"Now, what is this?" said Burke to himself. "It's either a hinge or a bolt. It doesn't look like a hinge, for it wouldn't be any use for it to run so far into the rest of the pavement, and if it is a bolt, I don't see how they got at it to move it. I'll see where it goes to." And he began to cut away more of the pavement toward the wall of the dome. The pieces of stone came up without much trouble, and as far as he cut he found the metal rod.

"By George!" said he, "I believe it goes outside of the mound! They worked it from outside!"

Putting the ladder in place, he ran up with his lantern and tools, and descended to the outside floor. Then he examined the floor of the cave where the rod must run if it came outside the mound. He found a line of flat stones, each about a foot square, extending from the mound toward the western side of the cave.

"Oh, ho!" he cried, and on his knees he went to work, soon forcing up one of these stones, and under it was the metal rod, lying in a groove considerably larger than itself. Burke now followed the line of stones to the western side of the cave, where the roof was so low he could scarcely stand up under it. To make sure, he took up another stone, and still found the rod.

"I see what this means," said he. "That bolt is worked from clean outside, and I've got to find the handle of it. If I can't do that, I'll go back and cut through that bolt, if my chisel will do it."

He now went back to a point on the line of stones about midway between the side of the cave and the mound, and then, walking forward as nearly as possible in a straight line, which would be at right angles with the metal rod, he proceeded until he had reached the entrance to the pa.s.sageway which led to the outer caves, carefully counting his steps as he went. Then he turned squarely about, entered the pa.s.sage, and walked along it until he came to the door of the room which had once been occupied by Captain Horn.

"I'll try it inside first," said Burke to himself, "and then I'll go outside."

He walked through the rooms, turning to the right about ten feet when he came to the middle apartment,--for the door here was not opposite to the others,--but coming back again to his line of march as soon as he was on the other side. He proceeded until he reached the large cave, open at the top, which was the last of these compartments. This was an extensive cavern, the back part being, however, so much impeded by rocks that had fallen from the roof that it was difficult for him to make any progress, and the numbering of his steps depended very much upon calculation. But when he reached the farthest wall, Burke believed that he had gone about as great a distance as he had stepped off in the cave of the lake.

"But how in the mischief," thought he, "am I to find anything here?" He held up his lantern and looked about. "I can't move these rocks to see what is under them."

As he gazed around, he noticed that the southeast corner seemed to be more regular than the rest of the wall of the cave. In fact, it was almost a right-angled corner, and seemed to have been roughly cut into that shape. Instantly Burke was in the corner. He found the eastern wall quite smooth for a s.p.a.ce about a foot wide and extending about two yards from the floor. In this he perceived lines of crevice marking out a rectangular s.p.a.ce some six inches wide and four feet in height.

"Ha, ha!" cried Burke. "The handle is on the other side of that slab, I'll bet my head!" And putting down the lantern, he went to work.

With his hammer and chisel he had forced the top of the slab in less than two minutes, and soon he pulled it outward and let it drop on the floor.

Inside the narrow, perpendicular cavity which was now before him, he saw an upright metal bar.

"The handle of the bolt!" cried Burke. "Now I can unfasten the trap-door." And taking hold of the top of the bar, he pulled back with all his force. At first he could not move it, but suddenly the resistance ceased, and he pulled the bar forward until it stood at an angle of forty-five degrees from the wall. Further than this Burke could not move it, although he tugged and bore down on it with all his weight.

"All right," said he, at last. "I guess that's as far as she'll come.

Anyway, I'm off to see if I've drawn that bolt. If I have, I'll have that trap-door open, if I have to break my back lifting it."

With his best speed Burke ran through the caves to the mound, and, mounting by means of the stone projections, he was about to descend by the ladder, when, to his utter amazement, he saw no ladder. He had left it projecting at least two feet through the opening in the top of the mound, and now he could see nothing of it.

What could this mean? Going up a little higher, he held up his lantern and looked within, but saw no signs of the ladder.

"By George!" he cried, "has anybody followed me and pulled out that ladder?"

Lowering the lantern farther into the mound, he peered in. Below, and immediately under him, was a black hole, about three feet square.

Burke was so startled that he almost dropped the lantern. But he was a man of tough nerve, and maintained his clutch upon it. But he drew back. It required some seconds to catch his breath. Presently he looked down again.

"I see," said he. "That trap-door was made to fall down, and not to lift up, and when I pulled the bolt, down it went, and the ladder, being on top of it, slipped into that hole. Heavens!" he said, as a cold sweat burst out over him at the thought, "suppose I had made up my mind to cut that bolt! Where would I have gone to?"

