Treasure of Acapulco

by Witton, Dorothy

  And this time they'd find the old man's treasure. They'd give the government its half, required by law, all honest and legal. It should be easy. There shouldn't be much danger at all, with the guard called off. . . .

  His mind absorbed with plans, Tony had almost forgotten about the weather and the marlin by the time the launch returned and slowed down for him. Captain Ruiz had descended from the flying bridge and was now at the controls below.

  "Hop aboard, Tony—fast," the captain called. "The marlin's sulking somewhere below and there's no telling what it'll do next."

  Peter gave him a hand and Tony scrambled aboard, dripping water. Mr. Sutton looked tired and hot, but he turned a beaming smile on the boy.

  "That was fast thinking, Tony—and fast work, tying that line. I'll have you to thank if I catch the biggest fish I've ever even seen!"

  "I was glad to have a dip," Tony smiled. "Cooled me off."

  "There's an extra pair of pants in the locker," Captain Ruiz said. "Better change."

  "Oh, I'll dry in the sun."

  "What sun?" the captain murmured in Spanish. And Tony knew that Captain Ruiz, too, had been observing the change in the sky.

  The marlin continued its gymnastics, first leaping, then boring down in the deep water, trying desperately to rid itself of the hook. Mr. Sutton alternately pumped in a few hundred feet of line and then lost them back again. He was proving himself an able fisherman, but it promised to be a long-drawn-out battle. The fish was so heavy and full of fight that it had to be worked with the utmost care, in order to avoid breaking the line again.

  After another half hour had passed, the water suddenly began to heave with a strange, oily motion. Captain Ruiz and Tony simultaneously looked at the sky.

  "Mr. Sutton." The captain's voice was reluctant. "I hate to tell you but I think we'd better cut that line after all, and get back to port. I don't like the look of the weather."

  The Big Wave

  The American stared at him increduously.

  "Oh, no!" he groaned. "The biggest fish I've seen in my life—on my hne for the second time—and you talk about cutting it!"

  "It hurts me to do it," Captain Ruiz said sadly, "but it may be another hour or so before you could bring it in. And there's something strange going on. Look at the water. We're evidently having some small submarine earthquakes. I've never seen anything just like this, so I don't know what to expect. I can't let you run into possible danger for a fish, no matter how big it is."

  Mr. Sutton looked mournfully at his wife.

  "It's a shame, Bill," she said. "You wanted it so much. But of course we ought to do whatever the captain thinks best."

  Tony and Peter winced, too, as Captain Ruiz slowly brought out his knife and cut the line which set the big marlin free.

  There was no doubt that they should get back. The thirty-four-foot cruiser was now pitching like a peanut shell in the turbulent water.

  157

  Captain Ruiz gunned the motor and ran full speed toward Acapulco. No one spoke until the boat had entered the bay, where the water was more quiet, although it still acted in a somewhat unpredictable fashion.

  The other fishing boats were also returning to port, but instead of trying to dock on the wharf, as usual, they were anchoring out in the bay. Passengers were let down into speedboats and taken to the fishermen's beach in the sheltered curve of the coast.

  "That means the water must be pretty choppy along the docks," Tony said to Peter in a low voice as they all watched the proceedings.

  Captain Ruiz strained his eyes toward shore, looking concerned.

  "I don't like it," he muttered. "I don't like it at all."

  As they came a little nearer, they could hear instructions being called over a loud-speaker near the fishing headquarters.

  "Stay where you are, Albacora, and wait your turn." The voice came thinly over the water. "We'll have your passengers off in a minute."

  Captain Ruiz cut the engine, while Tony translated the instructions for the Suttons.

  "I guess it's a good thing we came back when we did," he added to Mr. Sutton as they watched the unusual activity on the docks, "but I'm sure sorry about that mar-lin, sir."

  The man gave him a melancholy smile. "You did your best to get it for me, Tony. Oh, well, it was only a fish," he sighed. "But what a fish! Looks as though we're going

  to have something else to think about, if these earthquakes keep up."

  In about ten minutes a speedboat came zooming out to the Albacora, and the Suttons were taken off.

