Soon after eating, Brent was fain to wrap himself in his blanket and rest his aching limbs. Casimiro called him away from the fire and suggested that they should walk for a time. The young man pleaded fatigue and he felt indeed scarcely able to keep his feet. The chief explained partly by signs that if he would walk briskly until the cramped muscles were limbered up, he would be much better able to continue the journey in comfort on the morrow; otherwise he would have a painful experience. Brent acted on the advice, though at the expense of an uncomfortable half-hour. He felt better for the exercise even before he slept.
The next day’s journey was easier and more rapid.Their destination lay, the chiefs said, in a group of high mountains which were in sight all day. They were a spur or offshoot of the Cordilleras of the Andes, the main range lying still two or three hundred miles to the west. In the afternoon the landscape again became broken. At length Casimiro led the party into a narrow defile which grew wilder and grander with every furlong. The trail, which no stranger could have discovered, crept along the side of a mountain, craggy and bare. For a time they were just above the verdure of a narrow valley, which below was bright and fresh along the banks of a twisting river, while over them hung black and threatening masses, flung into grotesque and insecure shapes by some not remote cataclysm of nature.
The path became narrow and shelf-like. The verdure below them disappeared. The valley grew narrower and more wild. The river was condensed almost out of sight between steep black precipices. Their horses walked in single file and the riders made no attempt to guide them. The strange scene awoke a conflict of emotion in the minds of the two white men. The sense of danger could not overcome the mingled admiration and awe which some of nature’s weird manifestations aroused in them. The marks of a terrific convulsion of gigantic forces were all about them. There were no signs of volcanic action, butthe disturbance seemed to have been even more violent than that which accompanies the eruption of a volcano.
Turning after a time a bend in the trail, the leader of the file suddenly stopped, waited till the white men had approached, and then pointed silently with his long arm to the opposite side of the gorge. Brent gave an exclamation of amazement. His companion was too astonished to speak. They saw the opposite mountain, which had seemed more massive and regular than the one they were circling, apparently cleft in two by a narrow line from peak to deepest base. It was as though the stroke of a mighty knife or the blow of a colossal ax had split the vast mass in twain. The heart of the great mountain had become transparent and they looked through it to bright sunshine and green fields in the plain beyond. It was a narrow glimpse, a single, thin column of light that pierced the black cone from summit to foundation. If they moved a few steps forward or back the phenomenon was not visible, the mountain became as dense and impenetrable as the rock upon which they were standing.
The two white men gazed in silent wonder at this evidence before them of a fit of mighty fury to which some natural or supernatural power had given vent. Nature’s wildest, maddest chaos was all about them.Even the Indians, to whom the scene was not new, were awed by the grim grandeur, the anarchy of matter that reigned supreme in this domain of Titanic wrath. The six horsemen grouped themselves in a small niche, where the pathway widened into the side of the mountain. The horses seemed to partake of the mute solemnity of the spot. They stood silent and statue-like as though the intrusion of life was a desecration amid these monuments of a vanished rage. Minutes passed without a word being spoken. At length, when the first spell of a dead but mighty power had relaxed its hold upon them, Casimiro raised his hand, pointed with long, bony finger into the heart of the valley below them, and said:
“White men, there lies the curse from which you must rescue my people.”
They looked and amid the gathering shadows in the depths they saw a single gleam of white. And presently they hurried on.
Itwas dusk when the six horsemen, descending the still tortuous path, reached the bottom of the mountain-guarded valley. They had been challenged by a small band of Indians when they first entered the narrow pass between the mountains two hours before. Now again three dark-skinned sentinels suddenly barred their way with a gruff command which the white men did not understand. Casimiro responded, giving what was probably a countersign. The shadows were so dark that the three guardsmen of the pass did not recognize their chief until he spoke. When they heard his voice they made obeisance to him, and he conversed with them for a few moments.
The party moved on presently and came at once upon a scene quite different from the wild and barren chaos of the mountain-side. It was a bit of nature’s most peaceful loveliness thrown down in the midst of her most majestic confusion; it was an emerald in a setting of jet, an oasis of beauty in a desert of shapeless grandeur. There were nodding flowers, waving grass,and a grove of stately trees. The twilight softened the grim shapes of the surrounding heights. Nature’s face had changed suddenly from frowns to smiles and the transformation was bewildering. The visitors were puzzled and delighted. They had seen no sign of verdure from the pass above, when Casimiro pointed out what seemed to be but a tiny patch of white sand. It was not a wide expanse, this spot of fertility in a sterile wilderness, but it afforded pasturage for quite a large herd of horses and among the trees beyond was a village of huts.
A number of natives caught sight of the party and came to meet them. They received the chiefs, Casimiro especially, with many signs of respect and pleasure. The white men they regarded with curious interest. Dismounting at the edge of a small forest, the newcomers were conducted to the center of the village, where a fire burned in front of a group of larger huts. Food was prepared and they were soon satisfying an appetite so vigorous that even in Brent’s case it was not disturbed by any suspicion of the viands provided. After the meal, Casimiro explained that the golden sands lay just beyond the forest, a few minutes’ walk from the village. Little could be gained by a visit that night, for the darkness in the valley was by that time intense. Great as was the eagerness of Brent and Fraser to see thetreasure which had tempted them into this far-away wilderness, they wisely restrained their impatience. They were well content, after the excitement of the afternoon’s wonders had worn off, to indulge the heavy fatigue which followed by early retirement to the large hut and beds of skins and leaves which were assigned to them.
Very early in the morning they were ready to accompany Casimiro. Somewhat to their surprise, he led them first in a different direction from that in which he had indicated the deposit of gold lay. They came in a few minutes to the sandy, shelving bank of the river, whose course they had watched for many miles on their journey. Casimiro quickly disrobed and plunged into the sparkling water, inviting his companions to follow. Brent imagined the baptism might be some religious or purifying rite which he must perform before being allowed to touch the Patagonian treasure. Inasmuch as the bath was most tempting in itself, the young man was nothing loth, and all three were soon swimming about in the very cool stream. Brent enjoyed himself immensely until he discovered that they were not alone. Other Indians appeared above and below them on the bank of the river and in a few moments the whole tribe, men, women, and children, were in the river enjoying their morning bath.
Brent did not notice what was going on till it was impossible to escape from the situation. As soon as he realized the dilemma he shouted in such horror-stricken accents to his friend that the Scotchman thought a cramp or a wandering crocodile had seized the young man. He swam rapidly to his assistance. Brent explained his alarm.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to take rather a long bath, lad,” responded the Scotchman ruefully, “and the water’s getting cold already. I ought to have thought of this. The Patagonians always take a plunge, every mother’s son and daughter of them, every morning.”