It was not easy to frighten Burke, but now he trembled, and his back was chilled. But he soon recovered sufficiently to do something, and going down to the floor of the cave, he picked up a piece of loose stone, and returning to the top of the mound, he looked carefully over the edge of the opening, and let the stone drop into the black hole beneath. With all the powers of his brain he listened, and it seemed to him like half a minute before he heard a faint sound, far, far below. At this moment he was worse frightened than he had ever been in his life. He clambered down to the foot of the mound, and sat down on the floor.

"What in the name of all the devils does it mean?" said he; and he set himself to work to think about it, and found this a great deal harder labor than cutting stone.

"There was only one thing," he said to himself, at last, "that they could have had that for. The captain says that those ancient fellows put their gold there keep it from the Spaniards, and they must have rigged up this devilish contrivance to work if they found the Spaniards had got on the track of their treasure. Even if the Spaniards had let off the water and gone to work to get the gold out, one of the Incas' men in the corner of that other cave, which most likely was all shut up and not discoverable, would have got hold of that bar, given it a good pull, and let down all the gold, and what Spaniards might happen to be inside, to the very bottom of that black hole. By George! it would have been a pretty trick!

The bottom of that mound is just like a funnel, and every stick of gold would have gone down. But, what is more likely, they would have let it out before the Spaniards had a chance to open the top, and then, if the ancients had happened to lick the Spaniards, they could have got all that gold up again. It might have taken ten or twenty years, but then, the ancients had all the time they wanted."

After these reflections, Burke sat for a few moments, staring at the lantern. "But, by George!" said he again, speaking aloud, though in low tones, "it makes my blood run cold to think of the captain working day after day, as hard as he could, right over that horrible trap-door.

Suppose he had moved the bolt in some way! Suppose somebody outside had found that slab in the wall and had fooled with the bar! Then, there is another thing. Suppose, while they were living here, he or the boy had found that bar before he found the dome, and had pulled out the concern to see what it was! Bless me! in that case we should all be as poor as rats! Bat I must not stop here, or the next watch will be called before I get back. But one thing I'll do before I go. I'll put back that lid.

Somebody might find the dome in the dark, and tumble into it. Why, if a wandering rat should make a slip, and go down into that black hole, it would be enough to make a fellow's blood run cold if he knew of it."

Without much trouble Burke replaced the lid, and then, without further delay, he left the caves. As he hurried along the beach, he debated within himself whether or not he should tell Captain Horn what he had discovered.

"It will be mighty hard on his nerves," said he, "if he comes to know how he squatted and worked for days and weeks over that diabolical trap that opens downward. He's a strong man, but he's got enough on his nerves as it is. No, I won't tell him. He is going to do the handsome thing by us, and it would be mean for me to do the unhandsome thing by him. By George!

I don't believe he could sleep for two or three nights if he knew what I know! No, sir! You just keep your mouth shut until we are safe and sound in some civilized spot, with the whole business settled, and Shirley and me discharged. Then I will tell the captain about it, so that n.o.body need ever trouble his mind about coming back to look for gold rings and royal mummies. If I don't get back before my watch is called, I'll brazen it out somehow. We've got to twist discipline a little when we are all hard at work at a job like this."

He left his shoes on the sand of the cove, and swam to the ship without taking time to undress. He slipped over the taffrail, and had scarcely time to get below and change his clothes before his watch was called.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE CAPTAIN WRITES A LETTER

On the afternoon of the next day, the Miranda, having taken in water, set sail, and began her long voyage to Rio Janeiro, and thence to France.

Now that his labors were over, and the treasure of the Incas safely stored in the hold of the brig, where it was ignominiously acting as ballast, Captain Horn seated himself comfortably in the shade of a sail and lighted his pipe. He was tired of working, tired of thinking, tired of planning--tired in mind, body, and even soul; and the thought that his work was done, and that he was actually sailing away with his great prize, came to him like a breeze from the sea after a burning day. He was not as happy as he should have been. He knew that he was too tired to be as happy as his circ.u.mstances demanded, but after a while he would attend better to that business. Now he was content to smoke his pipe, and wait, and listen to the distant music from all the different kinds of enjoyment which, in thought, were marching toward him. It was true he was only beginning his long voyage to the land where he hoped to turn his gold into available property. It was true that he might be murdered that night, or some other night, and that when the brig, with its golden cargo, reached port, he might not be in command of her. It was true that a hundred things might happen to prevent the advancing enjoyments from ever reaching him. But ill-omened chances threaten everything that man is doing, or ever can do, and he would not let the thought of them disturb him now.

