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<h3>Chapter Five.</h3> <h4>A Piece of Skin.</h4> It was late that same evening when the occupants of the shanty sat about the rough board table. The stranger had been laid in his last resting-place, Mr Bourne had read the service over him, and the American neighbour, who had been present, had stayed to partake of the evening meal. This latter had passed over almost in silence, all waiting then for the communication the doctor was to make; but he sat still, thoughtful and silent, till Griggs, after fidgeting a little in his chair, said— “I can’t help feeling a bit sorry, doctor, for bringing the poor fellow over to you. I never meant him to stay.” “You need no excuses, Griggs,” said the doctor, rousing himself from his musing fit. “It was an act of Christian charity, and I am glad that we were able to share it with you.” “That’s right, and nicely spoken of you, doctor,” said the American; “but I wish we had been able to help the poor fellow sooner. Here, I’m burning to know how he got into such a state. I s’pose he told you?” “He told me a great deal,” replied the doctor, “but the time was short, his words hurried, and what he said has set me considering as to how much is simple fact and how much the imagination of a diseased brain.” “Hah!” exclaimed the American. “Then the best way will be for you to tell us too, and then maybe we shall be able to help you sort it out, and untangle the real thread from the touzly yarn.” “Exactly,” said the doctor. “Well, it seems that he was one of a dozen adventurous prospectors whose brains had been excited by one of the old legends respecting the discovery of gold by the old mission fathers in one of the deserts between here and Arizona. They banked their funds together, purchased necessaries and provisions, and started with a mule team and a large water-barrel furnished with pole and axles so that it should act as its own wheels, revolving and bearing its own weight—a contrivance, the poor fellow said, that answered capitally in the sandy plains, but only proved a hindrance in the rocky ground.” “Not a bad idea,” said Griggs, “if it had been all plain, for, as I understand, it’s want of water that has upset every expedition out that way.” “When all was ready they started, well armed, as I understood him, making for the south and west. They had certain plans which they had obtained from explorers, and went out in full hope of discovering not only a new land of gold, but a city said to exist in the middle of one of the deserts, a ruin now, but containing fabulous wealth amassed by the emperor, cacique, or whatever he was called, and fostered by the old mission fathers, who had made the city their home.” “Hah!” cried Griggs. “This makes one’s mouth water. Go on, doctor.” The latter looked at him seriously, and then continued— “All this sounded very clear and reasonable, but after a time there was so much of the marvellous in the poor fellow’s descriptions that I could not help feeling that we were getting into the dreamland of an enthusiast.” “Let us hear, Lee,” said Wilton. “To be sure,” cried Griggs. “I say that,” said the doctor, “because, as I seemed to gather, the adventurers had not been above a month upon their expedition before misfortunes began to assail them, and he talked for long enough about getting amongst Indians who seemed to be always on the watch to hinder their advance.” “Yes,” said Mr Bourne thoughtfully, “I have read that the Indian tribes have had handed down to them by tradition the existence of great sacred treasures which they are bound to protect, and which would have been discovered long enough ago but for their watchfulness.” “Never mind the Injuns,” said Griggs. “You’re sure to meet them if you go south, and, treasure or no treasure, they are always on the kill and rob system.” “I wish they wouldn’t talk so much, but let father go on,” whispered Chris. “They had fights desperate and many with these people,” continued the doctor, “but they pushed on, to find as they plunged further into the desert that there were worse enemies to encounter.” “Oh, that’s nonsense,” cried Griggs; “he must have been off his head a bit there. It’s the regular old cock-and-bull story about dragons guarding the treasure. I know those sort of things—magic and gammon.” “No,” said the doctor, smiling; “the enemies he meant were drought, heat, and fever, all of which helped to slay his brother adventurers. Some perished at the hands of the Indians, but more from exhaustion and disease, so that at last, after going through the most terrible privations, he found