The Boy Scout Treasure Hunters; Or, The Lost Treasure of Buffalo Hollow

by Charles Henry Lerrigo

  CHAPTER V

  TREACHEROUS INDIANS AT BUFFALO LAKE

  It was a couple of days later before Mr. William Spencer (sometimesknown to his fellow citizens as Jolly Bill) fully explained to Glen themethod by which he hoped to increase their fortunes. He had taken Gleninto his home, had fed and provided for him and had given him someclothing. An automobile had brought them the twenty miles of theirjourney, early that morning, and had left them with their belongings atthe house of a farmer, with whom Spencer was evidently on the best ofterms. Now they stood on a knoll overlooking what seemed to Glen to benothing but an immense field of growing corn.

  "There is our fortune," said Spencer.

  "That field of corn?" asked Glen.

  "That is Buffalo Hollow and I repeat that there lies our fortune."

  "And how are we to get it?"

  "That is your job. That's why I brought you."

  "What do you expect me to do. Take a spade and dig?"

  "Perhaps! We shall see. Sit down while I tell you about this place.Buffalo Mound, over there, is the highest ground in this country. Fromits summit you can see into six counties. This big field before us isBuffalo Hollow. When I was a little chap I was told a great story aboutthis by an old Indian. He said that years ago the Hollow was a beautifullake fed by springs from Buffalo Mound. Some freighters carrying bullioncamped here and were slaughtered by Indians. To hide the bullion untilthey could dispose of it they threw it in the lake. When they returnedthey could not find it readily, so they dammed the springs and drainedthe lake. Makes quite a romantic story, doesn't it?"

  "Yes, but did it ever happen?"

  "I believe there is some record of such a thing, but my private opinionis that the draining was done by some stingy owner who had little usefor a lake and thought he saw an opportunity to secure twenty acres ofgood bottom land. Probably he thought he was a great economist. But as amatter of fact he did a very foolish thing. This prairie country ispoverty stricken so far as lakes and woods are concerned. In the town Ilive in there are many wealthy men who take their families longdistances every summer in order to reach a lake. A twenty acre lake isonly a pool in the lake country, but out here it is worth more than agold mine."

  "And you think if you could make it a lake again you could sell it tothese wealthy people?"

  "I know I could. I know an athletic club in town that would pay a bigprice for it. There are many of our wealthy men who would pay fivehundred dollars for a hundred foot frontage, so that they might put upbungalows for summer residences. My plan is to find those chokedsprings, bring them again into their old channels, and convert theHollow into a lake. Mr. Ryder, our farmer friend who now owns this farm,doesn't think much of my plan, and won't have anything to do with it anymore than to sell me options on the land and the privilege of cuttingthis excellent stand of corn, and that is as far as my arrangements withhim extend."

  "And what is the first thing for me to do?" asked Glen.

  "Excellent talk, that, my boy. What would you advise as to the firstthing."

  "I suppose you can't do much exploring while the corn stands. It shouldbe cut."

  "It should, and it must be cut in the old fashioned way. Did you evercut corn in the old fashioned way?"

  "You mean with a corn-knife. I helped cut a hundred acres at the schoollast fall."

  "Well, there's only about five acres of this land in corn so thecontract is smaller. The first thing is to borrow a corn-knife of ourfriend Ryder."

  Glen's attack upon the field of corn began that very day. A year ago, atthe reform school, he had hated this work; now, he enjoyed it. The cornwas higher than his head, and the heavy stalks, piled on his left arm ashe cut with his right, wore through his shirt and made an attempt uponhis skin, but he did not complain. He was doing a work into which hisheart entered, and so he was enjoying it.

  Spencer could give no help at all. There are people, with likemisfortune to his, who are able to make some sort of a shift withcrutches, but Will could not use them at all. As Mrs. Spencer hadexplained to Glen, there had been some trouble in the amputation. Allthat was needed was money to go to a famous hospital and have thingsproperly arranged and a pair of artificial legs fitted that would enablehim to walk, run, race, dance or play the pipe organ. Will hoped to besuccessful enough to command the money for this and meantime he intendedto be happy in the prospect. So he sat and watched Glen work, madesuggestions, cracked jokes and drew diagrams of the surrounding country.

  The day that Glen finished his work was very hot. He had been workinghard in the hope of completing the job by nightfall and was wet andgrimy with perspiration and dirt. As he carried an armful of stalks tothe shock he noticed a boy standing there dressed in a khaki uniform ofolive drab.

  "Wouldn't you like a little help?" asked the boy.

  "I could use some," said Glen. "But I have only one knife."

  "You rest, then, and let me use it awhile. I know how to cut corn."

  "You'll spoil your pretty suit."

  "This kind doesn't spoil. It's a scout uniform."

  "Perhaps it won't spoil for as long as you'll work," said Glen. "Whatare you doing here?"

  "We have a camp around the other side of the Mound. We only cameyesterday or you would have seen some of us before now."

  He was cutting cornstalks with a practised hand and Glen decided that hecould trust him.

  "You can go ahead for awhile. I'll go over and see what my partnersays," he agreed.

  "There's a boy scout over there," he told Spencer. "He wanted to helpcut a piece, so I let him. Do you mind?"

  "Not a bit. I'd like to get a whole troop of boy scouts to help. Theyought to be some good at our game."

  "There is a troop of them camped the other side of the mound, this boysays. Maybe we could get them to help."

  Spencer straightened himself in his seat.

  "Bright idea, Glen. To-night you shall push Jolly Bill and the oldbilly-cart over there, and we'll give them a chance to do a good turn."

