The Golden Key E-Book

T.C. Bridges

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Four years of hard work under the tropical sun, a young American invested in this place. He, Dick, had been on it for a whole year. He knew how Dudley liked it, and knew perfectly well that it would be unpleasant for him to refuse him. What was his business when Dudley so quietly perceived all this?

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I. THE SHARK

CHAPTER II. CRAY ON THE JOB

CHAPTER III. THE ISLAND

CHAPTER IV. HIDDEN BAY

CHAPTER V. A DOLLAR A MINUTE

CHAPTER VI. UP AGAINST IT!

CHAPTER VII. THE WHITE FLAG

CHAPTER VIII. THE MUD PIT

CHAPTER IX. THE BOGEY-MAN

CHAPTER X. WHEN THE ROCKS FELL

CHAPTER XI. BARRACUDA!

CHAPTER XII. THE BATTLE ON THE BEACH

CHAPTER XIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE PAPER PACKET

CHAPTER XIV. THE RED FLARE

CHAPTER XV. TRAPPED!

CHAPTER XVI. IN THE DARK

CHAPTER XVII. RAIDED!

CHAPTER XVIII. THE WARNING

CHAPTER XIX. A LUCKY FIND

CHAPTER XX. CHASED!

CHAPTER XXI. DISASTER!

CHAPTER XXII. CRAY'S THREAT

CHAPTER XXIII. AT BAY

CHAPTER XXIV. TERMS

CHAPTER XXV. THE FILE

CHAPTER XXVI. THE TUNNEL

CHAPTER XXVII. BACK TO THE SALT WATER

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE GOPHER.THE GOPHER

CHAPTER XXIX. A RUDE AWAKENING

CHAPTER XXX. DUDLEY DOUBLES BACK

CHAPTER XXXI. AN AWKWARD SITUATION

CHAPTER XXXII. THE SWIM

CHAPTER XXXIII. ONE MYSTERY SOLVED

CHAPTER XXXIV. THE GLIMMERING LIGHT

CHAPTER XXXV. THE HIDDEN REFUGE

CHAPTER XXXVI. PREPARATIONS

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE EXPLOSION—AND WHAT FOLLOWED

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE DUMMY

CHAPTER XXXIX. "WE'RE TOO LATE!"

CHAPTER XL. SHORT RATIONS

CHAPTER XLI. THE WRECK

CHAPTER XLII. SAFE AND SOUND!

CHAPTER I. THE SHARK

“NOTHING but catfish!” growled Dick Daunt, as he jerked the hook out of the mouth of another of the black, slimy, hideous-looking fish, and, knocking its head against the gunwale, flung it overboard.

“Say, I guess that must be about the forty-seventh you’ve caught, Dick,” responded the other occupant of the boat–a lean young American, with a face as clean-cut as a Red Indian’s, and a complexion so burnt by wind and sun that it resembled well- tanned saddle-leather. “Ain’t it about time we got the hook up and shifted?”

“What’s the use?” retorted Dick, whose rather thin face bore an expression of weariness and disgust such as Dudley Drew had rarely seen upon his partner’s features. “It’s the same everywhere else in this beastly creek. The only thing is to get out to sea and try for sheep’s head or crevalle.”

Drew looked doubtful.

“I reckon we’ll have to pull a mighty long way,” he answered. “There isn’t a mite of wind.”

“Oh. I’ll pull!” said Dick. “We’ve simply got to have some fish for supper. ‘Pon my Sam, I can’t look a tin of bully-beef in the face any longer!”

Drew’s reply was to begin pulling up the anchor.

As soon as he got it home the tide took hold of the clumsy boat and began to set her up on the creek. Dick got a grip of the oars, and, turning her, set to pulling the other way.

The water was like brown glass and although it was late October, the sun beat down mercilessly. If there was any breeze, the lofty walls of cypress and cabbage-palmetto which rose on either side cut it off. Perspiration streamed down Dick’s face as he wielded the heavy oars.

Dudley shifted up on to the thwart behind him.

