and six months in the
year by swiftly running waters?
Again he answered himself, to the effect that under such circumstances a
rock of this description would have been worn down in the eighty years,
perhaps almost to a level with the country, and its entire surface would
be slate-colored, like the weather-beaten sides of the landmark on the
Marañon.
Five minutes later Harvey entered the shelter-tent and awakened
Ferguson.
“My turn to stand guard, eh?” said the elder American, as he threw off
the blankets and commenced putting on his clothing.
The boy made no answer until he was joined on the outside by the young
man; then he said:—
“No, it isn’t your turn, and it won’t be for an hour, but I would like
to go into the woods for a little while and don’t wish to leave the camp
unguarded.”
“Go into the woods! Are you crazy, lad? Has the moon affected you?”
“I have an idea that I can find the second rock.”
“You have, have you?”
“Yes.” And then he explained his chain of reasoning.
“Now I call that clever,” said Ferguson, “and I believe you have hit the
nail on the head. Don’t you want somebody to go with you?”
“No. There’s no danger. I shall carry my shot-gun. Besides, the camp
must be guarded, and I don’t want to awaken the other two.”
“Why not?”
“They’ve had their watch; and besides, if I fail, there won’t be so many
persons disappointed.”
“Sensible precaution, that.”
“I wish I had Mr. Hope-Jones’s compass.”
“Here it is. He gave it to me in the woods because his pocket is torn.”
“Let me have it, please. Mr. Ferguson, 5280 feet make a mile, do they
not?”
“Yes.”
“And one-half of 5280 is 2640?”
“Certainly.”
“I cover about two feet at every step through this broken country, do I
not?”
“About that. But what are you driving at? You are the greatest boy to
fire questions at one that I ever met.”
“Why, I want to go in the direction old Huayno gave for exactly a half
mile, or as near that as possible, and then investigate.”
“Well, take care of yourself, and if anything happens fire a shot and I
will hurry to your aid.”
“Good-by.”
“Good luck.”
And the boy disappeared in the timber. “One, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” Harvey counted, and then into the
twenties and into the hundreds, thus numbering the steps as he took them
in a north direction, guided by the compass needle. He soon lost sight
of the camp and of the white rock and was well in the region of the tall
trees. He had carried only his shot-gun, the little iron hammer, and the
compass. The early morning was cool, the air bracing, and as the moon’s
rays gave plenty of light, he made quick progress; but from the start he
so regulated his steps that they would not be much over two feet each in
length. Whatever addition there might be to that measure he thought
would in the total correspond with old Huayno’s idea of a half mile, for
the Indian’s estimate had invariably been less than the actual distance.
He had counted one thousand before he stopped to rest; and then the halt
was but momentary, more to tighten his belt and shift his shot-gun from
one shoulder to the other, than because he was tired. Soon after
starting again, he noticed to his satisfaction that he had entered the
slight depression which they had observed in the afternoon, and through
which it was believed a river ran during the rainy season. Its course
there was north to south, where it entered the Marañon. Thus the
strength of one link in his theoretical chain had been proven; if the
second white rock was directly north from the main river, it undoubtedly
stood in the bed of this periodical waterway.
About this time he entered the region of the curious mounds and was able
to remain in the little valley, for the waters had washed a way around
each, not so deep as the channel, however, proving that a portion of the
flow had soaked through the strangely formed hillocks.
At his two-thousandth step the boy noticed that the mounds had increased
in size and were closer together. A hundred yards farther they appeared
to be merged into one, which was several hundred feet in circumference,
and which appeared to be a little table-land, indented by the depression
across its surface. At the opposite end from where he had entered the
table-land, or rather on the opposite side of the circle, the river-bed
swept in an angle to the east.
Perspiration stood in beads on his forehead; his heart beat wildly. Was
he right? Was this little table-land, this mound larger than all the
others, an elevation at the mouth of the mine? Was the decomposed wood
under his feet the remains of trees which had been felled in the
greatest number by the Ayulis, because of proximity to the treasure? If
these facts were true, then where had the white rock stood? Why, at the
point where the river of winter changed its course to the east; that was
the most probable point, if the pillar that marked the mine opening bore
north from the Marañon, as old Huayno had said.
