Jack found Robinson Crusoe’s island a pleasanter place than he had expected. Among the ridges were many pretty valleys which were covered with patches of woods or grass. Everything bore a peculiar hue of green, from the groves of myrtle, pimento and corkwood to the grassy plots, the natural fields of oats and even to the moss-covered rocks of the spinelike mountains.
The coast, as far as he could see, overhung the sea or rose perpendicular to such a height as to make it inaccessible, except at one place where a rent in the wall allowed man to enter the almost sacred domain.
The rude, picturesque huts of Mr. Pearce and his associates stood in a romantic valley, where the American told him had stood the “castle” of the Crusoe inhabitant of the island, Alexander Selkirk, whose strange story has been read the wide world over.
Jack had been at the island nearly a week, and he was looking forward to an opportunity to go to the mainland in a few days, when Mr. Pearce informed him that something singular had transpired during the night.
“Though no vessel is in sight this morning, I am sure some one landed here last night between midnight and daylight.”
“Do you think there is anything to fear from such a visit, providing some one has been here?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know. This island was used several years as a penal colony for Chili, but an earthquake so upset things that the one hundred and fifty odd prisoners escaped, and since that no one has been sent here. But it has been the refuge of two or three outlaws since, as if the place had a strange fascination for them. Perhaps they think it is a safe place to flee to after what has occurred here. I have had no trouble with them worth mentioning.”
“Do you think one came last night?”
“Looks like it. But I will find out before I am much older. I will get the Chilians to go with us and we will explore the cells.”
Jack was not kept in suspense long as to Mr. Pearce’s meaning.
Upon reaching the foot of a bluff about half a mile from the ruins of what looked like an old fort, but which was now embedded in banks of clay and overgrown with moss and rank weeds, he found that the whole structure had been built of stone.
“It was done by the Chilian government in 1767,” said Mr. Pearce, “and was undone by an earthquake in 1835. This you see here nearest was the front wall of the main rampart. But here is the greatest wonder in the hillside. This old building--fortress, as it might be truthfully called--was the abode of the officers and their men who were stationed here to watch and guard the island, while these other retreats which are marked by those black mouths were used for an altogether different purpose.”
Mr. Pearce pointed, as he spoke, to numerous dark openings in the side of the hill, there being many completely hidden by the rank ferns hanging in festoons at their entrance.
“It was in these pits, dug into the earth to the depth of two or three hundred feet, that the Chilian government confined their convicts, and where, if all reports be true, they underwent tortures that made life a living death. The earthquake tore down all the heavy doors, as if the elements were in league with the poor captives, every one of whom thus managed to escape.
“It is in these places the fugitives who seek this island for safety conceal themselves. We can find some sign at the mouth if any one has entered a cell since yesterday.”
He then led the way along the broken-down entrances of the underground excavations, now occupied by bats, toads and vermin, but where once miserable wrecks of manhood had found a terrible punishment for their crimes.
A wild goat sprang out from one of the cells and bounded away, but no trace of a human being was found, until at last Mr. Pearce stopped before one cell which was reached by descending several stone steps.
“This was one of the cells for exceptionally bad prisoners,” said Mr. Pearce. “It is not as deep as some of the others, but reeks with a cold sweat, and the air is so damp and chilly as to make one shiver the moment he enters. Just think of the poor wretches confined here, where no ray of sunlight could ever reach them, and no living soul to pity them in their hopeless despair! This does not run into the earth more than twenty-five feet. Your eyes are younger and sharper than mine; see if those are not fresh footprints.”
“They are,” replied Jack, as soon as he had made a hasty examination; “and I am sure they are made by an American shoe!”
“Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Pearce, “that makes it more mysterious, and it behooves us to move with great caution. One of us had better remain on the outside, while the other makes an exploration of the den. Which will you do?”
“I will go inside, if it makes no difference to you, only I wish you would let me have one of your pistols.”
“Of course, and you can take this knife, too. Move cautiously, for if there is an American run to earth in there, you may count on it that he will fight for his life. It will be different from facing one of those Chilians, who make a good deal of noise and but a little resistance.”
Jack promised to act with caution, and taking the weapons tended him by his companion, he boldly pushed his way down the rough stairway leading to the dark dungeon.
“Give the signal at the least sign of danger, and I will be there in a trice,” were Mr. Pearce’s parting words. “Meanwhile if you hear me whistle, don’t fail to come back as quickly as possible.”
By this time Jack was at the foot of the descent, and parting the damp ferns that overhung the mouth of the cell, he was about to enter the dismal passage, when his foot struck something that rustled.