“You give me one of ‘em,” he said quietly; and though Dick objected, he insisted. Under the double drive the boat moved much more rapidly.

Presently the creek widened, and the trees grew thinner. A number of them, torn from their roots or broken short off, lay in the water.

“Say, but that hurricane has played thunder down here!” observed Dudley.

“I wouldn’t have minded that if it had left our place alone,” said Dick Daunt bitterly. “It makes me fairly sick to look at the wreck it’s made of everything! I was round again this morning and counted. There are only thirty-seven cocoa-palms left out of the whole three hundred; and as for the orange-trees, it will be all of three years before we get a crop again.”

“It’s pretty bad,” assented the other gravely.

“What I want to know,” continued Dick, “is what we are going to do about it? You know jolly well, Dudley, that it will cost us a matter of three hundred dollars to replant and put things to rights. Then we’ve got to live for the next three years until we get a crop. And we haven’t more than sixty dollars between us. What’s to be done?”

“I reckon that’s just what I’ve been saying to myself ever since the day it happened, Dick. We’re up against it. That’s a sure thing.”

“But see here,” he continued, “this isn’t any time to be chewing the rag. After supper we’ll have it out, and if you’ve a mind to let go and set to some fresh job–why, I’m not going to do any kicking.”

Dick was silent. He realised that Dudley was right. Also he felt somewhat ashamed. It was true that he had put money into the neat little place which lay near the shore of Lemon Bay, but it was Dudley who had made it. Four years’ hard work under the tropic sun the young American had put into the place. He, Dick, had only been on it a year. He knew how Dudley loved it, and fully realised what a wrench it would be for him to give it up. What business had he got to grouse when Dudley took it all so quietly?

By this time the boat had crossed the bar, and was out on the placid surface of Lemon Bay There was hardly a ripple on the mirror-like blue. It was difficult to believe that only four days earlier this same pond-like sea had been thundering on the white beach in breakers as high as houses, while the foam-flakes had been driven hundreds of yards inland through the forest.

A sudden tremendous splash made him start, and he was just in time to see something resembling a six-foot bar of silver rise out of the sea, hang poised an instant in mid-air, and disappear again with a sullen plunge.

“Tarpon!” he shouted. “Great luck, Dudley! Mullet must be in the bay.”

“That’s so!” replied Dudley quietly. “I guess we’ll anchor right here and try our luck.”

He flung over the anchor, and the boat swung to it with her bow pointing seawards.

Her crew hastily baited the hand-lines and flung them out; and inside two minutes were pulling in bright-scaled mullet as fast as they could handle the lines. The fish averaged about a pound in weight, and were in splendid condition.

The shining pile grew rapidly.

“We’ll have plenty to take over to Port Lemon,” said Dick. “Old Ladd, the storekeeper, ought to give us a good trade in exchange for these.”

At this moment there came a tremendous jerk at Dudley’s line. He pulled hard; then, all of a sudden, the line went slack, and when he hauled it in hook, snood, and all were gone.

“Blame the luck!” he exclaimed, in a tone of deep annoyance. “It’s a shark! I guess that’s finished our sport this journey.”

“No; by Jove, I’m not going to stick that!” returned Dick emphatically. “The shark-line’s aboard, and if we bait with one of the bigger fish the chances are we’ll have the beggar!”

“And be towed all around the bay!” returned Dudley drily.

“Never mind! The mullet will come again. Besides, I want a shark. We’re in need of some oil for our boots and harness.”

As he spoke he was baiting a thing the size of a meat-hook. There was three foot of steel chain attached to it, and to that again a long coil of stout line.

In a minute or two all was ready, and he threw it out. Dudley had got in his mullet-line. It is no use fishing when sharks are about.

Five minutes or more passed slowly; then the shark-line began to move slowly and jerkily over the gunwale. Dick watched the line with eager eyes. Dudley was quietly raising the anchor.

Foot by foot it stole away, then suddenly began to run out rapidly. Dick, who had risen to his feet, got tight hold of the line with both hands and gave a fierce jerk.

