“Burnam is after much more than this,” replied the boy, and he dropped the lid, shutting the contents from sight. “I was born in a far land. Its name I shall keep. Five hundred years ago my people were great rulers of a happy nation. It was ruthlessly invaded, conquered, and great works wantonly destroyed. A few of my fathers escaped destruction, they tried to get back their land but their efforts were fruitless. Later, they united secretly and hid their vast treasure which the conqueror could never find. They kept together generation after generation, although few outsiders are aware that any of the pure blood are alive.” The boy paused, but his audience made no comment.
“In my conquered land there is a beautiful statue to one of my blood who fought successfully and helped free the nation from the devastator’s yoke.” A gleam of pride shone in the boy’s eyes.
“Did they get it back?” Bob whispered.
“No, but they got rid of the—the yoke. In the generations the number of men of my race has grown. It is now like a vast army, secretly governed by wise men. Many are scattered in different countries, learning the best of the white men’s way of living, keeping the best of their own knowledge of life. There are still parts of my country that are unsettled, and one day we shall unite there. We shall be versed in the greatest sciences, and never again can we be conquered or put to rout by ignorance or brute force—we shall be the conquerors, and we shall rid ourselves of the waste races as your uncle rids the garden of rank worthless weeds that would choke and smother the good about them.” There was no malice in the boy’s tone, no bravado in his manner, he spoke impersonally and without bitterness. His eyes shone with a fine intelligence, he made his statements quietly, and once his eyes wandered to the horizon as if they beheld that future.
“Accurate records are being kept by every generation and brought together. I have been taught the ancient arts of my fathers, I have worked with the soil as my fathers did, and now that I am twelve years old, I am ready to study the sciences, the languages, higher mathematics—the classics.” He broke off a moment, then went on. “I may not live to see the establishment of my race, it may not come for hundreds of years, but it will come when we are fully prepared to take the reins and hold them firmly.” His eyes rested first on Bob, then Jim. “Whether it is years hence, or centuries, because of what you have done for one of our princes, the men of your tribe, James Austin, and of yours, Bob Caldwell, will be spared, even though they be inferior, they will be given a chance. I have spoken, and my uncle has written it into the records.”
“Gosh,” Bob gasped. “If they aren’t any good, don’t bother with them.” His face flushed suddenly, he didn’t know why, but he felt that weeds of all kinds should be destroyed.
“Now, before you take us to New York, I will give you each a token. Give it to your son, and your son’s son, and on, for one day it will find its way back to my land.” He opened the box, drew out two large green stones. They were oblong in shape, some marks had been worked into them, and into a groove in one side was a tiny many-colored tube of exquisite enameling. The boy pressed an invisible spring and the tube opened revealing a slip of parchment covered closely with fine writing.
“I say—” Jim started to protest, but the boy paid no attention to him.
“Keep these always, they are fine emeralds. Here are smaller pieces.” He picked up two rings. “Wear these and wherever you are seen by any of my people you will be helped and protected.” He handed the jewels to his amazed companions, then went on, “Mr. Fenton has been losing his turkeys. Watch the man who is taking care of them, watch him closely.”
“Thundering rattlers, is he the thief?”