"Don Clemente!" Tony's voice was loud with alarm. Swinging around in his seat, he crawled toward the old man, taking care not to tilt the clumsy dugout. "Don Clemente! What's the matter?"
The old man made a gurgUng sound in his throat, and he seemed to be trying to focus his eyes on the boy.
Tony stared at him, frightened. Was the man dying? Was it a heart attack? He scanned the water, looking for other boats. But few fishermen had come out this night, and he could see only one Hght, far away toward the open sea.
There was only one thing to do—get back to Acapulco as soon as possible. Scarcely daring to touch the old man, for fear of making his condition worse, Tony took off his own jacket and cushioned Don Clemente's head, as best he could, against the stern. Then he started paddling rapidly back toward the coast.
It seemed an interminable distance, with only one person paddling, and with worry his only companion. The first faint light of day was beginning to show in the sky when Tony finally pulled up to the beach and called for help.
One man ran to a telephone, while others crowded around the canoa, offering suggestions. In a very few minutes, an ambulance came screaming along the boulevard, and the old man was lifted onto a stretcher and taken to the hospital. Tony went with him.
"It's a light stroke," the doctor said, after he had made his examination. "He may be all right in a few weeks— and he may not. Do you know where to get in touch with his family, boy?"
"They've all moved away from Acapulco. That's all he told me," Tony answered. "Even his nephew who used to fish with him left last week. But I'll find out from his neighbors."
For the next two days, Tony hardly moved from Don Clemente's side, except to visit the neighbors and to send telegrams to relatives. On the afternoon of New Year's Eve, Don Clemente's son arrived from Mexico City, to take over, and by that time the old man was improving. Although he still could not speak intelligibly, his eyes thanked Tony for all he had done.
"He's going to get better," the doctor said confidently. "These old fishermen are tough! He'll live a long time yet."
A shadow of a grin touched Don Clemente's lips and he nodded slightly. Tony squeezed the old man's inert hand.
"I'm glad," he said simply. "I'll leave you with your son now, Don Clemente. But I'll come back to see you, often."
Peter was waiting for him on the street in front of the
hospital, and the two boys started walking slowly toward town.
"Well, that's that," Tony sighed. "That's the end of the night fishing."
"Maybe we could borrow his boat while he's sick," Peter said tentatively. "I could be your partner."
Tony shook his head. "You can't fish nights and go to school days, Pedro," he said, not mentioning that Peter's lack of experience would be a handicap rather than a help. "Besides," he added soberly, "there haven't been enough fish, this last week, to bother with paddhng out there. It would average out enough to live on, all year round, but not enough to save the money I need, quickly."
Peter didn't answer. Glancing at him, Tony saw that he was looking at a dark-faced boy who was crossing the street ahead of them.
Chico's Plan
"That's the boy who brought us back from the island, the first time you took me skin diving," Peter remarked. "What was his name—Chico?"
Tony nodded, his face thoughtful. "Aunt Raquel says he's been around to the house twice, looking for me. I think he has some kind of business scheme in his head."
"Maybe it's something that would help you out during the next month," Peter suggested.
Tony stood hesitating. "I don't know why I don't really trust Chico any more," he muttered. "I've known him a long time. We were in school together. But lately . . ." His voice trailed ofi^.
Well, it was almost like an omen, he thought. He had been reluctant to seek Chico out, but now he had run right into him. He quickened his steps a Httle, and the dark-faced boy wheeled around.
"Tony! I've been looking all over for you! Where you been keeping yourself?"
"I've been busy," Tony answered. "Fishing day and night."
"I want to see you—alone." Chico's eyes flicked over
119
Peter. "I have something very important to tell you."
"You can talk in front of Pedro." Tony put his hand on the blond boy's shoulder. "He is my cuate—my twin. I have no secrets from him."
"But this has to be no more than two people," Chico insisted.
Tony shrugged, feeling almost relieved. "If it's that secret, you better not tell me, either," he said, preparing to walk away.
"Tony—wait!" Chico's voice was urgent. "All right, let him come. But we can't talk here." He looked around cautiously. "Come across the street to the cafe. I'll buy you a refresco."
When the three boys were seated around a table in the middle of the restaurant—deserted at that hour of the afternoon—and Chico was satisfied that they were quite alone, he leaned forward, his sun-blackened gamin face tense with excitement.
"First of all, you must promise me one thing. Whether or not you go in with me on this, you will not say anything to anyone about it—ever!"
"You know I don't talk," Tony said dryly. "Pedro doesn't, either. Go on."
"Well, you remember what I said that day in the launch—about getting rich quick?"
"Yes, I've been thinking about it lately," Tony admitted. "You said something about guiding tourists, since I speak English."
Chico's face was smug. "You can't work with tourists now. That fight with Lencho—that was a bad thing, hombre! And now you can't dive, either."
Tony was not surprised that Chico knew all about it. The grapevine around the docks operated with amazing efficiency.
"Never mind that," Tony said brusquely. "So what do you have in mind?"
Chico sipped his orangeade, obviously enjoying the suspense.
