“Behold our Cocos Island, my Ricardo! You have steered the ship as straight as an arrow.”
They were gazing at a lofty, rounded hill that lifted from the sea like the cone of a dead volcano. For the most part its slopes were green, with bare cliffs here and there or yellow gullies washed by the rains. In the top of this hill was a bowl or crater which seemed to brim over with water like a tiny lake, spilling many streams that leaped and flowed to the strip of level land, close to the sea, which was luxuriant with cocoanut palms. A pleasant island to visit, as the buccaneers had found it when first their topsails had gleamed in the South Sea.
It was no longer a secret to the Valkyrie’s crew that they were bound in search of pirates’ treasure. Captain Richard Cary had told them so, soon after the departure from Balboa. He had pledged them his word that if they played fair with him they should receive a share of the booty. They believed him. The Colombian sailors and firemen yelled with enthusiasm. They had completely forgotten the conspiracy to take the ship back to Cartagena and claim the reward offered for El Tigre Amarillo Grande, dead or alive. It had been a foolish dream of very stupid men, they admitted among themselves. Their huge captain had saved the wretched steamer from perishing in the storm on the Caribbean coast. After that, he had enforced such a discipline and mastery as they had never known in their lives, the rule of a sea-lord who was both stern and kind. He held them under his thumb. It was even a pleasure to obey him for the sake of the sunny smile and the word of praise that followed duty well done.
With chart and sounding lead, the Valkyrie slowly approached Cocos Island to find the small bay which was indicated as an anchorage. As the bay opened to view between its rock-bound headlands, the masts of a schooner became visible. Señor Ramon Bazán was greatly disturbed. He snatched up the binocular and squinted until the hull of the schooner was disclosed.
“By my soul, it is another treasure party!” he wildly shouted. “They will find out my secret of the place where it is hidden.”
“We can’t very well stick up no trespass signs on Cocos Island,” said Cary, in his easy fashion. “It doesn’t belong to us.”
Chief Officer Bradley Duff broke in to say: “No sense in borrowing trouble, Señor Bazán. Of course you were all wrapped up in your own pet scheme, but it is no great surprise to me to find another party here. They have been at it on and off, all kinds of expeditions, as long as I’ve known this coast. If you have the real information, then the rest of ’em are out of luck. We won’t let this other outfit crowd us.”
“We will make them mind their own business,” grumbled Señor Bazán, in a very fretful humor. “I bought those rifles in Panama, Ricardo, to guard the treasure after we find it, but nobody must interfere with us at all. Do you understand that?”
“Wait and look it over,” placidly advised Ricardo. “There seems to be plenty of elbow room on the island. The schooner may have touched here out of curiosity.”
The Valkyrie nosed her way inside the bay and let an anchor splash a few hundred feet from the three-masted schooner which flew no colors. Several South Americans lounged beneath an awning. They looked like seamen left in charge while the rest of the company went ashore. One of them flourished his big straw hat in a friendly gesture.