“Got him!” he roared triumphantly, and, springing forward, made the line fast with a couple of turns around a cleat in the bow.

Instantly the line was taut as a fiddle-string, and the boat, pulled by the unseen monster below, began to forge rapidly ahead.

“A big one!” said Dudley briefly, as he slipped into the stern sheets and took the tiller.

The pace of the boat increased. She was heading straight out to sea. A great black triangular fin showed up on the surface and went cutting through the water at a furious rate.

For nearly half an hour this went on, and still the great brute showed no signs of tiring. Dudley glanced back towards the shore, now quite three miles away.

“Looks like we were bound for Cuba,” he observed, in his dry way.

Almost as he spoke the shark turned southwards, parallel with the coast.

“Don’t worry!” Dick replied. “He’s going to give us a free ride to Port Lemon.”

Another ten minutes and the pace slackened perceptible. Dick began to haul on the line; but this started his shark-ship up afresh, and he spurted hard for nearly a mile.

Then he slacked up again.

“Mighty nigh time to lance him,” said Dudley.

Dick nodded, and picked up from the bottom of the boat a stout six-foot length of bamboo armed at the end with a sharp steel point.

The shark had almost stopped, and was beating the surface with his tail. Dudley took the oars, and pulled quietly up alongside.

Dick was ready. The lance-head flashed in the sunlight as it clove the air, and, aimed to perfection, was buried deep in the steel-gray body.

A sheet of spray flew over them, the boat rocked in the waves caused by the monster’s struggles, and the blue water turned pink with blood.

“That was a mighty good lance, Dick.” said Dudley. “I don’t reckon we’ll have a lot more trouble.”

But a shark takes a lot of killing. The wound seemed to galvanise the huge brute into fresh energy, and off he went again at the rate of knots, and now heading straight back towards the coast.

But the spurt did not last very long, and presently Dick was able to get his lance to work again. This time he finished the job, and the long torpedo-shaped body floated motionless on the surface.

“Told you he’d take us in again.” said Dick, with a laugh, and pointing to the shore, not half a mile away. “We’ll beach him, chop out his liver, then slip along to Port Lemon. We can sell or swap our mullet, and get back in time to catch some more for supper.”

“Seems a pretty slick programme!” drawled Dudley. “But I’m right with you.”

The tide helped them in; they beached the boat, and, hauling the shark ashore, set to work with the big flinching-knife which they always carried.

Well practised as he was in this kind of work, it took Dick only a very short time to rip the great carcass open, and the huge liver, reeking with oil, was taken out and lifted into the boat.

“Wonder if he’s got anything else inside him?” said Dick.

“I reckon not. He’s hardly large enough to be a man-eater,” answered Dudley.

“I’ll just have a look. It won’t take a minute,” Dick said, as he stooped and inserted the knife again.

The skin, harsh as sandpaper, ripped with a grating sound, and then the knife rang on something hard and resonant.

“Hallo!” exclaimed Dick. “Here’s treasure trove!”

And thrusting in his hand, he drew out a bottle.

Dudley laughed.

“Say, Dick, he must have been kind of hungry to go lunching on empty bottles.”

“It isn’t empty,” declared Dick, as he held up his find. “It’s corked.”

“Corked, is it? Let’s hope it’s ginger-pop inside! I could do with a little liquid refreshment. Here’s a corkscrew.”

But Dick had already solved the problem of opening the bottle by knocking off its head with the back of the flinching- knife.

“Empty,” he said. Then, with a start; “No, by Jove! There’s a paper inside!”

“The mischief, you say? Have it out, Dick! Here’s the start of a dime novel. Strange manuscript found in the stomach of a tiger- shark!”

“It’s manuscript, all right!” Dick’s voice betrayed more than a little excitement. “It’s a letter.”

“A letter! Read it right out, Dick!”