Reaching down in the darkness, his hand touched a sheet of paper or parchment, which he picked up.
He had hardly done this before Mr. Pearce gave a shrill whistle, which caused Jack to return to his side, wondering what had happened.
His surprise may be imagined when he saw a squad of armed men drawn up in front of them!
“They are Government soldiers in search of the fugitive,” whispered Mr. Pearce. “Don’t do anything rash if you value your life. Let me speak to them.”
A short consultation then followed in Spanish, the new-comers all the time covering the twain with their cocked carbines.
Finally Mr. Pearce turned to Jack, saying: “It is just as I thought. They are looking for an escaped prisoner-an Englishman, or rather youth, as they tell me. They think you are the one and demand your immediate surrender. The best thing you can do is to give up without resistance. I will stand by you when the time comes for the need of my help. They won’t believe a word I say now. See they are getting impatient. What answer shall I give them?”
Jack, who did not understand a word that they had said, realized from their manner that he could expect no mercy from the Chilians. If Mr. Pearce could not benefit him now, how could he later? Still his only alternative seemed to be to surrender, upon the condition that he be given fair treatment at the hands of the government.
But notwithstanding this stipulation, no sooner had he signified his intention of yielding without resistance than he was roughly siezed and bound. Then some of his captors dragged him back against the side of the bluff. The leader gave a few words of command to his followers, who obeyed by instantly bringing their firearms to their shoulders, pointed at Jack!
“Great sun!” exclaimed Mr. Pearce, his face turning white as marble as he witnessed this summary threat, “they mean to shoot you on the spot!” He had barely uttered these startling words before the leader of the squad raised his right hand, as a signal for the marksmen to fire.
Jack realized that only a desperate effort could save him.
Mr. Pearce, whose friendship he had no reason to doubt, stood speechless and horrified at the inhuman act of the Chilians, unable to lift a finger if it would have saved his life.
Jack was standing near to the entrance of the convict cell and as the Chilian commander raised a hand for his men to fire, he suddenly doubled himself up like a jack-knife, turning a complete somersault in the direction of the underground stairway.
His feet had not been secured, though his hands were fastened behind him.
Acting on the impulse of the moment, without any consideration for the result other than an escape from the murderous fire, he plunged head-first into the entrance at the very instant the volley of bullets sped on their deadly mission.
So closely timed were the two actions that the Chilians mistook his jump for the result of their shots, and an exclamation of satisfaction left the leader’s lips, while no immediate attempt was made to reach the side of their victim. This enabled Jack to regain his feet and to disappear into the dark mouth of the cavern before his enemies had recovered from their surprise.
Though severely shaken up by his precipitation into this retreat, unheeding the creeping creatures under his feet, which made a furious rush to and fro, Jack groped his way further and further into the gloomy place. The damp, sweaty walls covering him with a slimy moisture. Now and then some of the loosened earth would fall upon him, adding to the uncanny experience of his advance.
He expected the Chilians would follow him, but he hoped in some way he might escape them. He kept on without hearing any sound of a pursuit, until he was suddenly conscious of being confronted by some one, while a trembling voice called out from the darkness ahead:
“Stop! I am armed, and you come nearer at the peril of your life!”
It was too dark for him to see any one, but he heard a slight movement as the words were uttered, and he instantly recalled to mind the fact that the fugitive fleeing from the Chilians was supposed to be hiding in this place.
Accordingly, as he stopped, he said in a low tone:
“Be careful and you have nothing to fear from me.”
Jack had been glad to notice that the unknown had used pure English in addressing him. In a moment he asked:
“Who are you?”
“A friendless American boy who has been hunted down like a dog because--”
“Fret Offut!” broke in Jack recognizing the other’s voice.
“Jack North!” gasped the fugitive “You have betrayed me, Jack!”
“Not a bit of that. I am here on account of you.”
That was no time to question one’s motives. Jack knew that the other was his mortal enemy, but just then and there he could do no better than to forget the past. Whatever the offense he had committed against the Chilians, Fret was scarcely in worse color with them than himself.
It did not occur to honest Jack North that by delivering up his enemy he might save his own life.
Though Fret had abused his confidence shamefully, he did not have the wish to give him over to these foreign pursuers. For aught he knew his companion might be as guilty of crime against them as against himself.
Meanwhile why had the Chilians not entered the cell in pursuit of their prisoner? Were they in fear of him? Not so much that as they were in fear of entering that underground retreat, teeming with superstitious traditions.
In fact no Chilian could have been induced to enter there under any provocation short of death!
Mr. Pearce knew this, and when he saw Jack disappear he was confident the lad was safe for awhile.