  "What's going on, anyway?" Captain Ruiz asked the boy in the small boat. "Does anyone know?"

  "No, sir, nobody knows for sure. But the water is sure acting peculiar—" The boy broke off. "Say, you're Captain Ruiz, aren't you? I was told to report to you that your wffe is quite sick. She was taken to the hospital about two hours ago."

  The captain's face paled under the deep sunburn. "That settles it, then. I was going to stay with the Albacora—just in case—but now I'm going ashore." He jumped into the speedboat. "Throw over both anchors, Tony, and lash down everything you can. You and Pedro be ready to go ashore on the next trip this boy makes."

  Tony shook his head. "I'll stay with the Albacora, Captain," he said quietly. "She's too close in. If this water keeps churning and she should drag the anchors, she might get damaged on the docks."

  The captain was silent for a moment and then he said heavily, "This boat is all I have in the world, to make a living, but I couldn't let you take the risk, Tony. I don't think anything is Hkely to happen in this sheltered bay, but we've never had submarine earthquakes before, so I don't know. Come on, make everything fast and get ready to go ashore."

  It was an order, but still Tony did not move. His eyes traveled quickly over the Albacora. He hadn't realized

  until that moment how much he had come to love the beautiful cruiser, in two short weeks. Even though his job on her would be over, the possibility of having her smashed up on the wharf or on sharp rocks was unbearable to him.

  "Captain, let me stay," he pleaded. "Whatever happens, I'll be all right, away from land. You know better than anyone else that the Albacora is seaworthy."

  Captain Ruiz shook his head, and the boy in the speedboat said impatiently, "Hurry up and decide. I have to get to the other fishing launches as fast as I can."

  "Pedro, you go back with them now," Tony spoke quickly. "Your father will be worried about you."

  "No, he won't. I'm staying with you," Peter said firmly.

  The speedboat runner quickened his motor. "I can't wait all day," he muttered. "We're going now. If you boys want to be taken oflF later, signal, and I'll come back for you."

  "I'll send you back for them," Captain Ruiz said grimly. "Tony—hey, wait a minute!"

  But the boat was already gone, zipping its way to the beach while the captain stood in the stern, looking back at the boys with eyes that were half angry and half troubled.

  Tony sighed. "You should have gone, Pedro. I'm not going to wait for that boat to come back. Captain Ruiz may be mad at me, but he'll get over it. Somehow I just cant leave the Albacora, not knowing what might happen to her."

  "And I wouldn't let you stay out here alone—for anything," Peter said. "We're twins, remember? We'll be

  all right. People are just excited because they've never seen anything just like this before."

  Tony was inclined to agree with him, but just the same he turned the Albacoras nose toward the open sea. If the water should become any rougher, the farther they were from land, the better off they'd be.

  They had almost reached the mouth of the bay when they felt themselves suddenly rising high and fast on an outgoing surge of sea. Taken by surprise, Tony gripped the wheel more tightly, while Peter seized the binoculars, staring inland.

  "Tony!" His voice was awed. "The water's gone out! For about fifty feet out from the docks, you can see the bottom!"

  Tony grabbed the glasses and looked. Peter was right
. It was a strange sight! Small launches normally rocking in ten to twelve feet of water, were now stranded on the dry bottom of the bay. That meant that the speedboats would be grounded, too—so he and Peter couldn't leave the Alhacora even if they wanted to.

  They could hear excited shouts from people on the dock, and the clamor of bells sounding an alarm.

  "Pedro, maybe it's a tidal wave!" Tony said breathlessly. "I remember my father telling about one they had here, when he was a boy. He said the water went out from shore, first, and then in a few minutes a big wave came in and flooded the whole lower part of the town!"

  "Do you think we should stay here, or get out farther?" Peter asked, his voice shaking a little.

  "We should get out," Tony said decisively. "If there's

  a really big wave, we don't want to be where it will break on us. It could smash this boat to kindHng wood! Out farther, we'll probably be able to ride it."