The sheet which Dick had taken from the bottle was coarse, whity-brown paper, the kind used in country stores for wrapping parcels, it was rolled in a cylinder, and Dick smoothed it out carefully.

“Wait a jiffy! How does it go? Ah, this is the right way up! My aunt, what a fist! Looks as if a spider had fallen in the ink- pot, and tried to dry himself on the paper afterwards. All right; don’t got impatient! I’ve got it:

“To anyone who picks up this bottle,–I, Matthew Snell, having lost my boat in the great storm of October 16th, am marooned, and in danger of starving on an unnamed island in the Keys. I will richly reward any person who will bring me food and take me off. The island lies, so far as I have judged the distance, sixty-three miles south-east by south of Cape Saturn. It can be known, when sighted, by the two small peaks on the north-west, the northerly hill being bare of trees.

“Signed this seventeenth day of October.

“Matthew Snell.”

For several seconds after Dick had finished this remarkable screed, the two young fellows stood staring at one another in complete silence.

Dudley was the first to speak.

“Some tourist chap wrote that for a joke, I reckon, and tossed it overboard from a steamer.”

But Dick seemed hardly to hear. His brows were creased, his lips tightly closed. He appeared to be trying to remember something.

“Snell,” he muttered–”Matthew Snell.” And then suddenly: “By Jove, I’ve got it! That’s the very chap that Ladd told me of somewhere about three months ago.”

“Ladd! What’s he know of him?”

“He and I were having a yarn that night we got caught in a breeze, and had to stay the night at Port Lemon. Yes; I remember it all now. He told me that an old man named Snell had been in only the day before, and bought a lot of stuff. He’d been in half a dozen times or so during the past two years. Came in a rubbly old sailing-boat, and always got about the same lot of stuff. And the rum thing about it was, he always paid in gold-dust.”

“Gold-dust!” exclaimed Dudley, roused for once! “Gold-dust! Say, he’s crazy! There isn’t no gold-dust in Florida, or any of the Keys, either.”

CHAPTER II. CRAY ON THE JOB

“THAT’S what he said, anyhow,” returned Dick obstinately “And if you don’t believe me, you’d better ask him!”

“We’ll do that, right now!” answered Dudley emphatically. “We’re only two miles from Port Lemon, and I guess we’ll have the truth out of old man Ladd before we’re an hour older.”

A little breeze had sprung up, just enough to fill the sail, and with this on the beam, they made good time to Port Lemon, where they tied up at the long timber-built pier, and went ashore, each carrying a string of fish.

The place was only a village, just a few frame houses dumped down in a clearing of a dozen acres behind the broad, white beach. The boys were pretty well known in the place, and several men shouted greetings from the verandahs, and more than one asked them to stop.

But, eager to see Ladd; they excused themselves, and hurried on to Ladd’s store. This was a great barn of a place, with long counters running up each side, and behind them shelves fixed against the match-boarded walls, and loaded with every sort of goods, from tinned tongues to teapots, and from women’s hats to men’s boots.

“Hallo, boys!” came a great booming voice, and Ladd himself stepped forward to greet them.

Ladd was little more than five feet tall, and looked as broad as he was high. He had a huge red face, a long red beard, and a thick crop of the most flaming red hair that ever was seen. He was so fat that he waddled rather than walked, and, in spite of his fat, was always fit and always cheerful.

“Hallo, boys! I been reckoning I’d see you pretty soon. Got some fish for me? Them’s fine mullet! where did ye get ’em?”

“Opposite our place,” Dick answered. “Got a shark, too!”

“Did ye now? Waal, you lay them fish down over in the ice-box here, and ye can have two dollars’ worth of trade for ’em. Guess that storm served you pretty bad, didn’t it? You’ll be wanting some new stuff up along your place. What kin I do for you?”

“Give us five minutes in your office,” cut in Dudley. “Dick, here, has something to ask you.”

Ladd looked a little surprised.

“Secrets–eh? Waal, there ain’t a lot o’ folk here this minute”–looking round the empty store–”and it’s cooler here than in the office. What’s the matter with having it out here?”