“Good gracious, how long will they be about it?”
“Not long, I hope. We might swim over to the opposite bank and stay in shallow water till they clear out.”
They paddled across stream and found a place where they could sit upon a sunken rock with the water up to their necks. Presently Casimiro caught sight of them, swam across, and suggested that they should return with him, dress, and have breakfast. The two men were at a loss to explain their embarrassment to the chief. They feared he would not understand and might misconstrue their motives for not desiring to join the promiscuous bathing party.
“We want to stay in the water a little longer,” said Brent in rather shaky accents, while his teeth belied his tongue by beginning to rattle violently.
“No, no, bad, very bad, too cold stay long,” said Casimiro paddling about uneasily and plainly puzzled by the behavior of the two white men. There was an anxious expression upon the two faces, perched side by side on the rock, while cold little wavelets rippled against their chins. They were attracting attention from the opposite bank where most of the natives were already donning their scanty clothing. Some of the bathers began to leave the bank, and Fraser and Brent were pleased to note that most of the women were among those going away.
“I think we’d better risk it, lad, and swim back, or they’ll all be coming over here to see what’s the matter,” said the shivering Fraser presently. “Besides, we’ll get a cramp if we stay here any longer.”
Casimiro was immensely relieved when his odd guests left their perch and struck out vigorously for the opposite bank. He followed them with strong strokes. The two were thankful to see only men about when they reached shoal water. They didn’t wait to investigate further but made a dash for their clothes, into which they scrambled and then began running violently up and down in the early sunshine in order to restore warmth to their chilled blood. Casimiro shook his head in still greater mystification.
The exercise and a hearty meal quite neutralized the bad effects of the morning episode, and before the sun was two hours high, Brent, Fraser, and a party of natives sought the spot which nature had made her richest treasure-house. Five or ten minutes’ walk through the trees brought them to a bare, barren spot, scarcely more than four hundred yards in extent, apparently a mere waste of sand which had been much thrown and tossed about.
“The gold lies there,” said Casimiro, indicating the center of the white field where the surface had been much disturbed.
Brent was surprised and disappointed. He saw nothing but worthless heaps of sand in a spot whose only interest was the mighty works of nature which surrounded and shut it in. Fraser’s trained eye sparkled with anticipation.
“I see it all,” exclaimed the Scotchman looking rapidly about him at the general topography of the situation. “This used to be the bed of the river. There were falls over that straight line of rock there at the boundary of the sand, and all this is the gathered accumulation of ages in a great hollow or cup just before the water poured over the barrier. Does the river flow through the gap in the mountain we saw yesterday?” he asked turning to the Patagonian.
“Yes. We believe in the early days of our fathers it flowed here,” answered the chief.
“Exactly,” went on the Scotchman. “That convulsion, whenever it took place, changed the whole course of the river and left this basin full of gold, brought down bit by bit for centuries from the hills behind us and many miles away. But what an ideal placer mine! Nothing to do but to sift the gold from the sand!” And they went toward the primitive workings.
They found much more extensive excavations than they expected. The natives had, in fact, very completely tested the extent and value of the deposit. Casimiro explained that on the borders of the sandy expanse the depth of earth was only a few inches and practically no gold was mixed with it. Beneath the sand was a solid, sloping bed of rock, almost saucer-shaped, as Fraser discovered. The gold lay mostly at the bottom and in greatest richness within a space of only about one hundred yards square. The depth of sand to the gold and bed-rock was scarcely ten feet. None of these facts were at first apparent to the visitors. They saw no gold. Fraser and Brent picked up handfuls of the coarse sand here and there, but they found no trace of the precious metal. They went down into some of the older trenches, but discovered nothing. At length Casimiro led them towhat was evidently a newer working. Some poor, wooden tools had been dropped by the users just where they had stopped work.
Fraser sprang into the trench suddenly and got down upon his hands and knees. He scraped about among the earth with his bare fingers. In a few moments he rose to his feet, called his friend to the edge of the ditch, and put into his hand a yellow nugget, so heavy that Brent almost dropped it. It was the size of a small hen’s egg.
“It’s thicker than plums in a Christmas pudding down here,” the old miner exclaimed in great excitement. “Come and see.”
Brent, nothing loth and as much excited as his companion, leaped down and began scratching in the earth at the bottom of the ditch as madly as the Scotchman had done. Fraser clawed at the loose sand a few feet away. The lust of gold seized both men like a fever. They tore out the shining nuggets from their envelope of earth in frenzied haste, cramming them one after another into their pockets. They shouted to each other in exclamations of glee and disjointed words over each yellow lump, bigger than the last. They toiled on almost frantically, still on hands and knees and with only fingers for tools. They became breathless with their exertions, but panting they worked on.
At last Brent looked up. He saw Casimiro a few feet above him. The old chief was standing silent as a statue, with folded arms, watching the mad outburst of the passion for gold in the two men at his feet. Upon his face was a melancholy but proud superiority, mingled with something of pity and of contempt. Brent rose to his feet. His hands fell at his side and he hung his head. His face, already dripping with sweat, flushed a deeper crimson under a sudden sense of shame. He stood abashed and humiliated before this savage, who became in his eyes the personification of a higher virtue than his own. Then as the revulsion of feeling grew upon him, the young man plunged his hand into his pockets and flung back into the trench the yellow treasure he had gathered. Casimiro stopped him.
“The white man loves gold; let him keep it,” said the old man quietly.
The Scotchman’s attention was attracted by the incident, and he, too, shamefacedly recovered his self-control. He endeavored to apologize for his own and Brent’s greedy excitement. Casimiro indicated that no apology was necessary. The effect of gold upon them, in whose integrity and virtue he had high confidence, was but another proof of the danger of allowing such a temptation to remain and attract white men to his country. Both men felt thoroughlyuncomfortable as they clambered out of the ditch and proceeded in saner fashion to inspect the marvelous deposit of treasure.
They gathered from Casimiro’s explanation that fully two thirds of the sand-filled basin had been carefully gone over within the last few months and all the gold removed down to bed-rock. They found upon examination that the natives had not merely dug trenches through the sand. They had begun the work systematically at one side of the deposit by separating the gold from the sand along a long line. They advanced regularly and slowly in this line, throwing behind them the sand as fast as it had been treated. In this way they had shifted and cleaned two thirds of all the earth in the whole basin. About five hundred men had been engaged in this task, Casimiro said, and he believed they would be able to complete it in three or four months more.
