Hunting for Treasure
The red ball of sun was sinking fast toward the faint horizon line that separated violet sea from sky. It made a gold path between the two low mountain ranges that embraced the Bay of Puerto Marques.
Tony took a quick look at the sky as Chico smrfaced from a dive beside the launch where he and Peter were sitting.
"I think that's enough diving," he said in a low voice. "Surely everyone on the beach has seen us here now, innocently whiHng away an afternoon. Besides, they'll know it's too dark to skin dive now, anyhow. Let's go over toward Mayahua Cove and throw out a fishing line. Then, as soon as it gets a little darker, we'll ease the launch around the point and hide it. Everyone will think we've gone back to Acapulco."
Chico grunted and climbed into the launch without answering. He was in an ugly mood. He'd been surly ever since Tony had insisted that Peter go with them. He seemed to think that three boys would attract ten times as much attention as two. But Tony had refused
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to go without his American friend and Chico had had to give in, ungraciously.
Chico was nervous, Tony could see. Well, he was a little nervous himself but he didn't intend to show it! He glanced at Peter. He didn't believe his gringo friend was nervous but he certainly was excited!
Ever since Chico had shown them the parchment map that old Adan had given him, Peter had hardly been able to contain himself. Tony knew how he felt. There weren't many boys who had a chance to hunt for treasure, these days, guided by a parchment map. Not even in Acapulco!
From the moment they had seen the map, with its queer drawings of the lagoon and the trees and the faded, ancient-looking, wrongly spelled labelings in Spanish, the whole project had begun to seem more real to both Tony and Peter. Tony had begun to hope. Before that, he had entered into the scheme simply because there might be a chance, and he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Now he found himself actually counting on it, in spite of all the warnings of his cautious nature.
The three of them were sitting in silence as the launch chugged slowly toward Mayahua Cove. Tony finally spoke, to hghten the tension.
"When we stop outside the cove, let's have another look at that map, Chico," he suggested. "Before the daylight goes. Afterward it'll be too dark to see it well, even with a lantern."
Chico nodded grudgingly and kept his eyes on the water ahead. Tony winked at Peter and shrugged his
shoulders, indicating in pantomime that there was nothing to be done about Chico's bad humor but that he, Tony, was glad to have his friend along.
Peter closed one of his blue eyes in an answering wink. They understood each other perfectly.
"The sun's gone," Peter said after a moment, in a low voice. "I've thought, these last three days, that this moment would never come!"
Tony grinned a little. "But we have to pretend to fish for a while," he warned. "All these precautions probably seem foolish to you, Pedro. But you don't know these people over here. They don't want anyone treasure hunting in their village, or anywhere near it! And they can get very nasty about it."
"Why don't you say it right out," Chico put in impatiently. "They usually murder people they find dig-
"I don't care much for that word." Tony kept his voice calm. "Throw the line over—and then let's have a look at that map."
Chico cast an anxious eye toward the beach, but it was practically deserted now, in the gathering dusk. A few people who owned refreshment stands were cleaning up after the day's business. No one seemed at all interested in the launch out by the cove. Chico took the slender cyfinder of parchment from a cloth bag and unrolled it carefully. The three boys bent over it.
"This is approximately where we are now," Tony said, indicating a spot on the map. "We can beach the boat on a little strip of sand around this point here. There's a trail that goes part way up Diamond Mountain and then
forks, with one path going on back to the lagoon behind the village."
"I know," Chico broke in impatiently. "I've been on that path. It will bring us out about here." He pointed to a spot on the thin parchment. "Then we'll have about half a kilometer to walk along the lagoon, to where the two amate trees are. Near those two trees there are directions on a rock. Old Adan told me how to decipher them."
"Okay," Tony said, his voice shaking a little. "Put the map away. I guess we don't need it any more."
They sat for a few minutes in silence, waiting for deeper dark, each boy so occupied with his own thoughts that they all jumped when Chico felt a pull on his Hne and began to draw it in.
"Throw it back," Tony said in a low voice. "This is once we don't want to bother with fish."
At last, satisfied that they could no longer be seen from the shore, Tony and Chico paddled softly around the point, not daring to use the motor now. In a few minutes they had pulled the boat high on a tiny, hidden beach and were gathering together the equipment they had brought.
"We can't use the lantern until we reach the rock," Chico said. "It's dangerous enough, even then."
"I brought along a little pencil flashlight of my father's," Peter whispered, even the whisper betraying his excitement. "If I shield it with my hand, they can't see it from shore, and it will give us a little Hght, anyway."
"Didn't I tell you three heads were better than two?" Tony reminded Chico. "That was a good idea, Pedro!"
Chico said nothing.
"You know the path," Tony said. "You go first with the machete and lantern, then Pedro with the flashhght and the pickax. I'll come last with the shovels."
In that order they started up the trail, single file. There was little brush to clear away here and they made good time until they reached the fork. One path, fairly open, went on up over the mountain. The other one, leading back down to the lagoon, was not much used, and now the boys had to stop every few minutes while Chico hacked away at the lush foliage that grew in thick tangles over the hillside and down to the water, even dipping into the sea. There were giant ferns, creeping lianas, and there was a strong odor of night-blooming jasmine, along with the more rank odors of tropical jungle.