  But even as he turned back to the controls to put on speed, he saw it! From beyond the mouth of the bay, a surge of water was approaching with a slow, ominous movement. It didn't come Hke a breaker but like a huge swell, as though something were pushing it up from below.

  "Throw over the bow anchor—quick!" he yelled to Peter.

  He himself ran to double the mooring lines on the stem anchor; then, racing back to the wheel, he gripped it with all his strength, holding it steady, with the Albacoras nose at a slight angle to the incoming swell. If that surge of sea struck them either broadside or directly head on, there might be nothing left of the Albacora—nor of Peter and himself.

  "Harness yourself into a fishing chair, Pedro, and hold on for dear life!"

  Tony's heart was thundering against his ribs as he watched the thing approach. He couldn't think of it as the familiar sea. It was more Hke some malevolent force from another world. Fascinated, he stood with his eyes glued on it, prepared to turn the engine to full speed the second that it arrived.

  "Here it comes!" he shouted. "Are you all right, Pedro?"

  "All right!" Peter's voice was shrill with excitement. "I'm here, holding onto the rail!"

  Alarmed because Peter had not made himself more secure, Tony half turned to warn him. But it was too late.

  At that moment it came—a great swell that lifted them high into the air. Hanging onto the wheel, Tony felt as though he were soaring on the tail of a kite. It was the strangest sensation he had ever had. The Albacora was lifted like a toy.

  But what he had said to Captain Ruiz was true: the Albacora was one of the few boats in the Acapulco fishing fleet that was built for the open sea. She rode the big wave gallantly. All would have been well, except that as soon as they were pitched down again in the trough of the wave, there was a sudden jerk of a backward undertow, so sharp and unexpected that the Albacora lurched violently, and Peter was taken by surprise. His tight grip on the rail had unconsciously relaxed after the wave had passed, and now he was jolted loose and hurled against the stern. His head struck with a sharp crack, and a second later he had toppled overboard.

  Hearing the thud, Tony turned just in time to see his friend go over and disappear into the heaving water. For a second, he stood paralyzed with horror. Then, with frantic haste, he secured another mooring rope to the stem, tossed the loose end overboard, tore off his shirt in a single movement and dived straight down where Peter had disappeared.

  Ordinarily, it would not have been too difficult to find him, for the water below the surface is usually calm, even during a wind storm. But now, due to the submarine earthquakes, it was full of currents that raised clouds of sand and foam.

  Tony drove down as far and as fast as he could, his

  ears roaring with the pressure. Plowing back and forth under the water, he tried to search as cahnly and thoroughly as possible, but his mind was clouded with sick anxiety. He knew that if Peter had been knocked unconscious by the blow on his head, there was no hope for him. The boy's lungs would fill with water immediately, and he would be drowned by this time. Tony could only pray that the thud had sounded worse than it was, and that Peter had been conscious and breathing when he hit the water.

  Tony stayed under until his lungs were agonized for air and then he surfaced, gasping, to take his bearings. The Alhacora was a good fifty feet away now. It was hard to tell whether she was dragging her anchors, or whether Tony himself had been more buffeted by the currents than he realized.

  Pumping his lungs with air, he went down again, swimming underwater in the direction of the boat but going deeper than before. He felt the pressure surges on his ears and the fleeting thought crossed his mind that he had been forbidden to dive. But it didn't matter now—whether he got a recurrence of the bends, or whether he drowned, looking for Peter.

  He knew only one thing with absolute certainty: he had no intention of going back to Acapulco alone, without his young American friend.

  The second trip under proved as fruitless as the first. Coming up for air again, he was surprised to find that the water was now quite calm. Suddenly, as he scanned the surface, not far away he saw a yellow blob of some-

  thing. Even as he strained his eyes, his heart leaping with hope, it disappeared.

  Somehow certain that what he had seen was Peter's blond head, Tony swam furiously on the surface for a few feet until he was sure that his sense of direction would carry him straight. Then he clawed his way under and submarined down, his mind carefully calculating the angle where he might hope to intercept Peter—if it uxis Peter's head that he had seen.