“All right. It won’t take long,” said Dick. “Do you remember telling me about an old chap called Matthew Snell?”

“Matt Snell! You bet I do! Thet old scarecrow as comes in from the Keys in a boat that looks like it might hev been made out o’ the wreck o’ the Ark!”

“And paid for his grub in gold-dust?” questioned Dick.

“That’s so. Though where he got it beats me. I guess he’s the first man as has found dust anywheres nearer than Cuba. They do say there’s gold over there, but as for them Keys, I never heard tell of any gold except Spanish treasure and such like.”

“But it was dusk?” put in Dick.

“You can bet your life on that, son! I been West, and I know dust when I handles it. And that was a mighty good sample. About twenty-two carat, as I sold it.”

Dick glanced at Dudley. He was staring at Ladd with a look of the keenest interest.

“But say,” went on Ladd. “What’s the trouble? What makes you two fellers so interested all of a sudden?”

Again Dick looked at Dudley, and Dudley nodded.

“Don’t you tell if you don’t want to,” said Ladd.

“But I do want to,” replied Dick. “Only I’ll ask you to keep dark about it for the present.”

“Oh, I’ll do that! I’ll be mum as an oyster,” asserted Ladd, with a fat chuckle.

“Then read this,” said Dick, handing him the letter.

Ladd did so, and for once his big face assumed a solemn expression.

“Gee, but this sounds like business!” he remarked. “Where did ye get it?”

“Out of the shark,” Dick told him.

“And what are ye going to do about it?”

“Take a trip across,” answered Dick briefly.

Ladd nodded.

“I guess it’s worth it. Reckon your boat’s big enough?”

“Yes; if the weather holds up.”

“It’s likely to be fine quite a spell ofter that storm.”

“But I reckon we shall want some stores, Mr. Ladd,” put in Dudley. “That storm’s pretty near broke us.”

“I’ll go you,” said Ladd. “If you gets the reward the old feller shouts about–why, you can square up. If you don’t–why, that’ll be all right. I guess I’ve had right smart profit out of Matt Snell the times he’s been dealing along with me.”

“Thanks! That’s awfully good of you!” answered Dick warmly. “We’ll get off.”

Dudley nudged him, and he pulled up short, and looked round in surprise.

Then he saw the reason why Dudley had checked him.

It was not a pretty reason. The man who had just entered the store was the human image of a turkey-buzzard. He had the same small head at the end of a long, scaly-looking neck, and he carried it forward just as does that unclean scavenger of the tropics. His thin, hooked nose was extraordinarily like a buzzard’s bill. His skull was bare as a billiard-ball, and a long fringe of dirty-looking hair hung down over his greasy coat- collar. To make the resemblance more complete, he had just the same shuffling walk as the bird which he so faithfully copied.

He was Ezra Cray, Yankee by birth, but with only one Yankee trait in his character. That was meanness. As Ladd had often said: “That feller Cray is so cussed mean, I wonder he don’t steal the clothes off of his own back.”

“How d’ye, Ladd?” he remarked in a harsh, croaking voice.

“And what do you want?” demanded Ladd, openly hostile.

“I wants some stores when you got time to attend to me,” snarled Cray, with an attempt at sarcasm.

“Hev you got the money to pay for ’em?” inquired Ladd.

For answer, Cray took a wad of greasy five-dollar bills out of his pocket, and slammed them down on the counter.

“I got the money if you got the goods!” he snapped.

Dick cut in:

“Then we’ll be getting home, Mr. Ladd. Thanks for what you’ve told us. We’ll be round first thing in the morning for the stuff.”

“Right, boys!” said Ladd cheerfully. “I guess we can fix it up all right. Good-night to you!”

“That chap Cray gives me creeps!” remarked Dick, as they clambered into their boat again.

“In fact, he’s a reptile,” allowed Dudley; “the worst around these parts.”

“They say he’s in with that moonlighting crowd up the creek,” said Dick. “Those chaps that run the distillery up in life swamps.”