The breeze had dropped at sunset and even here, on an elevation above the water, the night was suddenly sultry. Tony could feel the perspiration trickling down under his open shirt and he knew that Chico, wielding the machete up ahead, must be even warmer. He pushed past Peter.
"I'll take my turn with the machete," he whispered to Chico. "I know the path well enough."
"I'll do it," Chico answered shortly. "You keep a watch behind us."
It was impossible to watch much, Tony thought, when you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Peter was keeping the tiny light of his flashlight trained ahead, to help Chico.
Tony dropped back again, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder. "How does it go, amigo? Not frightened?"
"No," Peter breathed. "I'm so glad you brought me, Tony!"
"Don't talk!" Chico hissed, although his machete was inevitably making more noise than the boys' hushed voices.
A few minutes later, Chico stopped so abruptly that Peter ran into him. "Did you feel a temblor?" he asked in a shaky voice.
Tony couldn't resist teasing him. "You think we're going to have an earthquake for our treasure hunting, instead of thunder and lightning in the dry season?" he asked mildly.
Chico went on without answering.
Tony had felt the earth tremble slightly but it didn't bother him. Light tremors were common in Acapulco. What did bother him was a feeling he had had for several minutes that they were being followed.
Imagination! he scoffed at himself. The whole setup invited your mind to play tricks on you.
But a moment later the feeling came again, more strongly. He put his hand ahead to touch Peter's arm, and then found Chico's.
"Wait," he said, in a voice so soft that it might have been the sighing of the trees. "Wait a minute and put out your light, Pedro."
The three boys stood motionless in
the darkness. A twig snapped somewhere, far back, and then the silence was complete except for the faint sound of a brook gtirgling in the distance, the patter of night things moving through the jungle, the whir of insects.
"What was it?" Chico whispered.
"Nothing, I guess."
Tony strained his ears. He could not hear the following steps now, but he had the impression that they had stopped, too, when that twig snapped. He had a strong feeling that there was something behind them on the path—some distance behind. It might be only a small animal—but would an animal be as stealthy as that?
However, there was no stopping now. If someone was behind them, they were cut oflF from the boat. By going on, they could, if they had to, fling their tools in the brush, cut over toward the village and hope to look as though they had been on an innocent hike.
"Let's hurry," he said, as calmly as he could. "Never mind the lianas, Chico. We'll duck them. Don't do any more chopping than you have to."
They went on more quickly, pushing through the jungle growth which seemed to reach out long fingers and grab at them in the darkness, scratching their faces and arms. Perspiration was streaming from them and the insects were a constant irritation.
"It can't be far now," Tony panted.
Physical discomfort had almost made him forget his sensation that they were being followed. Then, during a pause when they stopped for breath, he heard it again: barely distinguishable, furtive sounds on the path behind them.
"I think we're being followed," he whispered to the other two boys. "Let's run for it. Once we get to the lagoon, perhaps we can lose them."
Ten minutes later they arrived, breathless, at the edge of the swamp, among the mangrove trees. They stopped
and listened. There was no sound now, except the occasional trickling of water over the great roots of the trees, and the wild singing of mosquitoes. The heat here was suffocating, like a physical thing bearing down on them.
As they hesitated, they could feel another faint trembling of the earth beneath them. Chico stiffened.
"Man, I've never felt it so hot in my entire Iffe!" he muttered. "And so still! Not a breath of air. Let's get this over with! HaH a kilometer to the right, now—"
It was on the tip of Tony's tongue to taunt Chico with being scared, but he thought better of it and turned to Peter instead.
"How you doing, Pedro?" he whispered.
"Okay!" Peter's voice was shaking with excitement but there was no fear in it, and Tony was proud of his friend's courage.
They started off on a faint trail that followed the winding of the lagoon. But it was rough going. The big trees closed like a ceiling above them, blotting out the friendly sky and stars. The twisting roots of the mangroves made a hopeless tangle under their feet. All of them stumbled constantly, and once Chico went sprawling into the slimy lagoon and came up gasping and furious, covered with evil-smelling mud.
"Caramha" he spluttered. "If I had known it was like this-"
The haff kilometer seemed interminable. Strange vapors rose from the surface of the swamp. From time to time they could see gleaming pairs of small fiery eyes-belonging to what creatures?
Tony told himself that he wasn't afraid. But this place was certainly a lot different at night than it was by day! He took off his shirt, mopped his streaming face and chest, and then put it on again as protection against the insects.
Chico had taken Peter's pencil flashlight and was vainly searching for the two amate trees which were the signposts to the hidden treasure.
"We must have missed them," he muttered savagely. "Seems to me we've come at least four kilometers."
"Well, we haven't," Tony contradicted. "It just seems that way because the walking's so hard. They must be right along here somewhere."
They stumbled around in the tangled growth for another half hour. Tony sensed that Chico was about ready to give up the whole expedition. But he himself didn't intend to back out now, not after they had come this far!