himself the sole survivor.” “That’s bad,” said Griggs, “and bad at that. But, I say, how long did this take?” “I don’t know, and he could not explain. Time seemed to be quite out of his calculations. It must have taken years, for he said that he was a young and vigorous man when he started.” “But look here,” said Griggs, “Murrica’s a big place, and I s’pose he joined Mexico on to it in his travels; but you could get over a deal of ground in years. How far away was it from here?” “Distances seemed with him to be alike,” continued the doctor. “Much of what he said in this respect seems to me to be all imagination, for he talked of the vast unknown land that he and his companions had penetrated, and in which they passed away, leaving him alone.” “Poor chap, to find out that the gold story was all a hatch-up, and that he had given up the best years of his life in a great hunt after a yellow nothing. Well, go on, doctor.” “There is not much more to tell you,” was the reply. “Then I’m right,” said Griggs; “he went through all that to find nothing.” The doctor was silent for a short space, before he continued. “No,” he said; “you are wrong, according to the poor old adventurer’s account, and here comes the strange part of his story. He said that he believed he went raving mad after being forced to cover the remains of his last companion with pieces of rock, and for a long time he could think of nothing but getting back to civilisation; but the more he tried the more he seemed to be led deeper and deeper into the great hot, sandy, stony wilderness. It was as if something from which he could not escape kept on driving him to continue the search upon which he had started, till one day he came upon a wider and more level plain of salt and sand, while in the distance, far down upon the horizon, he could see a clump of mountains, towards which he made his way, toiling on day after day, week after week, as it seemed to him, and the range seemed to be always receding with tantalising regularity, while he was parching with thirst and the tops were covered with snow. “At last, though, when he had been compelled to lie down and rest every few steps from exhaustion, and after months of toil, he reached the foot of the mountains.” “Poor fellow!” said Griggs. “They must have been a long way off, and no mistake. In dreamland, I’m afraid.” “And I too,” said the doctor. “This part of his narrative is very suggestive of a fever dream; but he spoke calmly, and as if he believed every word to be true. There was a simple earnestness, too, in the way in which he told me of how, dried-up as he was, he revelled in the ice-cold water that trickled down from the mountain-peaks in stream after stream which only meandered for a few hundred yards before every drop was soaked up in the burning sand.” “That’s the worst of the salt plains southward,” said Griggs quietly. “I suppose so,” said the doctor, “and this sounded very simple and truthful, but it seemed to me that here fiction was a good deal mingled with fact. He went on to say that these were the mountains of which he and his friends had been in search, for he was not long in discovering now that those hills were composed of the richest gold ore, while in a central tableland some two thousand feet up stood the remains of the city of which he had been in search. “This proved to be completely ruined, one mass of crumbling stone wall; but every here and there he discovered proofs that the old inhabitants had utilised the rich metal contained in the hills by which they were surrounded. The place had evidently been destroyed in some catastrophe, in all probability by the attack of an enemy, for not a trace save charred beams remained of the woodwork that must have been plentifully used, and in many parts he found the scattered and gnawed bones of the slain.” “I should like to explore that place, doctor and neighbours all,” said Griggs, “but I’m afraid that the nation of people who built that city belonged to the imagination.” “That was my own idea,” said the doctor gravely, “especially when the poor fellow told me that he made his home there for years, taking possession of a little temple-like place, covering the roof in with cedar-boughs to keep off the sun, and living upon what he could secure by means of his gun.” “And always getting a fresh supply of powder and shot from Noo York by mail, eh, neighbours?” “The narrative is most improbable,” continued the doctor, “but it does contain elements open to belief.” “But if he had discovered such treasure as that,” said Wilton, “why didn’t he get back to civilisation, so as to profit