They walked all over the deposit, and Fraser examined carefully some samples of the sand that had been worked.
“They have done it very thoroughly,” he remarked in considerable surprise. “I don’t discover a trace of free gold in what is left.”
Then in calmer frame of mind he entered again the trench which separated the barren from the gold-bearing earth and studied the nature of the depositmore critically. The gold lay almost entirely in the very lowest stratum, resting upon or within five or six inches of the bed-rock which had been the bottom of the river. Casimiro said that in several quite large areas they had found nearly two inches of pure gold, unmixed with sand, lying upon the smooth rock at the bottom of the basin. In five minutes a digger had often scooped up all that a bearer could carry away. So easy and rapid had been the work of taking the gold from its bed and separating it from the gravel, that no less than thirty men on the average had been employed daily merely in carrying the metal from the trenches to the caches, or pits, which had been dug for its reception near by.
Casimiro led the way finally to these sunken depositories, only a few hundred feet away upon the bank of the river. Only one mound of earth, beside what seemed to be a large open grave, was visible. The chief said that sixteen other pits had been filled and covered over with earth anddébrisvery carefully so as to leave no trace of their existence. They walked to the side of the excavation still open and looked in.
It would have shaken the sanity of some men to have gazed into that pit. Naked treasure was heaped up there enough to ransom a state. Both men were fascinated. The sun shone upon the virgin gold and dazzled their eyes with the yellow glare. Brentturned his face away after a moment and drew his hand across his forehead as though in a maze. Fraser gazed on in apparent indifference. Presently he seemed to be measuring the pit and the pile of earth beside it with his eye and remarked musingly:
“About twelve feet by six—I wonder how deep it is?”
The gold filled the pit to within two feet of the surface of the ground. The Scotchman had no means of judging the quantity or value of the metal. Its great weight occupies such small space that he was quite confident that several hundred tons of the precious stuff lay before him. And worth one hundred and twenty thousand pounds a ton! It wasn’t worth while estimating such a treasure in pounds sterling or avoirdupois. Fraser shook his head and looked round at his companions. They too were silent and distrait.
Just then an Indian bending under a very small but evidently very heavy load came up to them. He stopped at the edge of the pit, lifted down a bag from his shoulder, opened it, and poured carelessly upon the accumulation beneath a shower of fresh gold. Then he shook the bag and walked slowly away. Both Fraser and Brent drew long breaths as they watched him. When the man had gone, Casimiro turned to his silent companions, waved his handtoward the treasure before them, and remarked with a grim smile:
“It is yours. When will you take it away?”
“We must think, Casimiro,” said Fraser presently. “We are overcome by the sight of such treasure. It is beyond anything we have dreamed of.”
It was some time before the effect of the demonstration of the truth of Casimiro’s promises enabled the two white men to think calmly on the situation and on the problem before them. They told each other that they would be perfectly content if they might take away with them a small fraction of that last great pitful of gold and leave all the rest. But this they could not do. They were under pledge to despoil these Patagonians of all their riches or go away empty-handed. If they succeeded in the apparently feasible task of carrying away this fabulous treasure, they were to be made rich far above any of their fellows for practically nothing in return. It seemed like robbery. They had not looked at it in that light before, but the sight of the gold itself aroused their scruples. They went over together two or three times Casimiro’s statement of the case from the standpoint of his people and they were unable to find serious moral or economic flaws in it.
After they had discussed the matter, they invitedCasimiro to consult with them. They pressed him to suggest additional services which they might render in exchange for the stupendous gift he was about to bestow upon them. The wise old man shook his head.
“The white man’s luxuries would but corrupt and destroy us,” he said. “It were better that we died by his sword than by his vices. I fear the effect of even a too liberal supply of food and clothing and arms which you will send us. It will encourage sloth and soften too much the wholesome rigor of our simple life. No, no, you shall not kill us with kindness.”
Brent, who knew something of the crime his own countrymen had committed in sapping the life and spirit of the North American Indians by a mistaken liberality in supplying their physical appetites, admired and indorsed the wisdom of the old chief’s words. Casimiro exacted a pledge from both men that the danger which he feared should be carefully guarded against by them in the selection of the annual shipload of goods which they agreed to send to his people.
For several days Fraser and Brent devoted themselves assiduously to the problem—how to convey safely and with reasonable speed to the coast the great mass of treasure which had been spread beforethem. It was no trifling task, and the American was inclined to be almost hopeless of its accomplishment. He felt himself unable to contribute anything to the solution of it, and he chafed under the ignorance which made him helpless against a practical difficulty, while his partner was full of resources.
First, they set about ascertaining as closely as possible the quantity or weight of the metal which was to be moved. In this matter, Brent, who was expert at figures, was able to be of assistance. They made calculations in two or three ways. They estimated by various rude tests that the load carried by each bearer from the trench in the sand to the hoarding-pits was about one hundred pounds in weight. Casimiro was able to inform them that each pit contained about five thousand such loads. This meant about two hundred and fifty tons of virgin gold in each pit, or a total of about four thousand tons!
Fraser managed to contrive a serviceable pair of balances, with the aid of his pocket knife, string, bits of wood, and other material at command. They tested them by balancing weights in the improvised scale-pans and then shifting them from one arm to the other. The exact weight of their rifle cartridges was printed upon the cartridge boxes. Using several of these in place of standard weights they balanced them with gold-dust. The Scotchman after some difficultymanaged to construct a cubical receptacle which his pocket rule assured him measured exactly twelve inches in each of its dimensions. Its capacity therefore was just one cubic foot. Into this he poured gold from his scale-pan after balancing it with cartridges and keeping account of the number of weighings. It was a slow process and it took a long time to fill his cubic-foot box. He was surprised to find that the weight of a cubic foot of closely-packed, loose gold, according to his rough test, was about one thousand pounds avoirdupois. Then they measured the last pit which had been dug and which Casimiro assured them was the same as the others in size. They found that the space designed to be occupied by the gold was about four hundred and thirty-six cubic feet. That quantity of gold would weigh then about two hundred and forty tons—practically a confirmation of their first estimate.
After all this work had been done, Brent suddenly called to mind the school-book information that the weight of a cubic foot of water is sixty-two and one half pounds and that the specific gravity of gold is nineteen—simple facts, which, if he had recollected them sooner, would have saved them more than a day’s labor.
The truth was before them, at all events, that the prodigious treasure already awaiting removal amountedto about four thousand tons, while if Casimiro’s estimate of what remained proved correct the final total would be no less than six thousand tons. The figures were almost meaningless to their comprehension at first. Brent figured out on a bit of paper what it meant in money. Gold he knew was worth about three hundred dollars a pound when pure. Six thousand tons, or twelve million pounds avoirdupois, at that rate amounted to three billion six hundred million dollars! He showed the figures to Fraser.
