CHAPTER XXII.—THE END OF A LONG JOURNEY.
It was growing dusk when the motor boat reached its old anchorage. The hungry lads set themselves at work getting supper at once, and Alex and Case volunteered to bring in fish! Clay and Don had made such a mess of their fishing expedition that the boys roared when a fish supper was mentioned.
“If we didn’t get fish,” Clay replied to their taunts, “we got something more valuable! I guess that iron box is worth more than a fish!”
“I don’t see as it is,” Tom grunted. “No one can get it open!”
“There ain’t no place to open it!” Alex complained. “I believe it is just a solid block of metal. It is heavy enough to be that!”
Case and Alex went ashore and followed down the bank, dropping lines into deep pools until they were out of sight of the Rambler. In the meantime Frost and King stood regarding the iron box. Indeed, there seemed to be no way of opening it. While they contemplated the puzzle a hail from shore was heard, and directly a man sprang aboard, the Rambler having been drawn close to the bank because of the loss of the rowboat.
“This is the sheriff,” King explained, as the boys regarded the newcomer with suspicion. “I presume he has news of Flint and Ike.”
“They confessed about as soon as they were placed under arrest,” the sheriff began, “and each one lays all the blame on the other. It seems that they knew from David Durand himself that articles of value would be left for his nephews to find, and ever since his death they have been looking for the treasure. They believed it to be a mine.”
“And they have been living in the old house?” asked Don.
“Yes, most of the time.”
“Then they weren’t far from something that was hidden,” the boy declared. “This box was secreted in the wall.”
“What is in it?” asked the officer.
“We don’t know. We can’t open it!” was the discouraged reply.
“But there must be a key somewhere,” the sheriff said.
“There isn’t even a keyhole,” Don grinned. “It’s shut tight!”
“Well,” the officer went on, “Flint and Ike have confessed, and they will be hanged. That is what I came here to tell you. The body of the dead man will be buried near the old mine, if that is satisfactory to you all,” he continued. “He was a crook, too, wasn’t he?” he added.
“For years he was,” the banker replied, “but at last he came to his senses and offered to help me in restoring the dead man’s fortune to his nephews. He employed King—the man you made a deputy at my request—to assist in finding the boys, after Don took the handbag and got away. He came out here to help solve the mystery of the mine. He had the third paper at one time, but returned it to me.”
“David Durand found strange hiding-places for his money!” the sheriff mused. “Think of the bonds in the old house, and this box in the cave. I have been thinking of the queer old chap ever since Mr. King told me about him. It is a wonder the bonds were ever found—and the old wallet! What a place for property!”
“There’s a letter somewhere which explains everything!” Don insisted.
“It wasn’t in the wallet, was it?” asked King. Don shook his head, and Clay brought out the wallet to prove it.
“Here’s some banknotes,” he said. “They will have to be sent in for redemption, they’re so rotten, and this thin piece of steel. That’s all there is in here. Look and see for yourselves.”
While they were examining the wallet and the half-rotten banknotes. Clay stood with the key in his hand, looking at it thoughtfully. In a moment he walked over to the iron box and began an inspection of that. He felt over every part of the surface several times before his fingers came to a little perturbance.
Then, in a moment he had the key pushed into a slit of a hole which had been brought to view by the removal of a small plug-like piece of metal which had been set into the body of the box. He moved the key this way and that for a moment, and then there came a sharp click. The top of the box, working on rusty springs, flew back, revealing a mass of papers, with a sealed envelope lying on top.
They all gathered around while Don, to whom the letter was addressed, opened the message from his dead uncle. The writing was very brief. It said:
“If you find this the bonds belong to you and Tom. There are more bonds in the strong room at the old house in Yuma. I have given you all the trouble I could think of, my boy, before delivering my property into your hands. I don’t think it good for boys to get money easily. If this box is never found until the bonds have rotted, then so much of the government debt will have been paid. If you should ever get locked in the Yuma treasure room, the key to the iron door is in the wall-safe with the bonds. From your cranky uncle.”
“That is all!” Don said, slowly. “And we might have gotten out of that cellar if we had only looked closer into the wall-safe!”
“A strange old man!” mused the banker. “He never provided for Don and Tom, personally, yet he interested me in them. He trusted Trumbull instead of me—unless Trumbull stole the two papers which were in the handbag with the money!”
“He did steal them!” King declared. “Don knew he had stolen them, for his uncle had, in a measure, told him about them. When Trumbull mentioned papers revealing the location of a mine in the Grand Canyon, Don knew of course. I presume, however, that David thought Don would have the two papers, so he gave me the third one, which Trumbull stole and afterwards returned!”
“It has been a great muddle!” Clay laughed, “and we came along with the Rambler just in time to get mixed up in it.”
“Look in the packages,” the banker advised, “and see how much of a fortune you have. The letter speaks of bonds.”
There were in the iron chest government bonds to five times the value of those found in the treasure room at Yuma, so Don and Tom were very wealthy boys.
“We are always finding wealth for others!” laughed Clay, “but none for ourselves! However, we are planning to take a trip down the Mississippi next, and we may have better luck there! But here come the boys with plenty of fish, and we’ll have supper right away!”
And such a supper as they had! All the precious dainties the lads had been hoarding for some such event were brought out, and there was feasting until a late hour. Captain Joe and Teddy had their full share of the good things, and the dog was forgiven for permitting himself to be doped by Flint! If he could have talked he would have explained that the drug was eaten in a very fine piece of meat, and would have added that he would never more take food from a strange hand!
“By the way,” the sheriff said, as he arose to go, “with the arrest of Flint and Ike the ghost of the Grand Canyon is laid! They have been playing ghost a long time to keep people away from the supposed mine.”
Then Alex explained how he had found the white wrappings they had worn, and also the black head coverings, in the closet at the old shack.
“And now, can we get up any farther?” asked Clay, as the lads were preparing for sleep. “Is this the end of navigation for us?”
“You can’t have any fun in going on,” Don declared. “It would be a great task to get the motor boat up farther.”
“Then we’ll turn back,” Clay decided, “and see if we can find as much excitement in the down trip as we did in the up trip!”
“I don’t see how you can!” Don laughed. “You won’t have the two trouble makers with you, for Tom and I have decided to go back to Chicago with Mr. Frost, and meet you there later.”
“If you boys don’t mind,” King said, “I’d like to go down the Colorado with you. I’m in need of just such a loafing spell.”
The permission was given, and the next morning, after Frost, Don, and Tom had climbed to the plateau and started away to the nearest railroad station, the Rambler was gotten under way, and the down trip begun.
It was a glorious river trip. The desert shone and glistened in the sun, the mountains laughed from under their white caps, the river sang its everlasting song of peace and quiet!
The boys took a month to reach Yuma. There the Rambler was placed on board a platform car and started on its journey eastward. It was the plan to ship the motor boat to as near the head waters of the Mississippi as possible and sail down that mighty stream in the early fall.
An account of this exciting trip will be found in the next volume of this series, entitled:
“The Motor Boat Boys on the Mississippi; or, the Trail to the Gulf!”
THE END