by it?” “To be sure,” said Bourne. “But what about the Indians who ought to have been there to watch over the gold?” “He did not mention them,” replied the doctor; “but his reason for not returning was that the poor fellow felt that he dared not attempt to go through the same horrors that he had encountered on his way out. He had friends with him then, but now he was alone, weak, and wanting in spirit. In fact, much as he longed to get back to civilisation, he dared not attempt the journey, but kept on putting it off for years.” “For years, eh?” said Griggs derisively. “Yes, for years, in the hope of some travellers or prospectors accidentally discovering the place. At last, though, he seems to have wakened up to the fact that if ever he was to see civilisation again it must be by some effort of his own, and so he made the venture, to suffer terribly, and finally crawl here to die, as we have seen.” “But he told his story,” said Griggs, “and I don’t know, doctor, but it half seems to me as if you believe in the poor old lunatic.” “I told you in the beginning that I was somewhat disposed to credit his history.” “Oh, come, Lee,” cried Wilton. “My dear Lee,” cried Bourne. “Why, this legend of treasure cities and golden mountains is as old as the hills.” “Yes, I know. I have heard it and read it time after time.” “And don’t know any better now, doctor,” cried Griggs. “Oh, come, I say, what is there in this story that makes you more ready to believe it than any of the others?” “The simple fact that I have seen and talked with the historian—one who was ready to give me some tangible idea of the truth of his narration.” “Tangible?” cried Bourne. “Yes; tangible.” “Why, he had got no specimens with him, had he?” The doctor made no direct reply to the American’s question, but went on to tell that his patient had concluded his short history by thanking him for his patient kindness. “‘My life has been a failure, doctor,’ he said; ‘you can make yours a great success. Mine was used up in discovering the great treasure. It was the work of years and years. You can go straight to the place by the bearings I have marked down for you as I came back. There, I give you that for which I have died, glad to be at rest. It is yours, and yours alone.’ “I tried to draw his attention to another subject,” continued the doctor, but he smiled. “‘You think I am only a madman,’ he said sadly. ‘In your place I should have thought the same. You believe that the treasure is only in my weary brain. I am clearer now, and I can see by the way you look at me; but it is true. Take the skin belt from round my waist. It is yours. In it you will find what I brought from the hills. There are a few ounces, but where I broke the pieces off with a lump of stone—half gold—there were tons upon tons.’ “I was not aware that he was wearing anything beneath his rags of skin, but when to satisfy him I cut through and drew away his pouch-like belt, I could feel inside it pieces of something hard.” “Gold!” cried Griggs excitedly, and the boys’ eyes shone with excitement. “I don’t know,” said the doctor quietly. “What, didn’t you look?” cried Wilton. “No; the exertion he made in trying to lift himself so that I could draw away the belt was too much for him, and every thought went to the effort to revive him from his swoon; but it was all in vain, the poor fellow came to sufficiently to show that he was conscious, and caught my hand in his to draw it towards where the belt lay. He pressed my fingers round it, and then lay gazing at me wildly as I bathed his face, till I awoke to the feet that I was trying to revive the dead.” There was silence then for a few moments before Wilton spoke the words that the two boys were eager to utter. “I’m afraid it’s all the poor fellow’s dream,” he said. And then, “I have no hunger or thirst for gold, but I must confess to a feeling of excitement and desire to know what is in the belt.” “Open it then, and let’s all see,” said the doctor, and he drew what looked like the well-rubbed and stained skin of a serpent about four feet long from his jacket pocket, and laid it upon the table. “Skin of a rattler—a copperhead, I should say,” cried Griggs. “Well, not a bad idea for a cash belt. There’s something hard in it anyhow,” he continued, as the doctor let the end drop. “But I say, look here: don’t open it for a few moments, because I don’t want for us to be disappointed.” “I don’t think we shall be,” said Bourne. “It is quite possible that in his wanderings the poor fellow found gold, even if he magnified his findings in his imagination.” “That’s right, parson,” cried