Chapter Thirty.
Found.
My excitement was intense; and all dripping as I was with the icy water, I leaped out on to the sand with the intention of climbing over the barrier out into the bright sunshiny vale, to cut a long, thin bamboo with which to probe the sand in a more satisfactory manner.
Then I stopped short, as the recollection of Tom’s words flashed across my brain. His surmises might be correct; and, cautious as we had been, watchers might have seen our goings and comings, while my stepping out into the vale now to cut a pole would show that I had some particular object in view.
Another minute, though, and with my mind teeming with thoughts of rich ingots, plates, and vessels of gold, I began to consider as to what ought to be my next step. Without testing further I felt that I had been successful—that a wonderful stroke of good fortune had rewarded my efforts; and then, how was I to dig it from its wet, sandy bed and get it safely to the hacienda?
“Tom,” I cried excitedly, “I have not spoken sooner lest you should think me an empty dreamer; but I have found that which I sought.”
“Sure, Mas’r Harry?”
“Well—a—well, yes, nearly, Tom,” I stammered, somewhat taken aback by his coolness; “and now I want you to swear that you will take no unfair advantage of what you have seen or may see in the progress of this adventure.”
“Want me to do what, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom sturdily.
“I want you to swear—”
“Then I ain’t a-going to swear, nor nothing of the kind; so you need not think it. If I ain’t worth trusting send me back; leastwise, you won’t do that, because I sha’n’t go. But, howsoever, I ain’t a-going to go swearing and taking oaths, and, there! be quiet! Look there, Mas’r Harry. Make him swear if you like. No, not that way, more off to the left. Turn your eye just past them three big trees by the lump of rock. That ain’t a deer this time, but some one on the look-out. Two on ’em, that there are!”
I glanced in the pointed-out direction, to see plainly that a couple of Indian heads were strained towards us, as if their owners were narrowly watching for our appearance; though I knew from the gloom beneath the arch where Tom was seated that we must be invisible to any one standing out there in the glow of the bright afternoon sunshine.
What did it mean? Were these emissaries of Garcia watching my every act; or were they descendants of the Peruvian priests possessed of the secret of the buried treasures.
I shrank back farther into the cavern to crouch down, Tom imitating my acts, and together we watched the watchers, who remained so motionless that at times I felt disposed to ask myself whether I had not been mistaken, and whether these were not a portion of one of the rocks.
“It’s no good, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “we must make a rush for it. They’ll stop there for a week, or till we go. ’Tain’t nothing new; there’s always some one after you; and if you’ve found anything I can’t see how you’re going to get it away. Let’s go now, before it gets evening, for they’ll never move till we do.”
“But the—”
“Well, they ain’t obliged to know that we’ve found that, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom smiling. “We don’t know it ourselves yet. What we’ve got to do is to play bold, shoot one or two of the birds as they dodge about farther in, then knock off a few of those pretty bits of white stone hanging from the roof, and they’ll think that we’ve come after curiosities.”
Tom’s advice was so sound that I led the way farther into the cave, where we made the place echo, as if about to fall upon our heads, as we had a couple of shots, each bringing down six of the guacharo birds. Then re-loading, we secured three handsome long stalactites, white and glittering, and thus burdened we took our departure, walking carelessly and laughing and examining our birds, Tom stopping coolly to light his pipe just as we were abreast of where we had seen the Indians.
It was bold if the watchers’ intentions were inimical, and we gave ourselves the credit of having thrown them off the scent, for we saw no more of them that evening; returning tired and excited to the hacienda to find my uncle quiet and cordial, for he seemed to be giving me the credit of trying to break myself off my inclination.