“More than seven hundred million pounds sterling!” the Scotchman exclaimed. He was silent for some moments, and then he said: “Well, lad, I wish it was only six tons instead of six thousand. It would be far more tempting. One means comfort and no worry for each of us. The other—I’m afraid to think what it may mean for us.”
“It will mean a life of the most galling publicity and notoriety, unless we can conceal the existence of the bulk of the treasure from the world’s knowledge,” said Brent earnestly, as the apprehension of the penalties of great wealth suddenly dawned upon him.
“You are right,” answered Fraser. “We cannot guard the secret too carefully, and all our plans must bend to that end.” From that hour, Brent never lost sight of this danger. It furnished the dominant motive in all his dealings with the gold of the Cordilleras.
After the fourth day following their arrival in the golden valley, the two strangers and the native chiefs took careful account of the facilities at their command for transporting the immense weight of treasure which nature had surrendered to them. Fraser was much pleased to discover that the material for raft-building was very abundant. The change in the bed of the river had left a great level area below and in front of the rocky barrier over which the water had formerly poured. The new course of the stream after passing through the riven mountain returned to the old bed at a sharp angle just below this point. At times of high water this former river-bottom was flooded, and it had become the depository of great quantities ofdébriswhich the receding waters in their annual or semi-annual freshets had left behind. Fraser noted that an immense number of well-seasoned logs or tree-trunks were included in the accumulation.
The supplies from the schooner, including all the tools and other appliances, arrived by the time the Scotchman was ready to make use of them. He tried the experiment of raft-building at once. The Indians proved ready pupils, and the novelty of the work attracted them. The horses easily dragged the heavy timber by means of log-chains to the water, and in a single day Fraser constructed a large raft, capable of floating safely seventy-five tons in any but a mostviolent stream. He was astonished to find the wood so buoyant. It was of light grain, but not porous, and it easily sustained more than twice its own weight in the water. The Scotchman estimated that the building of a series of rafts that would carry one hundred tons each might easily be accomplished.
The problem of transportation appeared, therefore, to find its solution provided by nature, who in her lavish generosity had supplied even the means for making the rifling of her treasure-house a pastime. Fraser explained his plans to Casimiro, loaded his trial raft with stones to show its carrying capacity, and made it clear that the means were at hand for conveying safely away even the immense load of wealth that had appalled him. The chief expressed his admiration and satisfaction in strong terms. He was fully convinced that his plans regarding the gold which menaced his people would be successfully executed.
The new year had arrived before all the elements of the situation had been thoroughly examined and the two white men were able to make comprehensive plans for the future. Fraser estimated that the work of taking out the remainder of the gold, building rafts, floating the treasure to the coast, and there unloading and re-burying it before putting it on shipboard, would occupy fully six and perhaps eightmonths. To carry it away to London or New York would require a vessel of the largest capacity. In view of their wish to conceal the existence of the treasure from the world, elaborate precautions must be taken. Not an ounce of the gold must be allowed to leave the country except under secure cover, where it could masquerade as ore. Fortunately, the very vastness of the treasure was the best security against suspicion. Six tons of gold packed in mysterious boxes might lead its handlers to guess its identity; but six thousand tons, never. Nothing approaching such a quantity of the precious metal ever existed under one control and everybody would scout such an idea as preposterous.
After many long talks they decided upon a general plan of operation. Fraser would remain and direct the work of transporting the gold to the coast. Brent would take with him to New York about two million dollars’ worth of the metal. There he would buy or build a suitable private vault for the storage of the rest of the treasure. In the following summer he would charter a steamship of the largest size, and provide a partial cargo of stores for the Indians and a sufficient number of suitable cases for containing the gold. He would sail south on this vessel, timing his arrival in the harbor where the schooner now lay as nearly as possible on the first of September. Thework of transshipping the gold and carrying it to New York would then be carried out as speedily as possible. This plan was explained to Casimiro and he approved it without hesitation.
They proceeded at once to act upon it. It was decided to send Brent’s preliminary fund and as much more as possible down the river upon the experimental raft that had been constructed. Brent determined to make the trip himself in the same way. Twenty Indians were assigned the task of loading the raft with gold. Fraser limited the quantity to about sixty tons. Three days of hard work were required before the score of natives had deposited this heavy weight of metal upon the structure. It occupied very little space, but a good deal of difficulty was experienced in stopping up the chinks between the logs and providing a resting-place sufficiently secure so that the gold would not sift through.
At length the primitive craft was ready for its first and last voyage, as the bearer of a cargo far more precious than any pretentious treasure-ship ever carried. Brent finally made ready to depart, with a great deal of regret. He had found genuine pleasure, as well as many wonders, in this strange valley. The simple life of the inhabitants, their contempt for civilized wealth, the character of some of their leaders, all had a strong charm for him. His own thirst forgold had slackened. Its prodigal accumulation no longer aroused any emotion in him. The ambition for great riches had never been as strong in him as it is in many men, but he was himself surprised at his growing indifference to wealth. He assured himself that he would become again as other men, as soon as he should again be among his fellows.
On the eve of the sailing of the raft, Fraser and Brent had a last talk. The friendship between the two men had grown into a deep and strong affection on both sides. The parting was a sincere sorrow to each. The hard-shelled old Scotchman was even a little superstitious about it. The eight months’ separation did not seem to threaten serious danger to either of them, but he was vaguely apprehensive.
“Take good care of yourself, lad,” he said earnestly, “and remember, if anything happens to me, you are to see this thing through alone. I have Casimiro’ s promise to deliver the gold to you, if I should knock under.”
Brent reassured the stanch old man with a promise to greet him safe and sound on the deck of their treasure-ship eight months later. They bade each other an affectionate farewell just as the raft shoved off into the current at daybreak next morning, and the last thing Brent saw as the raft swept around a turn in the stream was the sturdy figure of Fraser waving him good-by.
Casimiro and three other Indians manned the treasure-raft. The chief assured Brent that the navigation would not be difficult, for although the current in places was very swift there were no rocks to encounter. The young man expected nothing more than a pleasure trip, and he gave himself up to admiration of the scenery of the marvelous valley as it disclosed itself from new points of view. There was much that was wonderful, but the outlook was not as imposing as from the mountain trail by which they had entered the strange wilderness. A part of the way high precipices shut out all but a narrow strip of sky above and deep shadows and solemn echoes made their swift passage along the black stream uncanny and fearsome.
