TREASURE HUNTING.
"Hey, you Garibaldi!"
"Ay, ay! Alla righta!"
"Coast clear?"
"Beta your lifa!"
"Come on, then, fellers," said Barney, the bootblack. "If it's all
right outside, we may just as well moosy along."
And the iron door of the old tomb set in the wall on the Trinity
church-yard opened and closed with a bang--three "Bats in the Wall"
stood upon the street.
They were our old acquaintances, Barney the bootblack and Sandy, the
third being none other than Frank Mansfield himself.
Instantly a fourth lad came running across New Church street and joined
them.
It proved to be Garibaldi, the Italian bat, who had been sent out of
the wall to reconnoiter and report whether or no the coast was clear.
Evidently the "Bats" are bound upon some expedition, for Barney carries
a spade, to conceal the true character of which a faint attempt has
been made by winding newspapers about its blade; Sandy a similar
package, while Frank Mansfield has under his arm that which greatly
resembles a pick ax, tied up in a similar way.
To all outward appearance our hero stands upon a social level with
his companions, and looks as little like Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Callister's
new clerk, as that individual looks like the young man who was once
assistant cashier of the Webster National Bank.
One day has elapsed since the visit of Frank to Miss Edna Callister
at the house in Cottage Place, upon which occasion, the reader
will remember, the missing parchment containing the secret of the
hiding-place of the treasure buried by his grandfather was strangely
placed in his hands.
Upon further examination, the parchment placed by the mysterious woman
upon the window-sill proved to be the document named in the will of
Jeremiah Mansfield.
Bidding farewell to the faithful girl--not, however, without having
promised to see her again at the very first opportunity afforded
him--Frank hurried to the Police Headquarters, where at this hour in
the evening it sometimes happened that Detective Hook could be found.
The parchment, which he studied carefully, gave the most minute
instructions as to where the buried treasure could be found.
With his soul filled with triumph, Frank hurried through the broad
corridors of the Mulberry street building and entered the office where
Mr. Hook was usually to be found when not engaged on duty elsewhere.
He was all eagerness to tell of his discovery and ask what, under the
circumstances, had best be done.
But Frank was doomed to disappointment.
Caleb Hook had not been seen at headquarters since the night before.
Nor did he appear next day.
Frank, employing the messenger boys of the district telegraph freely,
was unable to find the slightest trace of his whereabouts.
Mr. Callister was at his office as usual, and appeared more sleek and
urbane than ever before.
He made no reference to the little affair at the elevator, treating the
disguised Mr. Maxwell with even more politeness and consideration than
was ordinarily the case.
Considerably alarmed by the unexplained absence of Detective
Hook--doubly so from the fact that he had neglected several most
important engagements that day--Frank resolved to confide the situation
in part to Barney the Bootblack, and assisted by the Bats, whom he had
learned to trust fully as the rough but honest lads that they were, to
investigate the truth of the statements contained in the parchment for
himself.
After the close of the day's business, therefore, he paid a visit to
the vault and arranged to start upon their expedition that very night.
Thus it happened that we find the "Bats" leaving the wall in the manner
described just as the clock of old Trinity rings out the hour of twelve.
"Now, then, where's de place?" asked Barney, as the four boys hurried
along New Church street in the direction of the Rector street station
of the Sixth avenue elevated road.
"It's at Fort Washington," replied Frank--"a good mile beyond the 155th
street station. Up the steps, boys, and we'll start at once. Remember,
Barney, if I succeed in this undertaking and in clearing my name before
the world the 'Bats in the Wall' will never have occasion to regret
their kindness to me."
An hour later the little party moving along the Fort Washington road
might have been seen to steal quietly through the gateway leading up to
the half ruined mansion once the home of old Jeremiah Mansfield, known
as the Three Oaks.
The night was cold and cheerless--the wind sighed mournfully among the
trees of the park-like inclosure--not a star was to be seen in the
clouded sky.
Pursuing their way up the avenue, the boys came suddenly upon the house
itself, standing half ruined and deserted among the overshadowing trees.
It was not without feelings of emotion that Frank Mansfield gazed upon
it.
Many and many were the pleasant hours spent within the old mansion
during the more prosperous days of his boyhood--days not to be
forgotten so long as he lived.
And if that prosperity could be but in a measure restored? If the name
of his dead father, to say nothing of his own, could but be cleared
before the world?
The finding of this money would place a powerful weapon against the
enemies surrounding him at once in his hands.