Griggs, “but you don’t see my point. What I meant about being disappointed was this—supposing this long shot-belt sort of thing does hold so many nuggets of gold, what then?” “What then?” cried Wilton. “Why, it is gold.” “To be sure; but what about finding the tons, doctor?” “By the bearings the poor fellow mentioned,” replied Chris’s father. “Right again, sir,” continued the American; “but the bearings—where are they?” Every one looked hard at the speaker in silence. “I don’t want to chuck cold water on what may mean a fortune for you, doctor,—but look here: I’m not a sailor, but I do know that when you go to find anything by the bearings you have a sort of map or chart with compass points on it, and arrows and dots and marks to guide you in the way you are to go. What about them? Had he a pocket-book anywhere?” “Nothing of the kind,” replied the doctor, “and I was surprised to find his belt.” “Then the poor chap died a bit too soon, and he’s taken his secret with him, I should say.” “It seems so,” said the doctor. “I had forgotten all that,” and the boys drew a deep breath as they suffered each a sharp pang of disappointment. “Well, I thought it just as well to speak out, doctor,” said Griggs. “I wish you hadn’t, sir,” cried Wilton angrily. “You seem to have crushed out our hopes.” “Better to know the truth and the worst at once, my dear Wilton,” said Bourne. “Oh, I don’t know that,” replied Wilton. “The idea of discovering tons of gold does stir one a bit.” “Hah!” sighed Chris, who was indulging in a golden dream, and he kicked out one leg under the table, involuntarily catching Ned on the side of the ankle in a way which made him utter a yell. “Here, don’t shout like that, young squire, because you’re a bit disappointed,” cried Griggs; and without waiting for an explanation, he continued, “Well, doctor, I vote that the belt be opened. P’r’aps, after all, these inside are only bits of glittering stuff such as some people think is gold, but which is only iron and sulphur. Anyhow, let’s look.” “Open it, Wilton,” said the doctor, and the former sat with his elbows on the table holding the snakeskin belt with his hands near the ends, so that they hung down over the fingers, softly lissome, while the horny middle sank in a curve. “Let’s have it, squire,” cried Griggs. “Go on ahead. You look as if you were making a plan for a suspension bridge over our creek when it’s full of water.” “The skin seems to have been slipped off the snake by turning it over from the mouth,” said Wilton, whose voice now sounded rather hoarse. “Those ends are wonderfully soft too, as if the skin had been well tanned.” “Not it,” said Griggs; “say it was only dried in the sun, and then rubbed soft. There, let’s see what is in it. Hold it up by the tail, and the nuggets’ll all fall out.” Wilton did as he was told, but the nuggets—if there were any—did not fall out, for the neck of the snake had been strained and dragged out till it was thin like the tail part, and had doubtless shrunk to its present proportions after the stones or metal had been carefully placed inside. The consequence was that Wilton shook and shook in vain. “I should take out my knife, open it, and slit the skin right up, if it was my job,” said Griggs indifferently. “No, no; it would be a pity,” cried Bourne. “I could do it,” cried Chris—“if I might.” “Try, then,” said Wilton, who hastily threw the long skin down, his hands being wet with excitement, which showed in a deck upon his forehead. Chris eagerly snatched up the belt from where it lay, and then dropped it, startled by the warning uttered loudly by Griggs. “Take care!” he cried. “That’s a rattler’s skin, with the head complete. P’r’aps there’s both poison-fangs in the skull still.” “Ugh!” cried Chris. “There, pick it up again, young un,” cried Griggs, laughing. “There’s nothing there but skin. The poison-fangs went along with the flesh and bones.” “Of course,” said Chris shortly. “How stupid! Here, catch hold of the tail, Ned.” The next moment the round belt was stretched out between them, and Chris’s hand as he passed it along the middle felt within it so many hard round pieces of something about as large as marbles. While confining his attention to the one nearest the head, he worked it along to the mouth, and let it fall with a sharp rap upon the table, to lie shining dully in the light shed by the hanging spirit-lamp. “Quartz with gold in it, and no mistake,” cried Griggs eagerly. “Gold, with some specks of quartz in it,” cried the doctor, raising the heavy roughly-rounded and hammered fragment nearer the lamp. “Yes, three-quarters gold,” said