  For seconds that seemed hours, his threshing hands contacted nothing. Then, abruptly, his right hand brushed against a soft object. An instant later, with an inner shout of thanksgiving, he had a firm grip on Peter's arm.

  Kicking madly, he swam surfaceward. With one hand under Peter's chin, he forced his winded body into the fastest sprint he had ever demanded of it, toward the Albacora.

  Treading water behind the boat, he swiftly tied the loose Hne he had thrown overboard under Peter's armpits. Then, scrambling aboard himself on the anchor rope, he pulled the inert body of the blond boy after him.

  Every muscle in Tony's body ached, but he was unaware of it. Kneeling in front of Peter, he used the method of artificial respiration which he had learned from the hfeguards on the beach, that of supplementing direct pressure on the lungs with indirect pressure created by rhythmically moving the boy's arms. Thus the cycle was continuous. As he rocked back after pressing on Peter's lungs, he lifted his friend's arms and brought them forward and upward.

  Forward and upward, backward and down. Up—down —up—down. Tony worked like a robot, trying to ignore his numbing fear that it would be of no use—that Peter had been under too long. He clamped down on his teeth which were chattering with strain and nervous exhaustion.

  Forward and upward. Backward and down. . . .

  And at last he was rewarded! Peter's lungs began to take on a faint, ragged rhythm of their own, and his eye-hds fluttered almost imperceptibly. Tony restrained an impulse to shout aloud with joy. Instead, he clamped his teeth tighter and continued his exertions until finally the blond boy's breathing hung on more steadily.

  Suddenly, salt water gushed from Peter's nose and mouth. He half turned over, groaning and retching. Then he lay back and the blue eyes opened.

  Tony leaned against one of the fishing chairs, his weariness washed away in overwhelming relief.

  "You're all right, Pedro!" he shouted happily. "You're going to be okay!"

  Peter nodded, smiling faintly.

  After they had both rested for a few minutes, Tony helped Peter up and put him on one of the cabin bunks, covering him with an old sweater of the captain's which had been left hanging in the locker. Then he searched the tiny galley and was delighted to find half a jar of instant coffee. Heating water on the gasoline stove, he poured it over most of the coffee, and holding Peter's head up, he made him sip it hot and strong.

  "Wow!" Peter's voice was almost normal. "That burned my tongue
, but it was Hke a shot in the arm!"

  Tony grinned. "You're tough, Pedro! You're tougher than I thought!"

  He fixed coffee for himself and felt new life flowing through his veins as he downed it. Then he rummaged around until he found a towel and extra shorts for them both. In dry clothes and fortified with a second cup of coffee, Peter sat up in the bunk, still weak and dazed but looking more like himself every minute. "You saved my Iffe, Tony," he said quietly. "Well, I couldn't very well go back to Acapulco and tell your father I'd thrown you overboard!" Tony grinned, trying to lighten the serious moment.

  "He wouldn't believe you if you did," Peter said soberly. "You know he thinks a lot of you."

  "I can't imagine why he should," Tony said ruefully. "I'm always getting you into trouble. But this was the worst!"

  "You've never gotten me into anything that you haven't gotten me out of," Peter said. He paused and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment.

  "Don't talk, Pedro," Tony urged. "Rest for a while. That was quite a ducking you had!"

  Peter smiled at the understatement. "I don't need to rest my voice," he said, "and I want to tell you something, Tony. You said just now that I'm tougher than you thought. Well, I am. I'm a lot tougher than I was three months ago, and it's because of the outdoor life I've had with you. You see, I had rheumatic fever when I was small, and Dad was afraid I was always going to be sickly. He wants, more than anything, for me to be strong and healthy. So he's grateful to you, see? I didn't

  tell you before because I hate to talk about sickness. I don't like to think about it."

  Tony looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, you are filling out, Pedro. You look like a different boy—except that you're a little pale at the moment!"

  It had happened so gradually that he hadn't really noticed it until just then. Peter had put on weight and his arms, shoulders and legs were well muscled now. His face looked more mature. Burned black from the sun, he looked hke any Acapulco boy, except for the startlingly blue eyes and the sun-bleached hair.