"Stay here a minute and rest," he whispered to Chico and Peter, taking the flashlight from Chico's hand. "Let me see if I can find them."
For once, Chico was in agreement. Without a word, he sat down wearily on a mangrove root and leaned back against the tree.
"I'm going with you," Peter murmured.
Tony started to object, but then he took his friend's hand and the two of them carefully explored the surroundings. Within five minutes, Tony had located the amate trees and shortly afterward they found a slab of rock with strange markings on it.
"This must be it!" he said jubilantly.
They went back for Chico, whose short rest seemed to have revived him. And a few minutes later, after hghting the lantern, they were deciding on the exact spot to dig.
While they were clearing the place of underbrush with the machete they heard a strange sound, like a distant nmible.
"WJmt was that?" Chico's voice was terrified. He stood paralyzed, the machete motionless in his raised hand. Even Tony felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.
They stood listening for several minutes. It was eerie! The rumbling beneath them . . . the lantern light elongating the shadows and making the surroundings beyond the circle of illumination seem even blacker. . . .
"Come on," Peter said finally. "Let's dig."
Chico neither moved nor spoke for another minute, but finally he began working again, with some reluctance.
They had cleared the ground and had removed the first few shovelfuls of soft earth when suddenly, without warning, several figures jumped on them from behind. Chico let out a wild scream, and Tony's heart bounced crazily.
It was soon evident that these were no supernatural spirits. They weren't Puerto Marques natives, either, guarding their village from treasure seekers. Tony, struggling furiously with whoever—or whatever—had pinioned his arms from behind, immediately recognized an ugly voice that said, "Let me at him! Tonv's mine!"
So it was Lencho and his pals who had been following them!
Somehow his old enemy had found out where they
were going and had followed, probably with a double purpose: to even his score with Tony and to latch onto the treasure for himself. To ensure success, he had brought enough reinforcements to outnumber the three boys.
Tony's hps curled in contempt for Lencho's cowardice, even as he felt a smashing blow to his cheek. Jerking one arm loose with a quick, ducking movement, he lashed out blindly in front of him, but he missed. It was impossible to see anything. The lantern had been knocked over in the scuffle and had gone out, though he could hear Chico's babbling fury, exclamations of unknown voices and the continuous sound of blows.
Outnumbered and exhausted as they were, there was little doubt as to who would win this time, he thought in despair. He had really gotten Peter into trouble now!
Then, just as a sixth sense made him duck a fist that was aimed at his eye, everything seemed to break loose! There was a deep, menacing rumble such as they had heard before, but much louder now. And immediately the ground under their feet began to oscillate slowly.
"Temblor!" It was Lencho's voice, this time, that rose to a shrill shriek.
All the boys stood paralyzed for a moment, the fight temporarily forgotten, in the face of this ominous threat from natin-e. While they stood, it came again—the uncanny rumble and an even stronger jolt. In the distance they could hear dislodged rocks from the mountains splashing into the sea.
"It's a warning!" Lencho cried in panic. "I'm getting out of here!"
His henchmen evidently agreed. There was a sudden wild scramble through the brush, and then the dip of paddles.
So they had followed along the lagoon in a canoe, Tony thought, with one part of his brain. That was how they had made such good time.
But there was something more important on his mind than how they had come—and gone. "Pedro!" he called urgently. "Where are you? Are you all right?"
"I'm all right." For the first time since Tony had known him, Pe
ter's voice was a little shaken and scared. "They just held me down. It was you Lencho was after."
"And me!" Chico's voice came out of the darkness, filled with abject fear. "But Lencho was right—this is a warning! No more digging for me! I'm going—just as soon as they get far enough away so they don't all jump me in the dark!"
"Well, I'm not," Tony said, so relieved nothing had happened to Peter that the rest of it seemed unimportant. "That was just a coincidence—that quake coming right then. It's got nothing to do with our digging. Since we're here, we're going to find that treasure, if there is any!"
Chico protested violently but in the end he stayed— probably because he was afraid to go back alone, Tony thought.
It was the mangrove roots that made the digging all but impossible, they discovered. The earth itself was soft, but the far-spreading, tough roots grew in a wild tangle, below the ground as well as above it. For the next hour, the three boys worked harder than they had ever worked in their hves, chopping frantically with
machete and pickax until the blades were dulled, and then pulling at the roots with their bare hands. Perspiration ran from them in rivers.
"We'd have done better to bring a saw," Chico said finally, with deep disgust. He was still edgy and he stopped every few minutes to listen. But the earth seemed to have settled down to normal. Besides the usual jungle noises, there were no sounds other than those they were making.
They had gone down about five feet and even Tony was almost ready to give up when suddenly, as he swung the pick, it contacted something hard, with a ring of metal.
"We've struck something!"
Galvanized into new life, their weariness forgotten, the three boys began to dig like mad.
It was a frenzied half hour before they were able to uncover enough of a small corroded metal chest to dig the rusted cover off with the pickax.
His hands trembling with excitement, Tony picked up the lantern and held it over the now lidless iron box.
Grinning up at them was a skull!
Treasure of Acapulco Page 10