  Glen went back to where the scout was working.

  "That's enough," he said. "You've given me quite a rest. We're comingover to see you to-night."

  "I hope you will," the scout replied. "My father is the scout master andI know he'll be glad to have you come. His name is Newton."

  "I suppose you get along with the same name?" suggested Glen.

  "I surely do. And my other name is Corliss, but the fellows call meApple."

  "Why's that. Is it your round face and red cheeks?"

  "No. I couldn't help looking that way and the boys wouldn't throw it upto me. No, sir; they started to call me Core, then Apple-core, and sodown to Apple."

  "It's a good name for you," said Glen. "Did I tell you I'd be bringingmy partner over this evening, too?"

  "He's welcome. It's in our articles, you know. 'A scout is friendly.'"

  "Well, don't forget to ask him to tell some stories. Then you'll be gladwe came."

  "We'll be glad, anyway," said Apple, politely, as he turned away. WhenGlen learned to know him better he found this sunny cheer and gentlecourtesy to be characteristic of him at all times and places.

  It was no easy job to propel the old "billy-cart" over the fields, butGlen managed it. The scouts were just getting together for their eveningcamp-fire. They were all attracted by the queer vehicle and its jollyoccupant and cheerfully and noisily responded to the introductions givenby Apple Newton. Mr. Newton, the scout master, was just such a gentlemanas one might expect Apple to have for a father and cordially welcomedboth Spencer and Glen to their fellowship.

  A hint from Apple Newton that Mr. Spencer was a teller of stories drewforth a wild clamor from the boys for his services. His first story, afunny one, brought forth delirious applause--a "side-splitter" theyvoted it. Then he told them a story of adventure which held themspell-bound. They clamored yet for more.

  "Only one," stipulated the scout master. "It will soon be time to turnin."

  "Then I will tell you a short st
ory about this country, but I cannotvouch for its truth. First I must tell you that I grew up a mile or twofrom here. There are still some Pottawatomie Indians here occasionally,I saw one yesterday. When I was a small boy there was quite a colony--anumber who never had gone onto the reservation. I knew some of the oldmen pretty well and one of them used to tell me stories. The mostremarkable story he ever told was the story of Buffalo Lake. Years agothe place now known as Buffalo Hollow was a twenty acre lake. Lakes ofany size are so rare in this country that even one of twenty acres issure to be preserved in tradition, so there is plenty of record toverify this part of his story. The remainder may be true. He insistedthat it was.

  "It was late in the evening of a hot day. The freighters had beenpushing along their tired horses for the last three hours, with theireyes steadfastly set on a clump of trees ahead--probably this clump inwhich we sit. When they reached the trees they no longer needed them forshade, for the sun had already set, but they were none the less glad oftheir leafy branches, glad of the green grass, glad of the coolingwaters of the lake. They could scarcely restrain their tired but eageranimals from plunging in as they were, and dragging their loads along,and once the harness was released the beasts made a wild dash for thewater and reveled in its coolness. The men themselves lost no time instripping off their clothing and taking the first swim of their trip.They swam and larked and sported until they were not only refreshed andrested but actually tired again. Then they ate a plentiful supper,spread their blankets around the treasure wagons and soon slept thesleep of exhaustion. Even the watch slept, for he, too, had borne theburden of the day and worn himself with the frolic of the evening. Hefelt no need of special caution for they were now in territoryconsidered safe.

  "But the Indians had been following them for many days, eager for suchan opportunity. They dreaded as well as hated these plainsmen. They hadnot dared to attack them on the open prairie. But now, one dark formafter another slipped noiselessly from tree to tree, and very soon everytree sheltered a savage form and made cover for the marksmanship of anIndian brave in feathers and war-paint.

  "I don't dare to tell you the rest of this story as the old Pottawatomietold it to me, for it is near bedtime and these are the very treesbetween which the ghostly, ghastly figures flitted in the darkness. Itis all past and gone now and you need have no fear. You boys on theouter edge who are crowding up to the light of the camp-fire are just assafe as the fellows in the middle. The thing to interest you is what theIndians did with the bullion, after they had massacred its guardians.

  "There is a government record that such a massacre actually occurred andthat the bullion has never been recovered. The old Indian said thatbeing unable to take the treasure away they rowed it out in the lake andburied it in its waters. They were chased out of the country and it wasyears before they dared to venture back. Then they tried to regain thetreasure but without success. As a final measure they dammed up thesprings and drained the lake. But the treasure was not there and so faras known it has never been found. What has become of it!"

  A moment of deep silence followed.

  "Supposing they didn't put it in the lake at all? Supposing they hid itin a cave?"

  It was Apple Newton who spoke and his speaking was the signal for aperfect babel of suggestions and guesses.

  Spencer held up his hand for silence.

  "I did not come here to search for this bullion; but I feel sure that itdid exist and that it may exist yet. Your scout master has invited me tostay with you for a week. I will tell you all that I know about thecountry, and you will help me as much as possible in getting about. Wewill hunt for this treasure. I try to be generous, so I will say thatthe scout finding it may keep it."

  "I have a word to add," said Mr. Newton. "In this treasure hunt we musthave system. Every scout desiring to enter will choose the section whichhe thinks most favorable, draw a map of it and present it for ourapproval. Afterwards he will give a full report of all his actions, howhe has gone to work and what he has noted."

  And then came a third speaker who had been expected by no one. Hestepped from behind a tree, and to the eyes of the boys he was tall anderect and to some of their eyes he wore feathers and war-paint.

  "Boys hunt gold! Boys hunt heap stone!" he said and disappeared.