“Better send the second mate over with a couple of men, Mr. Duff,” suggested Captain Cary. “Mr. Panchito is a sociable cuss and perhaps he can find out something.”
The rotund, vivacious Mr. Panchito was delighted to oblige. As a former officer of the Colombian navy, he flattered himself that he possessed the aplomb, the diplomatic approach. He assured Mr. Duff that he would turn those strangers inside out. They could conceal nothing from him. Into a skiff he bounded and was rowed over to the schooner which displayed no symptoms of excitement.
Señor Ramon Bazán, on the contrary, was in a stew of impatience to be set ashore. It was the noon hour, and the sun was insufferably hot for a rickety old gentleman to explore the jungle and the rocky ravines. Richard Cary advised waiting, but was met with sputtering obstinacy. They were to take the precious chart drawn by the own hand of the infamous Captain Thompson of the brig Mary Dear, also a compass and a surveyor’s chain to measure the distances in rods and feet. After finding the lay of the land they could rest much easier. At their convenience they could unload the equipment and make a camp.
Richard Cary kept his own misgivings to himself. It had strained his credulity to accept the secret chart as authentic. Granted this, however, the face of the island must have been considerably changed in a hundred years. Naked scars showed where the rock and gravel had slid from the steep hillsides. The water overflowing the crater-like bowl fed by living springs had been eating the soil away and depositing it elsewhere. The cliffs, however, might have resisted this erosion. If there were natural caves in them, and these had not been buried too deep in débris, possibly the treasure chart of Señor Bazán might be used as a guide.
The blurred notations and rude symbols had been inscribed on the chart by the hand of a man familiar with Cocos Island. The safe channel for a vessel entering the bay was correctly indicated. And in these first glimpses of the rugged landscape, it was mightily persuasive to study such detailed directions as “N.N.E. 5 rds. to water-course. . . thence 9 rds. 7 ft. E. by W. ½ W. to face of cliff. . . thence follow ravine to big boulder bearing S.S.W. from hump of Hill & due South from Stone on beach which Stone is carved with letters H.M.S. Jason 1789:. . .”
There was some delay in getting the exploring party ashore. Señor Bazán had to be humored. A pitiable agitation muddled his wits. He had to pore over the chart again. Compass and surveyor’s chain were not enough, he suddenly decided. They ought to carry axes, picks, and shovels, on the chance of stumbling across the place where the treasure was unmistakably concealed. Some of the crew must go with them and carry rifles. There were strangers on the island. They might be lawless men. It was for Ricardo to be prepared to drive them away if they came near enough even to spy on the party from the Valkyrie.
By this time Mr. Panchito was returning from his diplomatic mission to the schooner. He was all animation and importance. Yes, he had found out everything. It was a treasure expedition, from Guayaquil. They had been three months on the island, and the sailors were very tired of it. Now they felt in better spirits because their leader had been overheard to say that he had given up hopes of finding any gold and silver. He would soon be sailing back to Guayaquil. He was a most extraordinary man, this leader. He had attacked Cocos Island as if he intended to tear it to pieces, with powerful machinery that tossed the great rocks about like pebbles and moved thousands of tons of gravel. He was a mining engineer well known in Ecuador.
“Did they tell you his name?” interrupted Chief Officer Bradley Duff.
“Don Miguel O’Donnell, but he is not Irish,” replied Mr. Panchito.
“Huh, I know that,” grunted Mr. Duff. “It’s like the O’Reilleys in Cuba and the O’Higgins in Chile. They were Irish some ways back. And it still crops out in their blood. And so we’ve run afoul of this O’Donnell highbinder from Ecuador! Now what do you think of that! He calls himself a mining engineer, does he? Maybe he is. All I know is that he has been mixed up in trouble enough to please any Mike O’Donnell. Concessions and politics and high-class devilment in Ecuador for years and years. I was captain of a dredge in Guayaquil harbor one time. From the stories I heard, it was Don Miguel O’Donnell that really backed General Eloy Alfara in the revolution of 1905 that bumped President Cordero off his perch. How about it, Señor Bazán? You may have the straight dope.”