Wilton, while after taking it in his fingers and handling it for a few minutes, Bourne laid it down with a sigh. “Let’s have some more, Squire Christopher,” cried Griggs; but the words were hardly out of his lips before there was again a sharp rap on the table, and then another and another, the boy continuing till a dozen of the dull frosted-looking specimens lay upon the boards, shining with a soft dull glow. “Excessively rich ore,” said the doctor, breaking the silence, after the party had been busily turning over the pieces. “And no doubt about it, doctor,” cried Griggs. “Well, that’s yours, anyhow.” “No,” said the doctor quickly. “You brought the poor fellow here.” “Right, but you doctored him and made him able to speak. ’Sides, he gave it to you, and it’s yours. What’s more, he gave you the hills where the tons of it lie—somewhere.” “Yes, somewhere,” said the doctor; “but where is that?” “Where the poor old chap came from. He ought to have given you the map with all its bearings marked down. Are you sure that he hadn’t got it in his pocket?” “Certain,” replied the doctor, “for he had no pockets.” “Well, sewed up then in his jacket?” “I carefully examined that so as to get some information about him.” “Of course,” said Griggs. “Nothing more inside the sarpent, is there, Squire Chris?” “No,” replied the boy, after running his hand along the soft skin until it touched Ned’s. “It’s all stuffed full of something of this last part to keep the gold from getting any further.” “Yes, that’s it,” said Ned; “so as to keep the gold in the middle, and leave the ends soft to tie together.” “It doesn’t quite feel like that,” said Chris thoughtfully. “If that had been meant, why wasn’t there a sort of soft roll of something at the head end? I say, father, there is something like a roll.” “Draw it out then, my boy,” was the reply. “It won’t come,” said Chris. “We shall have to slit the skin here.” “Nay, skin it out as if it were a bit of the rattler’s body left in. Pull the mouth open over the neck. No, no; not like that. Draw it open a bit. That’s the way. Now you’ll do it, my lad.” Chris jumped at the American’s hints, and acting upon them, found that the task was comparatively easy, and in a few minutes a little roll of soft cream-coloured leather, about an inch in diameter and eight or nine long, carefully wound round with what looked like fine twine, but proved to be a remarkably fine kind of animal integument, lay upon the table. “Leather of some kind—I mean, soft skin,” said Griggs, bending over the little roll as it lay before them. “Say, doctor, I’m beginning to think you’ve got the bearings after all. You must use your knife this time.” “Yes,” said the doctor, taking out a many-bladed knife, and then pausing to pass the object round before going farther. But the roll was returned to him quickly in the impatience felt by all to see whether it should prove to be a scroll containing valuable information, and the doctor inserted the point of his knife beneath the thin twine-like bond. There was a sharp sound as it was divided, and upon being unwound there before the party lay the edge of a roll of very thin, carefully smoothed, yellowish skin, looking like badly-prepared vellum, only feeling far more soft. “A map, or writing,” said Wilton hoarsely. “A map, I’m sure,” said Bourne. “That’s about it, sir,” cried Griggs. “Say, neighbour, you’ve made a find, and the old man wasn’t so mad as he looked.” “So it seems,” said the doctor, rather breathless in spite of his calm self-contained nature, accustomed to crises. “Are we on the brink of a great discovery?” said Wilton. “If so, how does the matter stand?” “It’s the doctor’s find,” cried Griggs, and the two boys began to breathe audibly as they rested their chins in their hands and seemed to devour the little leather scroll. “No; you brought the poor fellow here.” “Tchah! What’s the good of fighting about what we haven’t got?” said Griggs, laughing. “What do you say to whacks?” “What!” cried Bourne. “Share and share alike all round, when there’s anything to share.” “To be sure,” said Wilton. “And I say that the youngsters come into the swim; only look here, young squires, if there’s nothing you get nought.” “Agreed,” cried the boys, in a breath. “Agreed all,” cried Griggs merrily. “Now then, doctor, open the roll and let’s see; but before you begin, who’ll buy my share for ten cents?—What, all silent? No buyers? Tchah! There’s speculation! I won’t sell it now. Read away, doctor, and let’s hear—or see.” <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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