The Indians seemed a little anxious as the raft approached the entrance of the valley. The stream was rather high and the current swifter than they had expected. Armed with paddles, they prepared to guide the fast-moving raft from either bank toward which it might approach too near. Brent saw the danger and sprang to assist. The momentum which their heavy cargo gave them carried the unwieldy craft perilously near the right bank, where the stream turned slightly in the opposite direction. Their speed was so great that a touch against the steep rocks meant destruction. The four Indians plied their paddles with all theirstrength to swing the head of the raft toward midstream. It was useless to attempt to use poles against the unyielding rocks which they were passing so rapidly.
Brent did not know this danger. He picked up a pole, sprang to the side, and tried to fend off the raft by pushing the pole against the bank. The pole was quickly dashed out of his hands, and, before he could recover himself, over he plunged into the rushing stream.
The Indians heard his cry as he fell. Casimiro sprang toward him. The young man had gone down in the still closing gap between the raft and the precipitous bank. The chief shouted to the others to stick to their paddles and pull still harder. Keenly he searched the dark water. In a moment he caught sight of the body as it rose. Standing ready with a pole, the Indian prepared to assist the young man aboard, but he perceived when the body reached the surface that it was motionless. It floated for a moment, only two yards from the raft and almost touching the rocky bank past which it swept. Instantly the old man threw himself into the water, seized the already sinking man, and with a couple of strong strokes succeeded in getting hold of the raft. The chief called to one of the Indians and a moment later both men were back upon the raft.
The danger of collision was over by this time, and two minutes later they were out under smiling skies, floating peacefully between the green banks of the plains. Brent did not regain his senses for some time and the Indians feared for a little that he was not merely stunned. They found a small gash in the scalp which might mean a fractured skull, and Casimiro was mightily relieved when the young man finally opened his eyes. Soon he was able to make light of an adventure which had almost put an end to his interest in Patagonian treasure-beds and all other terrestrial affairs.
The remainder of the raft’s trip was without important incident. It was a novel journey, not too monotonous to be boresome, and it came to a successful end the second day in the little cove where the schooner’s cargo had been landed nearly a month before. They grounded the raft without attracting the attention of any one on the schooner, which still lay anchored in the same spot in the harbor. Brent and Casimiro boarded the ship the next morning. Her captain and crew had grown heartily tired of their long idleness, and they welcomed the two men heartily. The work of landing the boxes intended for containing the gold was begun at once. Meantime, Brent instructed the mate and one of the sailors of the schooner to take a small boat and make carefulsoundings of the entrance and anchorage in the harbor. They were to prepare a rough chart of the small bay, which would serve for navigating the steamship in which the young man expected to return later in the year. He did not explain, however, the purpose for which he desired the survey.
He landed all the boxes which had been made in Buenos Ayres. Twenty, which he intended to use at once, he put upon the raft, the others he stored upon shore where they could be filled during his absence. He did not fill his twenty boxes quite full of gold. He spread a covering of earth and gravel over the surface of the metal before screwing down the cover. Within three days his cargo was aboard ship, the harbor soundings were finished, and he was ready to sail. The task of landing the rest of the gold from the raft was left to the Indians.
The voyage north was begun on the 12th of January. Buenos Ayres was reached after an uneventful trip three weeks later. The twenty enormously heavy boxes were transshipped to a steamer which was to sail in three days for Rio Janeiro. In the three days, Brent purchased a large supply of wire rope, spikes, saws, anchors, and other raft-building material which Fraser believed he would need, and sent the schooner back with them to the Patagonian coast. Then he took passage north. He lost a week at Rio Janeiro,waiting for a boat bound to New York, and it was finally the 15th of March when he found himself one morning alongside the wharf at Roberts’ Stores in Brooklyn.
The custom-house inspector who came aboard did not seem particularly interested in Brent’s twenty cases of “mineral ores.” The owner removed the cover of one of them and the inspector poked his fingers into the harmless looking contents and promptly passed the lot. This ordeal passed, Brent hurried to the ferry and a few minutes later stepped ashore in his native city.
New Yorkseemed strange to Brent for several days after his arrival. Life itself impressed him as unnatural and unreal. More than once he became suspicious that memory was playing him a trick, and he half felt that he ought not himself to believe the story of the last half-year, a story he was sure nobody else would credit on the security of his mere assertion.
Resolved as he was not to share his secret, he was a little puzzled at first as to the best practical course for turning his present resources into available cash. After making some general inquiries, he decided that the most direct method would be best. He would take his boxes of gold to the Mint, have the metal coined under the terms of the Free Coinage of Gold Act, and make no explanations to anybody. He presumed that so large a deposit of virgin gold might cause some comment at the Mint, but the sum was not great enough to be of general business importance and there seemed to be no reason for fearing any widespread curiosity or inquiry.
He hired for a month a small room in the basement of an office building in one of the less busy down-town streets. His twenty small, amazingly heavy boxes were safely stored there within a week of his arrival in the city. He then undertook the tedious and by no means easy task of separating the gold from the covering of sand with which he had disguised it. He did this in order that he might meet the requirements of the Mint and offer only the clean and pure metal. He grew heartily tired of the job before he had finished it, for it occupied him several hours daily for a full fortnight. At last it was completed and the cases were shipped to Philadelphia.
Brent went with them. He had them transferred from the express car to a truck, got into the wagon himself and with two or three truckmen drove to the Mint. He was directed to the proper department for the reception of gold bullion, and he asked the clerk in charge where he should deliver a quantity of gold for coinage.
“I will take it here,” responded the functionary.
“It is outside in a wagon; shall I have it brought in here?” asked Brent.
The reply was in the affirmative, and in a few moments two brawny men staggered in with a small box between them. The clerk seemed much surprised by the great weight of the burden, and remarked with interest that it was evidently a very valuable ingot.
“Have we got to bring ’em all in this way?” inquired one of the truckmen, wiping his forehead.
“Are there any more?” asked the clerk in surprise.
“Yes, twenty of them, and they weigh four hundred pounds apiece, if an ounce.”
The Mint official dropped his routine, red-tape manner and became a very much astonished man.
“Do these boxes contain pure gold?” he exclaimed, turning to Brent.
“Yes, I believe so,” was that individual’s matter-of-fact reply. “There are about four tons of it.”
The first box was taken behind the counter. The clerk, still agitated, produced a screw-driver at Brent’s request, and the cover was taken off.
“Nuggets and dust, not bullion,” said the government employee, taking up a little in his hand and examining it critically. “Yes, and wonderfully pure. Four tons! Almost two and a half millions.”
