“That ain’t any of your business!” declared Ike, with heat. “We have begun to get up that gold. We’ll get all of it. It’s there, just as I said it was. I want ten per cent, of all that comes over the rail, and I want it without any strings on it.”
“And if you got it laid into your hand you’d be around in six months borrowing from me,” said the captain. “If this thing comes out as it ought to, I’ll put enough in trust for you to pay you a hundred dollars a month as long as you live. Now go off and dream of that, and be happy.”
“Happy your Aunt Lizy!” yelped the old man. “See here, me and Keedy is the whole thing in this, and—”
Captain Holstrom arose and grabbed Ike and tossed him out of the wheel-house door.
“Them two fellows,” he confided, wrathfully, to me, “will be charging me board on this trip, besides taking all the profits for themselves, if I don’t watch out.”
I did not confide to the captain any of my doubts that evening in our talk. I was hoping for the best. I had recovered one box with the assistance of my enemy, the old Pacific. I understood the queer and notional quirks of undertows. I realized that history might not repeat itself in this case—but the Pacific coast was new to me, and I was not ready to believe that I had happened on the only case of an undertow scooping sand instead of piling it and packing it. I went to bed, tired as a hound after a chase.
And I went down into the sea again the next day, still hoping. Yes, I was fairly confident—so confident that I carried a pair of ice-tongs. My experience of the day before had shown me that this tool was just the thing with which to grapple one of those boxes and lift it from the sand.
There was plenty of motion in the depths of the sea. But I realized that it was not the motion of the day before. The swaying water thrust me ahead over the hummocks with more force than it pulled me backward. The water was clear and green once more. Where, oh, where had my undertow gone?
I had ground my crowbar into the sand where I worked the day before. I could not find it, and after a survey I saw it had been covered by the drifting sand. Portions of the wreck which had been in sight were hidden again. The hole where I had wrought so valiantly was filled and smoothed. It is wonderful how quickly currents of water can make changes in sand. I had seen instances before in my submarine jobs; now I was beholding a more striking case. After inspecting the scene I judged that the treasure was buried more deeply than ever. The ocean had plenty of loose sand with which to work, and had used it. I tell you honestly I never suffered such an awful feeling of disappointment. The pang was worse because I had been successful once.
It was as though my enemy, the ocean, had decided to give me one bite of the fruit of success in order to whet the appetite of my expectations. It had not relented in order to do that—it had played a devilish trick on me.