“That’s what Sheriff Anderson says, anyway,” replied Dudley; “and I reckon he knows.”

“Say, Dick,” he continued, “you fixed up mighty quick to go to this island.”

Dick stared.

“Didn’t you want to go?”

“You bet. But it means leaving our place to look after itself for maybe a week. You can’t count on getting help round this time of year.”

“What is there left to look after?” asked Dick, frowning.

“Mighty little,” replied Dudley, with a sigh. “All the same, this business is pretty much of a gamble.”

“Just so. And if it turns up trumps, and we find the old boy, that reward he offers may just set us on our legs again. A handful or two of that dust will go a long way to repairing the damage. And we might be able to buy a bigger boat, and work the fishing properly this winter.”

Dudley nodded.

“That’s so. All right, Dick. We’ll get to it, then.”

Get to it they did. That night they overhauled the boat, rove some new running tackle, mended a hole in the ancient mainsail, and got their gear together. Before daylight next morning they were afloat again, and at six were back at Port Lemon.

Rarely as it was, Ladd was waiting for them. He put a thick finger to his lips, and beckoned them inside the score.

“Say, boys,” he said, in a low voice, “I’m afeared you’re in for a heap o’ trouble. That there fellow Cray is on the job.”

CHAPTER III. THE ISLAND

“CRAY on the job?” said Dick sharply. “You don’t mean to say you’ve told him?”

“Me tell! What d’ye take me for?” retorted Ladd, his red beard fairly bristling.

“Sorry! I ought not to have said that. But you say Cray is on the game. How can that be? I vow he didn’t overhear us yesterday.”

“I don’t reckon he did. And how in thunder he got wise beats me like it does you. All I knows is that the skunk was in here arter you left, buying stuff for a cruise, and paying for it in good money.”

“He may be on a trip after turtles,” suggested Dick.

“You wait, young feller. Bernard J. Ladd may be fat, but he ain’t a fool. I sorter suspicioned something, and arter he left I slipped out around the back and follered him down to the beach. He was a-loading the stuff on that big centre-board o’ his, and along with him was that all-fired rascal Seth Weekes.”

“The moonlighter?” exclaimed Dick.

“That’s right; the boss o’ that gang. I got down behind another boat, and ’twas dark by then, so they didn’t see me, and I got a chance to listen. Wasn’t much as I could hear, for they talked mighty quiet, but I’m a Dutchman if I didn’t hear Snell’s name spoke, and more’n once, too.”

“The mischief!” mattered Dick. “What’s to be done?”

“Done!” repeated Ladd. “Why, get to it, boys! They ain’t started yet. I been watching, and there ain’t a soul been down to the boat this morning. I reckon they’re waiting for some more o’ their dod-gasted crowd from up the swamps there. Now, I got all the stuff ready for you, and all you got to do is tote it down. Then you turns round as if you was a-going right home again, and so soon as you’re round the point you makes away for this here island.”

The two boys exchanged glances.

“He’s right.” said Dick.

“That’s so,” replied Dudley quietly. “And even if they do get off soon, we ought to outsail them. In this light breeze we can do a sight better than they can.”

“That’s right,” declared Ladd. “Now here’s your stuff, all done up in sacks. Go straight on down to the beach leisurely like. Don’t hurry. Act just like you was going home. And say,” he went on quickly, “you got a gun along?”

“Yes. I’ve got my forty-four repeater,” said Dudley, “and Dick here has his scatter-gun.”

“That’s all hunky. Likely you’ll need ’em before you’re through. You mind this. The law don’t run on them Keys–at least, not anything to signify–and it’s the chap as gets the drop first as comes out top dog.”

He stooped and lifted a sack on to the counter, and then a second. They were heavy, too–each a good load for a man.

“Guess you’ll find all you need in there, boys. Good luck to you, and pockets full of dust!”

He gave them each a grip that was like a bear’s, and they marched off down to their boat.