When he had mastered his astonishment, the clerk told the truckmen that they might take the team to the entrance of the bullion reception department and deliver their load direct, without bringing it into the office. Then he excused himself for a moment and returning presently he invited Brent to visit the director of the Mint, who was in the building.
The owner of millions in virgin gold was greeted with much respect by the head of Uncle Sam’s money-coining establishments. He asked several questions about the remarkable deposit, all of which Brent answered except one as to the source of the newborn wealth. This he respectfully explained he was unable to disclose. He requested the director to use his good offices to prevent as far as possible any unnecessary publicity in connection with the reception of so unusual a quantity of gold from private hands. The director promised to take such precautions as could be taken, and after waiting some time for his weighing receipt, Brent withdrew.
A few days later, the young man had on deposit to his credit in the Chemical National Bank of New York, the substantial sum of $2,445,152 in cash. Then he set about the detailed work called for by his agreement with Fraser. He found it necessary to have such a vault as was needed for the safe storage of the treasure specially constructed. He bought a suitable site on a quiet street south of Fourteenth Street and west of Broadway, and a large force of men was speedily at work in the construction.
A little figuring made it plain that storage capacity equivalent to at least 36,000 cubic feet would be required for the reception of six thousand tons of gold packed in such boxes as he intended using. Thevault or vaults, as he designed and finally ordered them, measured in their internal dimensions eighty feet long, forty feet wide, and twelve feet high. It was an expensive undertaking. The contract price for the construction of granite, steel, and cement, to be completed within five months, was $250,000.
Early in April, Brent contracted for the manufacture of twenty-four thousand boxes similar in most respects to those he had had made in Buenos Ayres. They were to be twenty inches long, thirteen inches wide, and ten inches deep, external measurement, and they were designed to contain five hundred pounds each of gold. Lined with iron and held together by screws, it was hardly possible that any ordinary rough handling would injure such a receptacle sufficiently to disclose its contents.
These matters disposed of, Brent found himself with two or three months of almost idle time on his hands. He would have preferred to spend it among the strange people and scenes he expected soon to revisit, but New York was not unattractive even during the suspense under which he labored. When was the metropolis of the New World ever unattractive to a young man with money and with tastes not yet jaded by indulgence?
As the time approached for making preparations for his long journey south, he made inquiries in vain fora steamship suitable for the trip. He required a boat of at least nine thousand tons, and aside from the well-known Atlantic greyhounds and a few men-of-war, few ships of that size existed. It began to appear that only by chartering some famous liner at an enormous expenditure would he be able to keep his appointment in the Patagonian harbor. He was averse to taking so bold a step, chiefly because of the danger of publicity which it involved. It would be impossible to withdraw a well-known crack flyer from her regular Atlantic service at the height of the passenger season and to send her off on a mysterious voyage without attracting much public attention and curiosity.
There seemed to be no other course open, and Brent was about to make to the American line an offer of three quarters of a million for three months’ use of their steamerNew York, when he learned of the arrival from Bremen of a giant cargo steamship, theRichmond, on her first voyage. She was a crack boat of her kind, 9,580 tons, twin screws, enormous cargo capacity, and built very much on the lines of the ill-fatedNaronic. Brent lost no time in putting himself in communication with the representatives of her owners. His negotiations were easily successful, and an offer of four hundred thousand dollars secured possession of the great boat from August till mid-November.
In addition to the twenty-four thousand queer little boxes which puzzled the crew very much, Brent put on board a considerable miscellaneous cargo for the benefit of his Patagonian friends. He kept in mind, however, Casimiro’s wise warning and included little or nothing of the luxuries of civilization.
On the morning of August 4, theRichmondcleared for Rio Janeiro, with Brent as the only passenger. The run to Rio was easily made in eighteen days. The steamer was re-coaled and again sailed under papers providing for a cruising trip, touching at coast points. Brent had endeavored as far as possible to prevent any idea of mystery getting possession of the officers or crew of the ship. He had said that he was going to trade with some of the natives farther south and that he had arranged to take back to New York a cargo of ore or gold-bearing placer gravel. After leaving Rio, he pointed out the destination on the general chart to the captain and produced his private chart of the natural harbor in which they would find shelter.
Approaching the coast on the morning of August 30, Brent soon recognized the rugged topography about the entrance to his unnamed harbor. The ship proceeded with the greatest caution. She felt her way with constant soundings. Brent had warned the captain that the chart which he supplied had been madewith some haste and not the greatest thoroughness. After creeping along almost inch by inch for fully three hours, theRichmondreached what seemed to be a safe anchorage at a little greater distance from the shore, as Brent remembered it, than the schooner had stopped on his previous visit.
While the ship was slowly seeking her moorings, Brent examined the shore searchingly with a powerful glass. He could discover no sign of life, not a trace of the presence of a human being. A nervous apprehension began to rise within him when the anchor had been dropped and only the wild and desolate coast appeared to welcome him. He dreaded to discover the fate of his Patagonian friends, his partner in the treasure-quest, and the vast prize itself which he had come to bear away. As soon as the steamer was at rest, he asked for a small boat and a couple of sailors to row him ashore. Soon he entered the little cove where he had first landed and where he had left the raft and its precious load eight months before. His forebodings increased as he grounded upon the narrow beach and stepped ashore without discovering anything to suggest the previous presence of man. There were not even logs or driftwood from abandoned rafts. The empty boxes which he had landed from the schooner had disappeared. There was simply a silent, desolate, narrow beach, with almost a precipice rising back of it.
Concealing his agitation, Brent directed the boatmen to wait for him and sought the natural trail leading to the higher land above. This he found and hastily followed up the steep ascent. A few minutes’ hard climbing brought him to the beautiful bit of pasture-land where he had first met the native Indians, and made acquaintance with the remarkable qualities of Patagonian horses and horsemanship. The little plain was deserted. Its verdure in the cool spring air was not as luxuriant as it had been under the warm summer sun of the previous December.
The young man looked about in dismay. The solitude appalled him. Not even a bird-note made the silence less oppressive. He began to fancy himself the victim of a delusion. The uncanny impression that the record in his mind of the past year had no material existence returned to torment him. His common sense came to his rescue after a little, and he tried to consider reasonably the cause of this desolation, where he had expected to find life and activity. That something had gone wrong was almost certain, but he could only conjecture what it might be. He sat down upon a rock to think the matter over, but his meditations brought him little satisfaction.