"This is something so big, Tony—you'll be able to buy the biggest fishing cruiser on the bay, if you want to. And I'll buy a car—a brand-new Chevrolet—"
Tony's lips were setting with exasperation and after another stealthy look around to be certain there was no one within earshot, Chico hurried on, "You remember old Adan, in Puerto Marques?"
"Of course." Tony nodded, showing his surprise. What could old Adan have to do with money? When they were young boys, Tony and Chico had often visited the grizzled old man when they went to dive and swim in Puerto Marques, a small and beautiful bay around a curve in the coast from Acapulco.
The old man Hved alone on his small coconut grove and liked to have the boys come. He gave them coconuts and regaled them with bloodcinrdling and partly true stories, handed down for generations, of the days when pirates had hidden out in Puerto Marques, waiting for the prize of the Pacific traffic: the Manila ship which plied between the Philippines and Spain by way of Acapulco, carrying rich cargo from the Orient.
"What about Adan?" Tony asked curiously.
"He died about two weeks ago," Chico answered im-
pressively. "And before he died, he sent for me. To give me something!"
"A map showing where there's buried treasm^e, I suppose?" Tony scoffed. "Chico, I thought you had better sense!"
The boys of Acapulco were brought up on stories of buried treasure. All of them went through a period of dreaming, or even of actually digging, to find the pirate chests that were said to be hidden in the surrounding hills. But nothing was ever discovered. Perhaps because there was much superstition attached to the tales of treasure. It was said that ghosts guarded the buried loot and a curse fell on those who tried to take it away from them.
"Tony, you're not superstitious!" Chico challenged,
"No. I just think that if there was anything around here, somebody got it long ago."
"This is different," Chico said with convincing confidence. "You know Adan and his father and his grandfather have all lived on that coconut grove. But they also owned land beyond that—back in the swamp. It's all overgrown with brush now. But the
re is a map and besides, Adan told me how to find the hidden treasure!"
"If they knew it was there, why didn't Adan or his father dig it up?" Tony asked skeptically. "They were poor."
"You know how they feel about it over there," Chico said. "They're afraid of that curse. Adan's father wouldn't go near the place. Adan himself—" Chico paused to let his words sink in. "Adan himseff, when he was younger.
dug until he found it—and then covered it up again! That's how he knows it's there."
Tony and Peter both stared incredulously and Peter spoke this time, his voice trembling with excitement, "You mean to say he actually saw treasure and then buried it again! That's crazy!"
"He swears that's what he did," Chico said seriously. "He found a chest and opened it enough to see that it had gold and precious stones. And then, he said, suddenly the sky was full of lightning and there was a roar of thunder—though this was in the dry season, mind you! He covered it up and never went back. He said he didn't want gold at the cost of his life."
"Then why did he give the map to you—to let you get killed?" Tony jeered. "I thought he was your friend!"
"He didn't think the ghost was there any more." Chico seemed unmoved by Tony's skepticism. "He had a dream some months ago, saying it was time to dig up the treasure. He was an old man then and knew he hadn't long to live. He didn't care about the money any more—"
"Didn't he have any relatives?" Peter broke in.
Chico frowned at the interruption. "No," he said shortly. "There was a younger brother who moved somewhere up north when he was still a young man, but he died many years ago. The brother's only son—Adan's nephew, of course—wrote to his uncle for a while after his father's death, but then he stopped writing and Adan heard later that he'd been killed in an accident."
"Well, go on," Tony said impatiently, as Chico paused.
"Adan didn't care about the money for himself," Chico
repeated, "but he felt that it was wrong not to tell someone about it. So he called me and gave me the map. He died the next morning."
Tony was silent, thinking it over. The story was fantastic. He didn't believe any of that about the thunder and lightning and the dreams. But about the treasure-there was a bare possibility. Suppose—just suppose—that one of the few remaining pirate caches was on old Adan's property! It was not impossible. Chico was pretty shrewd and he obviously beHeved that he was onto something authentic.
A wave of excitement prickled Tony's scalp. He glanced at Peter. The American boy's face was entranced. Even Peter was beginning to beheve.
Tony sat lost in thought. He was excited but he was also uneasy. Treasure hunting for the fun of it was one thing, but this was something else. He didn't quite like the furtiveness and greed he saw in Chico's face.
Two months ago, he would probably have refused to have anything to do with the project. He had never wanted money in itself. But Uncle Juan had forced the need for quick money on him by setting an impossible goal. And impossible goals required impossible—or improbable—means of achieving them. This was a slim chance but if it did work . . .
Tony let himself dream, for a moment, of what it would mean to him: money to buy a boat, skin-diving equipment, everything he needed to earn a living doing the things he liked to do and was best fitted to do. It would mean release from his obligation to Uncle Juan
and the threat of Hving in the city. It would mean money to help Marta through school.
Chico's voice cut through his thoughts. "Well? Make up your mind, Tony! What's the matter? Are you afraid?"
Tony smiled a little. "No," he said calmly. "I don't believe in ghosts and I'm not afraid of them. Sure, I'll go in with you. When do we start?"
