Four Bells: A Tale of the Caribbean

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

RICARDO PLAYS IT ALONE

Twenty-four hours sufficed to cut a trail with machetes, and pitch the tents in the cocoanut grove. One of them was promptly occupied by Señor Bazán, who was elated at seeing things move in such brisk and orderly fashion. His faith in his yellow-haired captain was restored. There had been no waiting upon the movements of the interlopers from Ecuador. If Don Miguel O’Donnell should presume to interfere, so much the worse for him. Ricardo was the man to conquer him.

Privately Ricardo was not so certain of this. He had his moments of serious apprehension. He could not quite imagine the resourceful Don Miguel as sailing away empty-handed if there was the smallest chance of finding hints or clues more promising than his own. Might was right on Cocos Island. And the bold O’Donnell had never been hampered by scruples or lack of wit.

It was difficult to ascertain how many men were in his party. They were scattered, a few on the schooner, others carrying supplies, the rest in camp or working on the hydraulic pipe-line along the hillside. They kept away from the Valkyrie’s company, nor did Don Miguel himself display a neighborly spirit. The inference was that he considered himself too much the gentleman to intrude. It had been conveyed to him that he was unpopular with Señor Bazán.

After painstaking measurements, Captain Cary felt satisfied that he had chosen the likeliest spot to begin digging. To a certain extent it was guesswork. The “great tree” noted on the chart had disappeared. There was more than one “big boulder” in the ravine. Three of the bearings, however, were accurately established, the H.M.S. Jason stone on the beach, the “hump of the hill,” and the face of the cliff. The compass and chain helped to fill the gaps. Stakes were driven. Señor Bazán turned the first shovelful of gravel. Not content with this, he furiously plied the shovel until he wilted with a touch of fever.

Captain Cary took command of this party, leaving Mr. Duff in charge of the ship. A dozen men were picked for the hard labor at the camp. No more could be spared at one time. They were willing and industrious. Why not? It meant filling their pockets with pirates’ gold. The treasure would soon be uncovered. El Capitan Ricardo had shown them where to dig. He knew all things.

With the prevailing breeze the camp was in the sultry lee of the cliff. This made the days intensely hot and the nights breathless. Señor Bazán complained of his asthma. Mosquitoes tormented him when he moved out of his tent. Ricardo urged him to spend a night or two on the ship where the air had some life. He consented without much argument. A hammock was slung from a pole, and two stout Colombian sailors bore the old gentleman over the trail to the beach.

Captain Cary went with him, planning to return in an hour or so. He wished to find out from Mr. Duff how things were going on board the ship. Charlie Burnham was left in camp with orders to post a couple of sentries now that dusk was coming on. Mr. Panchito had appeared for supper and was delighting the weary sailors with songs and stories of the raciest description. He was excellent for their morale. He made them forget aching backs and blistered palms.

There was nothing to cause anxiety. Don Miguel O’Donnell had committed himself to a policy of watchful waiting. For the present no trouble was anticipated. The discovery of the treasure might provoke a crisis. Meanwhile it was prudent to be vigilant.

Mr. Duff was eager for gossip, having been low in his mind for lack of company. Cary found it refreshing to sit down for a chat with him on the breezy deck of the Valkyrie. There had been no stir on the schooner, he reported, a few men coming and going, but nothing to indicate an early departure. A gray-haired, soldierly man had come off in the afternoon for a brief visit, presumably Don Miguel himself.