It occurred to him presently that the time fixed for his coming with the steamer was the 1st of September, which was still two days off. It had, however, beenno absolute appointment for a set day and hour, and he felt sure that Fraser and many of the natives, according to the plans at the time of his departure, would be in the vicinity for days if not weeks before the time. There seemed nothing for him to do but to wait. He would at least take no step, he decided, until the 1st of September had passed. Perhaps then he would undertake to visit overland the wonderful valley in order to seek the solution of the mystery. He dreaded such a journey. He had no horses or means of getting them, and he doubted very much if he could make his way on foot, unguided, to the spot where the gold had lain. It would be a difficult and perilous undertaking under any circumstances.
He banished from his manner as far as possible all symptoms of perturbation and made his way back to the steamer. He told the captain that they were likely to make a long stay in the harbor, and that no one from on board must be allowed at any time to land near the mouth of the river which he had just visited. The natives, he explained, would resent the intrusion of white men at that point, and any violation of their wishes would interfere with trading and might lead to trouble. Then Brent composed himself with as much patience as he could command to wait for some indication from the shore. The next day passed without a sign, and nobody left the ship. Anxious use ofstrong field-glasses directed toward all parts of the land-locked bay discovered nothing.
Late that night, Brent decided that if the next day should pass without any solution of the mystery, he would attempt the ascent of the river upon which he had made one almost fatal trip. He had on board theRichmonda powerful naphtha launch, which he had expected to use for towing rafts or small lighters from the shore alongside the steamer. He believed this craft might succeed in forcing a passage through even the swiftest part of the river, up to the original treasure-bed in the mountain-locked valley. At all events, it was worth trying, and the young man succeeded in sleeping upon his resolution.
The next morning brought no communication from the shore, and Brent ordered the launch made ready for a cruise. He was watching the men at work upon it, just before noon, when the second officer called to him suddenly that a boat was approaching the steamship from the shore. Brent hurried to the side. He saw a canoe containing three men rapidly nearing the ship. The two at the paddles were native Patagonians, the third Brent recognized instantly as Casimiro. He motioned to the chief to bring the canoe to the foot of the ladder at the side of the steamship, and in a few moments the old man was on deck, receiving Brent’s greetings with the grave native dignity peculiar to himself. The great ship upon which he stood evidently impressed the Patagonian deeply. He looked about him, forward, aft, aloft, at the immense smoke-tunnel, at the height above the water where he stood, and then shook his head in dumb marvel.
Brent waited a moment for his surprise to pass off and then pressed with some anxiety his inquiries for Fraser. The old man’s face changed instantly. His awe became sadness, and again his head shook silently, this time with the dejection of grief.
“Tell me,” exclaimed Brent in much alarm, speaking in Spanish, “is my friend dead?”
Slowly the old man replied in broken Spanish phrases: “I bring you saddest grief. It is true. The good white cacique is dead. He fell fighting for my people, fighting for the accursed gold.”
The news overwhelmed the young man. The blow was so unexpected, in spite of his vague forebodings, that it unmanned him. He leaned against a stanchion, silent and pale. He was unable to ask for the particulars of the tragedy. Casimiro looked on in manifest sympathy with the other’s genuine grief. Presently he invited the young man to go with him to the shore, promising to give him there the whole history of events during his absence.
Brent went with him at once, asking no questions. The canoe took them, not to the little cove where they hadlanded before, but to the opposite side of the river’s mouth, some rods farther away. The country here seemed as deserted as the opposite bank, and there was the same rugged, forbidding coast-line. Casimiro led the way, and a few minutes’ rough walk brought them to another concealed camp, situated somewhat similarly to that which Brent had first visited. But the young man felt neither surprise nor interest in what he saw. He went at once with the chief to the temporary hut which the latter occupied. Brent sat down upon a pile of skins and for the first time asked Casimiro to tell him his story.
The old Patagonian’s narrative was not long, as he told it. The limitations of a strange tongue prevented any elaboration of detail. The story as he gave it to Brent was less complete than even the brief version of it which follows:
After Brent’s departure in January, the work of emptying the old river-bed of its remaining store of gold and transporting it to the coast had been pushed vigorously and systematically. Fraser’s practical suggestions and superintendence had simplified the task wonderfully. He had sought to float as much of the gold as possible to the river-mouth before the advent of winter should make the operation difficult and dangerous. After he had thoroughly instructed the natives in raft-building, he made a tripwith a large treasure-load, as Brent had done. He examined with Casimiro the facilities for concealing the gold on the shore, and decided as a precaution against possible discovery that half the treasure should be buried on the bank of the stream opposite the little cove. He had then returned to the treasure valley and had devoted himself with great energy to the severe task in hand.
Rapid progress was made and only one serious mishap occurred. This happened at almost the exact spot where Brent’s gold-seeking career had almost ended with his life. Some undiscoverable cause, perhaps a local deluge at the sources of the stream, had considerably swollen the current. The swift water carried one of the rafts too near the rocky bank. The end of a log touched the flinty wall. In an instant the ponderous mass was a scattered procession of drift-wood. The millions of treasure which it had borne sank into dark depths whence only another convulsion such as rent the divided mountain could resurrect it. One of the raftsmen was crushed to death, the others clung to the floating timber until they were borne to smoother water and could swim ashore.
In April, Fraser made another trip to the coast. Work at both ends of the line was making excellent progress. More than half the gold which had been recovered and stored when he and Brent arrived inTreasure Valley had been safely carried to the shore. Most of it had been buried in the new spot which had been selected, opposite their first landing-place. That which was yet to come down the river, it was intended to conceal in the sands of the little cove. The native camp was transferred for this purpose to the small plateau where the two white men had first seen it.
Soon after the camp was stirring one morning, Fraser and the Indians alike were startled by the sound of firearms coming from the direction of the beach below the plateau. The Scotchman seized a rifle, shouted to the natives to arm themselves and follow him, and then ran hastily down the narrow path toward the shore. The Indians, including Casimiro, who were soon on the heels of their leader, saw him stop just before reaching the bottom of the trail and motion them to approach cautiously. They did so and they saw a sight which filled them with alarm and rage. Five of their fellows, who had gone early to the shore, lay dead upon the sand. A raft had been moored upon the beach the day before and the work of unloading its treasure had been begun. Most of its burden of gold still lay naked upon the timbers. Around this were now gathered a dozen white men and another Indian, who, Casimiro explained in a savage whisper to Fraser, was the renegade member of the tribe whose treachery they had feared.
The white men seemed to be in wildest excitement over the heap of treasure before them. Disregarding all prudence, they had flung down their rifles, and now they knelt beside the gold and madly plunged their hands into the shining pile. Some of them began frantically to fill their pockets with the yellow nuggets. Presently, judging by their movements, one or two of them suggested bringing the two boats, in which they had come and which lay upon the beach near by, to the side of the raft and loading them with gold.
