Forbidden Cargoes

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XIII A THOUSAND PEARLS

  Pant's knees trembled a little as his feet splashed in that bubblingstream that coursed its way through the dreadful Maya cave. It had beenstrange, the entering of this supposedly haunted cave, with companions.How much more awe inspiring to be entering it alone!

  He wondered about those companions of that other adventure. Who was thisson of a rich man? What had brought him into the jungle? Where was henow?

  As these and many other questions crowded his mind, he made his waycautiously through the outer passages to find himself standing once moreon the shore of that curious inland lake which had filled their mindswith curiosity on that other visit and so inspired them with fear.

  He found everything as it had been. The placid surface, sending back aglowing reflection of his light, broke into a thousand ripples as hewaded knee deep in its icy waters.

  "Clear," was his mental comment. "Can see my toes. What a marvelousreservoir for supplying a city's drinking water! What a pity there is nocity near!"

  He had waded back to the glistening sands of the beach when, of a sudden,he found his being vibrant to a great expectancy.

  "What can it be?" he asked himself. Instantly the answer came.

  "The canoe! The canoe on the shore," he told himself. Strange how one'snervous system responds to outer things that his mind does not recall.

  "But of course," he assured himself as he neared the spot, "the thingwon't give me the shock it once did. We know now that it has been therefor two hundred years.

  "But wha--"

  His gaze covered a space far in advance of him, many yards beyond thespot where the canoe had stood.

  "Gone!" he muttered, stopping dead in his tracks. "The canoe is gone!"

  Who can say which shock was the greater, the first sudden discovery ofthe canoe that other time, resting on the beach of this underground lake,or the present astonishing revelation that had come to him?

  For a moment he experienced great difficulty in restraining his feet.They appeared ready to carry him back to the entrance. Something withinhim, an echo of the ancient superstition of his ancestors perhaps, seemedto be insisting that after all this cave was haunted by the spirits ofbeings who perished long ago and it was they who had ridden away in themysterious canoe.

  For a moment he wavered. Then reason triumphed. "It was Kirk," he toldhimself. "He has returned with his giant Carib, and for some reason oranother has rowed the canoe to some other part of the lake.

  "Only question is, would the thing float after all these years?

  "Perhaps," he thought, "they did not row it away. That giant of his mayhave put it on his back and carried it outside. What a treasure for somemuseum of antiquity!"

  The thought that some one had been in the cave since he left it wasdisturbing. Could it be that Kirk and his Carib, or whoever it may havebeen, had made a thorough search of the place and had carried away thebox of beaten silver.

  His heart sank at the thought and he hurried on, reproaching himself forhaving waited so long before returning.

  Yet he had been needed every moment at the chicle camp. It was a greatseason. The trees were prime, the rainfall abundant. He and hisgrandfather, with the faithful Caribs, had been working day and night.One long, low, palm-thatched shed was already piled high with bricks ofchicle.

  "By and by the season will end, then we will have won," he told himselfnot realizing that the chicleros' battle is never won until his bricks ofchicle are aboard a steamer bound for the United States. Then, and nottill then, are his worries at an end.

  Pant had dared snatch a day for this adventure. And here he was. Hopevied with fear for a place in his heart as he hurried over the sandtoward the entrance to the treasure chamber that might yield a greatfortune or offer blank and broken walls to his eager searching gaze.

  He climbed the water washed rocks with his heart thumping lustily againsthis ribs. He entered the small chamber above with the feeling of one whoenters some ancient temple at night.

  With one quick swing he swept the walls with his keen eyes, then with alow murmured, "Gone!" he sank upon the wet rocks.

  Courage and hope conquered disappointment. Rising to his feet, he foundhimself ready for a more thorough search.

  Back behind a tumbled pile of broken bits of rock, thrown in a heap bythe earthquake, he caught the dull gleam of some object that was notrock.

  With breathless eagerness he attacked the jagged pile. Ten minutes later,with a cry of triumph on his lips, he lifted the beaten silver box fromits hiding place.

  "Strange!" he murmured. "Still locked. Scarcely a dent in it."

  Holding it before him, he shook it vigorously. A rattling sound was theresponse. His heart raced wildly.

  Mopping the perspiration from his brow, he began studying the fasteningsthat held the cover to its place. There were seven of these. Six weremere clasps that lifted in response to a pry of his clasp knife blade.The seventh, a true lock, resisted vigorously. A sharp blow from thesmall axe that hung from his belt, severed this and the lid flew up, toreveal such a glistening nest of pink, blue and white pearls as is givento few eyes to see.

  "Pearls!" he murmured, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. "A thousandpearls. A king's ransom!"

  Then chancing to remember a story he had read as a small boy, he said, "Iwonder if they will turn to rough stones and worthless leaves when Ireach the sunlight."

  This thought troubled him little. The pearls were real enough. Once thesix clasps were back in their places, he felt sure enough of being ableto bring the box and its contents to the light of day.

  "But when I have done this," he thought to himself, "to whom will theybelong? To me?"