No wonder that his soul burned with impatience to grasp it. That
he ought not to have moved in the matter without first consulting
Detective Hook he instinctively felt, and yet----
But the impatience of youth is proverbial--than that no more need be
said.
Familiar with the premises from boyhood, Frank, making no effort to
enter the house by the regular way, and conducting his companions to
the rear of the building, removed without difficulty a small window
sash set in the wall close to the ground.
A moment later the four boys stood in the great cellar beneath Three
Oaks, gazing about them by the light of a lantern which he carried in
his hand.
It was festooned with cobwebs and green with mold. The floor was
littered with boxes, old barrels, and rubbish of every sort.
Frank, setting the lantern upon a box, turned to Sandy and Garibaldi,
who, not having been informed as to the nature of the undertaking
in which they had engaged, were looking about them in a decidedly
mystified way.
Barney he had taken into confidence, leaving him to tell the other
"bats" what he pleased.
Having now reached the scene of their labors, however, it seemed
necessary to make some explanation to these boys, who had come
willingly with Barney to help him, and he accordingly briefly informed
them of what he was about to do.
The eyes of the two boys open wildly.
"What! diga for golda?" exclaimed Garibaldi, in surprise.
"That's the size of it, boys, and it belongs to me by rights. How, it
would take too long to explain; but help me out, and I promise that you
shall have your share."
"You beta we willa!" cried the little Italian, throwing aside his
jacket and seizing one of the spades. "Showa whera diga, I finda him,
donta forget it."
Sandy likewise gave full assent.
"Then listen, boys," said Frank, pulling a paper from his pocket, and
holding it up to the lantern on the box--it was a copy of a portion of
the contents of the parchment--"this will tell us what to do."
He read as follows:
"Descend to the cellar. Measure ten feet from the north chimney,
then five due west. Here a flat stone will be found, beneath which
the treasure lies. It is for my grandson if he be found worthy, for
my friend, Elijah Callister, if he is not. If it shall fall into the
hands of Frank Mansfield, let him so dispose of it as to shed luster
upon the name he bears.
"JEREMIAH MANSFIELD.
"THREE OAKS, January 1, 1879."
"Now for it, boys!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "This is the cellar, and
we are here ready to work. Barney, the tape-line. Lay over to that
chimney, now, while I run out ten feet."
The distance was measured off and marked upon the cellar floor.
"Now, then, five feet to the west. That's the idea! By gracious! here's
the flat stone just as the paper says!"
It was as Frank had said.
Buried in the earth which composed the cellar floor a flat stone of a
grayish color was discovered, above which all now stood.
"The spades, Barney and Sandy!" cried Frank, seizing the pick-ax
himself. "Hold the light, Garibaldi, that we may see what we are about.
Make what noise you like, boys, there's no one to hear us--this house
has been deserted for years."
He struck the ground with the pick-ax as he spoke, the sound echoing
upon the rafters of the floor above.
The earth once loosened, Barney and Sandy made short work of it with
their spades.
It was of a light and sandy character, and yielded so readily to their
efforts that Frank, finding the pick-ax useless, soon threw it to one
side, and taking the spade from the hands of Sandy, joined Barney in
the hole, now rapidly deepening.
Both boys had removed their coats, and were working with a will.
Around them the little mound of earth thrown out by their spades
steadily grew, until a depth of four feet or more was reached.
And yet, they had found nothing. Nor was there any appearance that the
earth had been ever disturbed.
"By thunder, but this is tough work!" growled Barney, straightening
himself up. "How much further do you think we've got to go?"
"It is impossible to tell," answered Frank, working away vigorously.
"It may be one foot, it may be ten---- By gracious! here's something
now. I've just struck it with my spade."
A sharp, ringing sound was heard. The spade had struck something of a
metallic nature at the bottom of the hole.
"I've found it, boys," he cried, in great excitement, stooping down and
with his hands brushing back the loose earth from the lid of a great
iron chest at the bottom of the hole. "The treasure is mine--mine at
last! Let that wretched Callister now beware!"
"And 'that wretched Callister' bids you say your prayers, young man!"
cried a deep voice behind them. "In digging that hole you have dug your
grave. Prepare to lie in it now."
The four boys sprang back, Frank leaping from the hole.
There, amid the old boxes and barrels in the dim light, the forms of
two men could be seen with cocked revolvers pointed--one directly at
the head of Barney, the bootblack, the other at the head of Frank.