“How do you get back again?”
Lake laughed.
“Waal, yer see thar’s a trail up thet cliff that leads to ther top. Frum thar thar’s a path thet leads to a cove the ’tother side of the island. Thar’s mighty shallow water close in shore thar, so we kain’t bring ther schooner round, but Zeb Hunt an’ me keep a boat thar so that when we get through in ther cave we’ll cut across the other half of ther island and row home in ther boat.”
That solved the mystery which for an instant had perplexed them all. Lake, who seemed to be in high spirits, confided to them that all these secrets had been contained in the map of the place the old sealer had given him. Not knowing Lake’s character, our party wondered a good deal at his flow of spirits for—except when he had his banjo in hand—he was generally taciturn and sullen. They did not know that danger acted on him like wine on some men. Affairs at the camp were far more critical than he had let them know. That morning Lake had received a note threatening his life if he did not immediately set sail. It was characteristic of the man that this only made him delay the more.
“The varmints. I’ll teach ’em,” he had muttered, as he tore the missive into shreds.
But the realization that mutiny was imminent had been the real reason for his visit that morning to the gold-bearing rocks. He wished to make sure that they were as valuable as he believed, and if they proved to be so he was quite cold-blooded enough to sail off and abandon the mutineers to their fate. Returning to the island at some later date, he would ransack it of its precious metal at his leisure.
Tuesday followed his fellow-countryman over. He made the passage in perfect safety, fairly squealing with delight as the big rock tipped with him. Then came Tom’s turn. He also made the crossing without accident, as did the professor and Mr. Chillingworth. Simon Lake came last, carrying his weapons and a sack of tools which he had brought—a drill and such implements—the better for boring and obtaining samples.
When they all stood on the ledge and watched the big stone rise majestically for the last time, Tom was conscious of a sinking sensation. What if something had happened to the trail—if it were blocked or something. They would inevitably be prisoners till death came to their relief. However, there was no time to dwell on gloomy thoughts like these.
While they had been making the passage of the gulch a change had set in in the weather. It had been bright when they set out, but now dark clouds had rolled up, obscuring the sun and casting gloom into the depths of the crevasse upon whose edge they stood. There was an oppressive feeling, too, in the air.
“Thar’s a storm of some kind comin’ up,” commented Lake, gazing overhead at the driving clouds.