The morning breeze was right off the land, and as soon as they were half a mile out they began to feel it. The cat-boat lay over, and a slim feather of foam began to curl up on either side, under her prow.

Dudley looked back.

“We’ve stolen a march on them, Dick. There’s not a soul around on the beach yet.”

Hour after hour the breeze held. By nine the coast of Florida was hull down, and they were driving steadily south-eastwards over the wrinkled swells of the Gulf of Mexico. Neither knew much about navigation, but they had a compass, and, in any case, were able to set a course by the sun.

So the long afternoon wore on, and still there was no sign of land.

Dick looked at the sun.

“It will be down in an hour,” he said, rather gloomily, “and there’s not a ghost of a sign of the island.”

Dudley got up, and, standing in the bows, clinging to the forestay, stared round the horizon. At last he turned to the other.

“I believe I can see something. I don’t know what it is, but it looks mighty like land. Over there!”

He pointed as he spoke, and Dick slightly altered his course. Within another quarter of an hour Dudley was able to say definitely that it was land of some sort.

Their spirits rose, and they held on, close-hauled as possible.

But now–as almost always happens at sunset in tropical seas–the wind began to fall, and soon the cat-boat was bumping heavily in the smooth swell, her sails slatting aimlessly against the mast.

“It’s all right,” said Dudley, still cheerful. “We’ll get the night breeze after a bit. Then we’ll make it. And now I reckon it’s ‘most supper-time.”

Tinned tongue, more biscuits, and a can of fruit in syrup did them no end of good, and as they ate they watched the sun, a huge globe of crimson, dip slowly behind the placid sea.

But it was another hour before the night breeze began to blow, and now it was nearly dark.

Then came a real misfortune. Slowly but steadily a bank of cloud began to rise, and behind its great, grey veil the stars vanished, leaving them lost upon a pitch-dark sea. The breeze began to stiffen again, and Dick, at least, became very anxious indeed.

“We’ll have to get a reef in, Dudley,” said Dick at last, after a squall which had nearly buried the low-sided craft.

At that very moment Dudley gave a shout:

“Watch out, Dick! Breakers just ahead!”

Dick flung her over on the other tack with lightning speed.

“Gee whiz! But that was close!” exclaimed Dudley, pointing to a tumble of white foam roaring on rocks hardly a biscuit’s throw to starboard. “I guess this is the island, all right.”

The wind had steadied a little, but the thunder of the surf was terrifying.

“I believe I’ll drop the peak,” said Dick. “But goodness only knows how we’ll ever make a landing.”

“Breakers to port!” was Dudley’s alarming reply. “Put her over, quick, Dick!”

Dick obeyed like a flash. Only just in time, for now leaping crests were visible through the gloom about fifty yards on the port-side.

“We’re right in the middle of it!” growled Dick.

Yet, in spite of the imminent peril on both sides, his hand was steady as steel on the tiller. Given somewhat to grousing at small misfortunes or discomforts, Dick Daunt could always be relied on in a really tight place.

Dudley was standing up, staring out ahead.

“We’re sure in the middle of all kinds of reefs, Dick. Keep her as she goes. Seems there’s some sort of a channel ahead.”

A moment later he had to shout to Dick to luff again. And now all around the waves were breaking white. The boat had run into a very tangle of reefs. It seemed out of the question to ever extricate her.

Ten minutes passed. They seemed like ten hours. Then came a triumphant shout from Dudley.

“We’re through. Dick! We’re through, old son!”

Dick heaved a deep sigh.

“And where’s your blessed island?” he grunted.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the cat-boat took ground with a shock that sent Dudley sprawling.

He picked himself up.

“You’ve found it all right,” he said drily.

Dick had the sail down in half no time.

“It’s only sand!” he gasped.

“Yes; and I guess that’s the beach right ahead,” answered Dudley. “We haven’t a lot to kick about after all.”

As he spoke he jumped out into the water. Dick followed his example, and together they pulled the boat up. The tide was falling, and they soon had her high and dry. They anchored her firmly, carrying the hook a good way up the beach, then dropped down under her lee. They were both pretty well played out.