  This problem he considered long and earnestly. The land on which he hadfound this treasure was wild and rough. No one laid claim to it. Butthere was the story of the first Don and his beaten silver box of pearls.Was this the box? Were these the pearls? Did they belong by directinheritance to that last of the Dons who lived now at the foot of themountain?

  "Seems probable," he told himself. "But after all," he concluded, "thereal question now is not their ownership, but how are they to be broughtsafely from this heart of a jungle to the centers of civilization where athousand pearls may be offered for sale in safety and with a reasonablehope that one may find a buyer. The old Don could never do this. It mustbe my task."

  Having come to this conclusion, he bound the box in a stout brown canvasbag he had brought for the purpose, then began retracing his steps overthe way that led to the outer air and sunshine.

  Hugging the treasure, he made his way into the chamber of the undergroundlake. Many and strange were the sensations that passed over him. At timeshe seemed to hear the cry of terror that escaped the giant Carib's lipsas his mind became possessed with fear for the earth god of the Mayas.Unconsciously he found himself looking back, as if expecting to befollowed and overtaken by some unseen force that would wrest the treasurefrom him. Such was the spell of the Maya cave.

  At times he fancied that the earth beneath his feet was beginning totremble and shudder as once it had. He redoubled his speed. But in theend, he knew that this was pure fancy. The water that glimmered at hisside was as still as a forest pool at midnight.

  He fell to wondering about the canoe that had stood so long by thewater's brink. "Who can have been here? Who could have taken it?" heasked himself.

  As he asked himself this question, his foot struck some object that, inthe silence of the cave, gave off a dry and hollow sound. Leaping back,he threw his flashlight upon the spot.

  "A paddle," he murmured, "from the ancient boat."

  "Strange they didn't take that with them," he thought after a momentspent in examining it. "Oh well, since they did not, I will. It iselaborately carved and mounted with metal. Looks like gold. A splendidkeepsake."

  Having picked up the paddle, he threw the light of his torch about him inevery direction. Off to the rig
ht, further up from the beach, some otherobject cast dark shadows on the sand. An exclamation escaped his lips ashe came close to it.

  "A broken bit of a canoe!" he whispered.

  Then like a flash it all came to him. "No one has been here," he toldhimself. "The canoe has not been carried away. It was wrecked by thegreat wave caused by the earthquake."

  For a moment he stood gazing upon the bit of ancient wreckage. Then,suddenly realizing that it was growing late, that it was already darkoutside the cave, he hurried on.

  Darkness had indeed fallen when he reached the outer world of the jungle.This did not trouble him much. He had flashlights and a lantern. Therewas a trail leading directly to their camp. He would be there in twohours.

  "And then," he thought, "what am I to do with this box of pearls? Thereare men enough in this wild land who would split my head open for muchless than this. They must not know."

  As he made his way through the underbrush, now listening to the distantbark of a crocodile and now catching the puh-puh-puh of a jaguar, hepondered the problem of concealing the treasure and of bringing it safelyto the outside world.

  At last he hit upon what seemed a brilliant idea. The box was the shapeof a brick of chicle, only smaller. When he got to camp he would stuffthe box with dried palm leaves so it would not rattle, then he would wrapit round and round with other palm leaves.

  Having done this, he would remove one of the two bricks of chicle in agunnysack beneath the storing shed and put in its place the beaten silverbox.

  "I will mark that sack with a bit of green thread woven in and out of therough fibre. It will be safe enough until I can decide what to do withit. Does it belong to me, or to the old Don? Guess I better talk it overwith my grandfather. He will know what is right."

  When he arrived at camp he found everyone asleep but one Carib watchman.As soon as he made himself known to the watchman, he inquired for hisgrandfather only to learn that at present his grandfather was away, butwas expected back in the morning.

  When, an hour later, he lay down to rest, the beaten silver box with itspriceless contents lay in a coarse gunnysack beside a brick of chicleworth fifty cents a pound. And about it, above, below, on every side wereother sacks of chicle.

  "I must not let it get out of my sight," he told himself. "I must--" Atthat he fell asleep.

  The journey of the day had been long, his curious experience exhausting.He slept well; too well. When he awoke, the sunlight sifting down throughthe palm leaves shone upon his face.

  His first waking thought was of the beaten silver box. Hurrying into hisclothes, he fairly raced to the storing shed. There his eyes fell uponthat which left him standing motionless, speechless, struck dumb,paralyzed with fear.

  "Gone!" he whispered feebly at last. "The whole pile of chicle at thatend is gone, and the silver box with it!"

  "The chicle is gone!" he exclaimed to his grandfather a moment later whenthat old gentleman came into the shed.

  "Yes," his grandfather smiled. "Monago and his band of Caribs came inwith me at dawn from the north corner of the tract for some supplies. Isent them with four pit-pan loads of chicle down the river. They willbring up supplies. The chicle will be shipped at once. I received wordyesterday that the chicle supply was short and that ours should be rushedthrough to meet the demand."

  "Gone!" the boy whispered as he crept away for a few moments of quietthought.