Everybody on board the Miranda was glad to rest and be happy, according to his methods and his powers of antic.i.p.ation. As to any present advantage from their success, there was none. The stones and sand they had thrown out had ballasted the brig quite as well as did the gold they now carried. This trite reflection forced itself upon the mind of Burke.

"Captain," said he, "don't you think it would be a good idea to touch somewhere and lay in a store of fancy groceries and saloon-cabin grog? If we can afford to be as jolly as we please, I don't see why we shouldn't begin now."

But the captain shook his head. "It would be a dangerous thing," he said, "to put into any port on the west coast of South America with our present cargo on board. We can't make it look like ballast, as I expected we could, for all that bagging gives it a big bulk, and if the custom-house officers came on board, it would not do any good to tell them we are sailing in ballast, if they happened to want to look below."

"Well, that may be so," said Burke. "But what I'd like would be to meet a first-cla.s.s, double-quick steamer, and buy her, put our treasure on board, and then clap on all steam for France."

"All right," said the captain, "but we'll talk about that when we meet a steamer for sale."

After a week had pa.s.sed, and he had begun to feel the advantages of rest and relief from anxiety, Captain Horn regretted nothing so much as that the _Miranda_ was not a steamer, ploughing her swift way over the seas.

It must be a long, long time before he could reach those whom he supposed and hoped were waiting for him in France. It had already been a long, long time since they had heard from him. He did not fear that they would suffer because he did not come. He had left them money enough to prevent anything of that sort. He did not know whether or not they were longing to hear from him, but he did know that he wanted them to hear from him.

He must yet sail about three thousand miles in the Pacific Ocean, and then about two thousand more in the Atlantic, before he reached Rio Janeiro, the port for which he had cleared. From there it would be nearly five thousand miles to France, and he did not dare to calculate how long it would take the brig to reach her final destination.

This course of thought determined him to send a letter, which would reach Paris long before he could arrive there. If they should know that he was on his way home, all might be well, or, at least, better than if they knew nothing about him. It might be a hazardous thing to touch at a port on this coast, but he believed that, if he managed matters properly, he might get a letter ash.o.r.e without making it necessary for any meddlesome custom-house officers to come aboard and ask questions. Accordingly, he decided to stop at Valparaiso. He thought it likely that if he did not meet a vessel going into port which would lay to and take his letter, he might find some merchantman, anch.o.r.ed in the roadstead, to which he could send a boat, and on which he was sure to find some one who would willingly post his letter.

He wrote a long letter to Edna--a straightforward, business-like missive, as his letters had always been, in which, in language which she could understand, but would carry no intelligible idea to any unauthorized person who might open the letter, he gave her an account of what he had done, and which was calculated to relieve all apprehensions, should it be yet a long time before he reached her. He promised to write again whenever there was an opportunity of sending her a letter, and wrote in such a friendly and encouraging manner that he felt sure there would be no reason for any disappointment or anxiety regarding him and the treasure.

Burke and Shirley were a little surprised when they found that the captain had determined to stop at Valparaiso, a plan so decidedly opposed to what he had before said on the subject. But when they found it was for the purpose of sending a letter to his wife, and that he intended, if possible, barely to touch and go, they said nothing more, nor did Burke make any further allusions to improvement in their store of provisions.

When, at last, the captain found himself off Valparaiso, it was on a dark, cloudy evening and nothing could be done until the next morning, and they dropped anchor to wait until dawn.

As soon as it was light, the captain saw that a British steamer was anch.o.r.ed about a mile from the _Miranda_, and he immediately sent a boat, with Shirley and two of the negroes, to ask the officer on duty to post his letter when he sent on sh.o.r.e. In a little more than an hour Shirley returned, with the report that the first mate of the steamer knew Captain Horn and would gladly take charge of his letter.

The boat was quickly hauled to the davits, and all hands were called to weigh anchor and set sail. But all hands did not respond to the call. One of the negroes, a big, good-natured fellow, who, on account of his unp.r.o.nounceable African name, had been dubbed "Inkspot," was not to be found. This was a very depressing thing, under the circ.u.mstances, and it, almost counterbalanced the pleasure the captain felt in having started a letter on its way to his party in France.

It seemed strange that Inkspot should have deserted the vessel, for it was a long way to the sh.o.r.e, and, besides, what possible reason could he have for leaving his fellow-Africans and taking up his lot among absolute strangers? The crew had all worked together so earnestly and faithfully that the captain had come to believe in them and trust them to an extent to which he had never before trusted seamen.