“We don’t even know whether this is the right island!” grunted Dick, as he wrung the water out of his trousers, which he had pulled off for that purpose.

“I’m willing to gamble it’s the right one,” laughed Dudley. “But we can’t be sure till morning. Meantime, I reckon we’d better roll up in our blankets and take a snooze.”

The advice was good, and within a very few minutes they both were stretched on the sand sound asleep. They were dog-tired, and neither moved until the sun, blazing full in their faces, roused them to the fact that the day was nearly an hour old.

Dudley was first on his feet.

“There are the two hills, Dick!” he exclaimed, with a touch of excitement such as he seldom showed. “We’re all right!”

“That’s a good-job,” Dick answered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Don’t see the old man, I suppose?”

“Not a sign of him. But I guess he wouldn’t be looking for us here. Great Scott! Look at the reefs we came through!”

“Bother the reefs!” said Dick. “I saw enough of ’em last night. What I want to see now is my breakfast!”

“It won’t be long,” smiled Dudley, who was already collecting driftwood for a fire.

Hot coffee and fried flying fish tasted delicious, and having finished their meal, they unloaded their stores, and cached them in the sandbanks behind the beach, covering them over carefully lest Cray’s party might arrive.

“What about the boat?” asked Dick.

“We can’t cache her; that’s one thing sure,” said Dudley. “I guess she’ll be all right where she is. Cray won’t try in through those reefs, even if he does come along. Anyhow, we ought to see his crowd from the hill if they’re anywhere on the horizon.”

Dick nodded.

“Right you are! Now for the old man. We’d best go up the hill first, hadn’t we?”

Dudley agreed, and they started. Behind the beach was a belt of thick scrub composed of saw-palmetto and bamboo vine, wicked stuff to force a way through. Also, it was haunted by rattlesnakes, from one of which Dudley had a very narrow escape.

Inland the ground rose and the scrub turned to forest.

“This isn’t any coral island,” said Dick, as he glanced down at the rich, loamy soil.

“Not it! You don’t get hills on the ordinary Keys. I reckon this is the top of some old volcano that got licked up out of the Gulf a few thousand years ago. And say, Dick, there’s always metals in this sort of rock.”

“Then the gold-dust might have come from here after all,” said Dick.

“Not a mite of a reason why it shouldn’t. Hallo! A creek! Maybe this is the one he washes the dust out of.”

“Let’s go up it, then.”

They did so, and presently found distinct signs of man’s handiwork. A dam had been built across the rivulet, and its course turned. There was a shovel sticking in the ground.

“And here’s a path!” exclaimed Dick suddenly.

He turned quickly up it, and Dudley followed. They were both getting really interested. The path wound through the thick trees for a couple of hundred yards, and opened quite suddenly into a small clearing, roughly fenced, where corn and sweet potatoes were growing. In the middle was a small log hut thatched with reeds. The chinks were cemented with clay.

“Got it at lost!” exclaimed Dick, running forward.

The door was open. He went straight in, but the room was empty.

“Mr. Snell!” he cried. “Mr. Snell!”

There was no reply.

“He must be out around somewhere,” said Dudley. “Guess we’d better go and look.”

“I suppose we had,” replied Dick slowly, “Still, it’s a bit odd that he’s not here or at his diggings.”

They started out, and, by Dudley’s advice, went first to the top of the nearest hill. From here they got a view of the whole island. It was quite small–only about two miles long by a mile to a mile and a half wide.

Dick scanned the horizon. The sea was empty.

“No sign of Cray’s crowd, anyhow,” he said with some satisfaction.

“Nor of Snell, either.” rejoined Dudley. “I wonder where the old fellow’s got to?”

“We’ll have a look round, anyway,” said Dick, turning.

They searched all day, they covered the whole island, they fired shots, they lit a big fire. At dusk, utterly tired out, they crawled back to the shack.

“This beats all!” said Dudley. “The old boy’s vanished into thin air.”