It took him but a minute to reach this point, and once there he put down
his rifle, then commenced to crawl on all fours over the little hillocks
with which the big mound was dotted, striking the ground hard blows with
his hammer. After having done this for a quarter of an hour or so he
stopped, for he was almost out of breath, then when rested he moved to
the other side of the depression, at a point a few yards beyond, where
it turned east at right angles. There his foot encountered something
hard, and throwing himself down, he commenced feverishly to tear aside
the vines and creepers that formed a covering. When they were removed he
saw a dark brown rock that was covered over with decayed vegetable
matter. Scraping this off, the lad made use of his little hammer, and
after three or four blows a wonderful thing happened.
As the dirty brown shells of an oyster open and reveal an interior of
pearly white, so the breaking of the rock showed a seam that was the
color of milk.
Ferguson, standing guard near the Marañon, was wondering what kept
Harvey so long and was blaming himself for permitting the lad to enter
the woods unaccompanied at such an hour, when his attention was
attracted by the crackling of underbrush some distance away, and then
the sound of footfalls nearing him rapidly.
“Harvey’s on the run!” he ejaculated. “Wonder if it’s a puma this time,
or what?” and swinging his rifle on his shoulder, he started at a double
quick to the forest, where he met the boy, hatless and minus his
shot-gun, just beyond the first line of trees.
He had no opportunity to make inquiries, for the lad waved a piece of
rock the instant he caught sight of him and screamed:—
“I’ve found it! I’ve found it! Look at this! will you?”
It happened that the shelter-tent had not been erected in a very secure
manner the evening before, for all hands had been too tired and
discouraged; they had used a very thin piece of wood for a centre-pole.
Therefore the result of a wild rush under the canvas by Ferguson and
Harvey, both anxious to tell the cheering news, was the collapse of the
cloth structure, and in the entangling folds three men and a boy were
soon struggling. To add to the confusion, Hope-Jones, who had been
dreaming of the Majeronas, imagined an attack was on, and reaching out
for the fancied opponent nearest him, he commenced pommelling Ferguson
lustily. The elder American, who was so imprisoned by the canvas that he
could not defend himself, might have been seriously injured had not
Señor Cisneros rolled himself free, and dragged the bellicose Englishman
away. He then freed the others, and as Harvey was still breathing
heavily, after the wild dash through the woods, he drew the boy to him,
believing he had been injured.
“No, I’m not hurt,” exclaimed the lad, panting. “Look, I have found the
white rock over there in the woods! Here’s a piece that I chipped off,”
and he exhibited the specimen of alabaster, to which he had held firmly.
Hope-Jones, who by this time had come to his senses, gave a yell of joy,
and the captain, jumping to his feet, caught Harvey by the shoulders in
an embrace, then urged him to relate the details of his exploration.
Of course there was no thought of attempting to sleep again that night;
they did not even straighten up the shelter-tent. Hope-Jones and
Ferguson favored starting at once in search of the treasure, but the
captain said it would be wiser first to eat breakfast. “Besides,” he
added, “Harvey needs some rest.”
So they built a fire and soon were enjoying tin cups of hot coffee and
some broiled duck’s meat—for the captain had snared wild fowl the
evening before and had prepared it while on watch.
Although the moon was setting when the start was made from the camp,
they pushed on quickly, for their watches told them that in another half
hour dawn would come; and when at last they reached the large centre
mound and the point where Harvey had found the second white rock, a gray
light was penetrating the woods.
* * * * *
Three happy men, and a boy who was even happier, sat around the
camp-fire on the banks of the river Marañon that evening.
“You say the quartz is the richest you ever saw?” asked Harvey.
“Yes, it is,” and the captain lifted one of the many pieces they had
brought from the mine as samples, and all looked at it for perhaps the
hundredth time that day.
“How long do you think we had better remain here?” Ferguson inquired.
“Perhaps a fortnight. That will give us ample time in which to explore
the property and stake it off.”
Another member of the camp was a friendly Ayuli Indian, who had appeared
on the bank as they emerged from the wood. He with others had been
driven far from his village by the marauding band of Majeronas before
the latter’s encounter with the white men, and he was making a long
detour on his return. They had detained him over night and on the morrow
intended sending him with letters to Huari, from where they would be
forwarded to Chicla and then to Callao.