"I thought we should wait till after New Year's, when there'll be fewer fiestas and fewer people around to see us." Chico's voice was eager again. "What about day after tomorrow—Wednesday?"
Tony nodded agreement.
"We should get there about sundown," Chico went on. "We'll need a machete, a lantern, a pickax and two shovels. And we mustn't be seen coming in with them. Our only real danger is from the Puerto Marques natives. You know how they are about outsiders. If they think we're coming to take anything away from their land, they're capable of killing us."
Peter's blue eyes grew round with incredulity, but Tony knew that what Chico said was true. The people of Puerto Marques were very jealous of their small bay village and of its traditions. Outsiders who overstepped their rights were ruthlessly dealt with. Although Tony and Chico had spent enough time there so that their mere presence would arouse no suspicion, nevertheless even they would not be allowed to go around unmolested if they were armed with machetes and shovels.
"I can get the machete and a lantern," Tony said, "if you can get the other stuflF."
Chico nodded. "I'll get them. And I think I can borrow the launch I'm working on now. We'll have to buy the gasoline, of course. I beUeve we should take our skin-diving masks. That way it will look more natural. We'll leave about three o'clock and really do some skin diving till nearly dark. Then we can hide the boat in one of the coves, take the tools and go to the site."
Tony looked at him. "You seem to have everything all worked out."
Chico grinned. "Well, I haven't been thinking of anything else for the last week!"
The waiter came with the check as the boys were completing their plans. It was dusk by now and Tony suddenly jumped up.
"I've been so far away," he said ruefully, "for a minute I almost forgot it's New Year's Eve. We're having a small fiesta at the house tonight and they'll be wondering where I am. Do you want to come, Chico? Pedro is coming."
Chico shook his head. "It will be better if we don't see each other until Wednesday. I'll be around, early that morning, to check with you."
"Okay."
The three boys left the restaurant and stood for a moment on the street, excitement and conspiracy binding them together, making them reluctant to part.
Then Chico broke the spell by saying rudely, "You're not going with us Wednesday, gringo. Three is too many —attracts too much attention."
"He is not going with us," Tony said quietly, "but for another reason."
"Tony!" Peter's voice was stunned with disappointment.
Chico interrupted, satisfied that things were going his way, "Well, I'm ofiF now, Tony. See you Wednesday."
Tony nodded and watched the short boy disappearing into the darkness.
"I guess I won't go to the fiesta, after all." Peter's voice was more hurt and angry than Tony had ever heard it. "We aren't such close friends as I thought. You don't trust me!"
"Pedro, you know how I feel about you." Tony put his hand on one of the thin shoulders. "You are my brother. You are the best friend I ever had. But this could be dangerous—maybe very dangerous. I got you in trouble before. I don't want to do it again. Your father trusts me."
"If my father gives permission, will you take me?" Peter's voice was tense.
Tony hesitated. "Your father is hke you are, Pedro— too kindhearted and confiding to know what some of our people can be like when they're aroused. He might let you go, not realizing the danger."
"Probably the most exciting adventure I'd ever have in my Life!" Peter said bitterly. "You have to let me go, Tony! I'll never forgive you if you don't."
Tony sighed, remembering the way Peter had been working to help him.
"All right," he said slowly, "but if anything bad happens to you, amigo, I'm the one who would never forgive myself!"
Peter pounded Tony's back in happy relief. "Nothing
will happen," he said. "We either find the treasure or we don't, that's all. I'll go home now, Tony, and put on a clean shirt for the party. See you later!"
In spite of the fact that he was late, Tony did not go home immediately. He walked across to the docks and stood looking at the still, dark mirror of the bay. Chills of excitement kept running through him. Common sense told him not to hope; yet he could not help hopin
g.
At the same time, he was filled with uneasiness. Uncle Juan would not approve of this method of getting money, if he knew of it. Tony didn't really approve of it himself. But if money was so important, what difference did it make how he got it, so long as he didn't steal it or hurt anyone else in getting it?
As he turned to go home, his feeling of apprehension was suddenly increased as he saw a familiar figure watching him from across the boulevard. Lencho was standing in front of the restaurant where the boys had laid their plans!
As Tony stood staring, the figure disappeared quickly around the corner of the building onto another street.
What was Lencho doing there, watching him? Could he have heard anything about the treasure hunting? The boys had been seated in the middle of an empty restaurant and had kept their voices low. No, probably Lencho had just happened along now and had noticed Tony on the docks. There was no doubt that he was waiting for an opportune moment to finish the fight that had started on the beach, but Tony wasn't too worried about that. He felt he could take care of himself.
Just the same, it was an odd coincidence that his glass-
bottomed boat enemy should be standing right there, in that particular spot. . . .
As Tony started up the slope toward home, he could hear the New Year's Eve firecrackers popping already, and he smelled the pungent odor of the smoke. This would go on, increasing in volume, until at midnight the deafening clamor of rockets, church bells, boat whistles and pistol shots ushered in the new year.
What would the new year hold for him? Tony wondered. Perhaps this treasure-hunting expedition would make all the difference! This was his last chance for big money. It had to work out!
Treasure of Acapulco Page 9