By this time the Indians concealed along the secret path were no longer to be held back from avenging their murdered comrades. Casimiro by a few signs to his followers and a word or two to Fraser ordered an attack while the white adventurers were still crazy with the fever of gold. They began creeping quietly nearer the beach, when the Indian on the raft caught sight of a movement among the rocks and shouted a warning to his white companions. At the same moment that the invading party picked up their guns, Fraser, Casimiro, and fifty Patagonians sprang toward them only fifty yards away. There was a double volley of rifle shots. Five of those on the raft fell and three of the attacking party. There was no more shooting. The eight men remaining on the raft tried to reach their boats. Access by land was cut off.They threw themselves into the water and tried to swim toward them. Instead of swimming they sank from sight. Two of them never rose again. The other three tore off their gold-loaded coats and rose to the surface. It was only a choice of deaths for them. Instantly they were seized by revengeful hands and the blue water was reddened with their blood.
The traitor died by Casimiro’s own hand. He had been wounded by the first discharge of firearms. He leaped to his feet when the avenging party reached the raft and faced them, knife in hand. The chief was in the van. He motioned to the others to stand back and, himself a picture of vengeance, rejuvenated and implacable, sprang upon the doomed man. The defiance of the wretch at bay seemed at the last moment to change to terror. He cringed. The yellow heap which was to have been the prize of his treachery was literally the pillow upon which he drew his last breath.
It was not a fight but a slaughter. In five minutes it was over. Not one of the invaders remained alive. Casimiro for the first time missed the Scotchman. He looked quickly from one to another of the prostrated forms upon the beach and raft, and then ran swiftly to a figure lying upon the sand, where the volley from the raft had met the charging Patagonians. The Scotchman lay upon his face. Casimiro turned him.A groan relieved the worst fears, and he sought to revive the wounded man. Fraser regained consciousness presently, but shook his head in answer to the look in the chief’s face. A ball had passed through his body just below the breast-bone, and the injured man knew his case was hopeless. He protested against being moved, and the Indians brought skins for a softer couch and tried to ease his sufferings where he lay.
The dying man gave little thought to himself. He asked eagerly about the result of the short battle. He suggested sending to reconnoiter at once in order to ascertain whence the invaders came and whether there were more of them. Casimiro told him a small ship lay anchored in the harbor, but she seemed to be deserted. Then the sufferer advised the removal of all the gold in the cove to the hiding-place on the opposite side of the river. He reminded Casimiro of his promise to carry out the agreement with Brent in case of his own misfortune, and urged the thorough execution of the original plan as the only safeguard against such tragedies as they had just witnessed.
Casimiro acquiesced sadly in all the dying man said, and when the end came rather suddenly at the last, he closed the eyes of his stanch ally and friend with a grief as deep as he would have felt for any of his own kindred.
“Tell the lad,” said Fraser just before the end, “that his responsibility will be greater than mine—greater than I could have borne—greater than any man bears to-day. I love the lad. He will be true.”
The struggle to exorcise the curse which the presence of gold meant to the Patagonians went on more earnestly than ever after this. Some feeling of rebellion against the heavy labor which the task imposed quite disappeared after the tragic demonstration of the dangers lurking in the useless treasure which encumbered their land. The ship in which the white men had come proved to be quite deserted. The Indians took it outside the harbor and sank it in the sea. The two or three loads of gold which had been landed in the little cove were taken to the opposite bank of the river. All the remaining gold had been brought from Treasure Valley, safely landed and concealed, and all trace of treasure or anything else unusual had been removed nearly a month before Brent’s arrival. Casimiro had simply waited for the hour when he understood Brent was to appear and then he had presented himself.
Brent gleaned the principal points in this history from Casimiro’s narration. His grief over his friend’s fate quite destroyed for the time all interest in the treasure which had been the primary cause of it. There arose, in fact, a revulsion in his mind againstthis gold which for him would always be blood-stained, a sinister and evil treasure. He talked long with the old man about his dead friend, and Casimiro strove to satisfy his thirst for knowledge of the man they both had loved with an affection not less strong than a brother’s.
When Casimiro turned at last to the work still at hand, Brent brought himself to the subject with the greatest aversion. He explained very briefly his facilities for shipping the gold, and it was agreed to begin work on the morrow. It was a comparatively simple task. The position of the steamship was changed a few rods to facilitate the work, and then the unloading of the cargo and boxes went on rapidly from day to day. All the work, except placing the goods upon the floats at the ship’s side and hoisting the loaded boxes of gold on board, was done by the Indians. No one from the ship except Brent was allowed to step foot ashore at the point where the cargo was landed and the mysterious boxes were reshipped. The crew of theRichmondmarveled much at the extraordinary weight of the small cases when they came back from the shore. A rumor gained currency among them that the boxes contained quicksilver ore, and ignorant as the men were of such subjects this report quite satisfied their curiosity.
On the 3d of October, theRichmond’scargo wasall on board, and instead of appearing to be in ballast only she sank deep in the water under the small but heavy load. Brent had a last and affectionate interview with Casimiro, who seemed to consider that the service was on Brent’s part and not on his own in carrying away the gold. The young man arranged for the annual delivery of a cargo of supplies in December midsummer, and then just at noon, with steam up, theRichmondstartled the echoes and sent terror to the hearts of the Patagonians with a tremendous blast of her whistle. A few moments later she was under way, creeping slowly out into the ocean and then turning her prow to the north.
The steamer’s cargo was so heavy that she was unable to carry a full supply of coal. She put in again at Rio Janeiro to partially refill her bunkers. Otherwise the voyage to New York was without stop or unusual incident. Sandy Hook was sighted on the 2d of November, and the steamer lay at quarantine that night while Brent went up to the city to arrange for docking.
The only point which gave the young man any anxiety was the customs inspection. His cargo was not dutiable, so that he would be guilty of no fraud upon the government in failing to declare its real nature. He was also confident that if the arrival of such a vast quantity of gold should transpire througha custom-house declaration, it would inflict a great and unnecessary calamity upon the business world. His conscience felt justified, therefore, in resorting to the same expedient which he had adopted on landing his small consignment of gold a few months before. Fortune seemed to favor him, for the same inspector came aboard who had examined his boxes before. He remembered the occasion, and his examination this time was almost as superficial as the first.
This ordeal passed and the ship docked near the foot of West Tenth Street. Brent felt that the worst of his difficulties were over. He found the vault completed to his satisfaction, and the work of storing his strange cargo therein was begun at once.