It is true the leader of the party did command his men to enter, and uttered all sorts of threats against them, but they simply listened without moving.
Neither did their commander offer to lead the way.
Mr. Pearce, knowing this superstitious dread of all Chilians to enter the subterranean prisons, waited until the leader had stopped commanding and abusing his soldiers, when he ventured to interpose on Jack’s account.
As he was a man of consequence in the opinion of the Chilian chief, his words soon had the desired effect.
“Somebody,--the person you are in pursuit of--may have landed on the island last night, but this boy is a friend of mine and knows no more of him you want than I do. I vouch for his honesty, and as he has been here over a week you can see that he is not the one you are looking for, who you say must have come here since sunset yesterday.”
No doubt the Chilian was glad to get off so easily in doing what he deemed was his duty, for he ordered his men to return to their vessel without further delay.
That was the last to be seen of them, but Mr. Pearce cautiously waited until he saw the ship sailing away from the island before he spoke to Jack.
“Come out of that hole if the bugs have not carried you off,” he called out in his blunt way. “The Chilians have gone back to Valparaiso to report that they could not find their man here.”
Jack and Fret Offut had come to something of an understanding, though the latter was reluctant to meet Mr. Pearce.
The islander was surprised at sight of him, but Jack hastened to say:
“It proves the person those Chilians were so anxious to catch is an acquaintance of mine, being none other than one of the Standish’s passengers.”
“A friend of yours, eh? Those infernal--excuse me, I don’t believe I will say it. Come, let’s go down to the house.”
If Mr. Pearce was not pleased with the appearance of young Offut he did not show it, though he told Jack privately that it might be best for all concerned if they should leave the island as soon as an opportunity offered itself.
“You see another searching party may come at any hour, and I might not be as successful with another, particularly with two to answer for.”
Jack had no desire to remain any longer than he could help, as pleasant as he had found life with his newly-made friend. He was anxious to get to Valparaiso before the Standish should leave on her return voyage.
He had another reason, too, and a most important one.
He handed the paper he had picked up at the entrance to the convict cell to Mr. Pearce for him to read if possible, for it was written in Spanish, which he could not make out at the time.
Mr. Pearce read it with some difficulty, explaining it as best he could when he had carefully studied it for half a day.
“The writer of this strange manuscript,” began Mr. Pearce, “was evidently an unlettered person, for it is filled with so many errors as to be difficult to get the author’s meaning in many places. He was also a fugitive from justice.--I should judge, nearly all his life. He speaks of the diamond mines of Brazil and the hoarded treasures of the children of the sun in the same sentence. Then he goes on to describe a wonderful island that he discovered while hiding from pursuers under the shadows of the Andes in Tarapaca, Peru. Let me read:
“’I had come out of a dense growth of corkwood to look on a big body of water hemmed in by the mountains, when I saw some way from the shore a small island. I noticed it particularly on account of a solitary pimento tree standing in the centre, with a big rock at its foot.
“’I was hard pressed by my enemies, and seeing what I believed was a hole under the rock I swam out to the island. I did find plenty of room to hide in and my pursuers did not think of looking there for me, though they made the entire circuit of the water.
“’I stayed there two days before I dared to venture out, but it was not until I had decided to leave the place that I made the most wonderful discovery of my life.
“’The island, which was made up mostly of rocks, was fairly honey-combed with tunnels and underground passages, little and big, every one of which was filled with gold!
“’Gold lay under my feet; gold on my left hand; gold on my right; gold overhead; gold everywhere! I knew from certain inscriptions that I could partly decipher that this hidden treasure was a part of the Incas wealth in the days of Pizzaro.
“’At first I was so bewildered by my discovery that I could do nothing, but finally I took as much of it as I could carry and left the place.
“’I was, as I thought, careful to note all of its surroundings so I could come again when I should wish to get the rest of my hoard. I say I did this carefully, but a year and a half later when I came to get the rest of my treasure I could not find it. I could not even find the island, though I went over the ground from Titocaca to Atacama a hundred times.
“’I could not even find the lake!
“’I felt sure I should know that pimento tree anywhere on account of its odd shape. It had three branches leaving the trunk, one of which ran up several feet higher than the others, a dead branch pointing to the northward like a skeleton finger. There was a rim of mountains around the lake, except for a break in the range on the north.
“’Since I have been there the whole mystery has been solved in my mind and I can see that the lonely pimento with its skeleton finger is the key. I was there during the wet--”
“The rest is missing,” said Mr. Pearce, “but I have given you the substance of the illiterate scrawl in tolerable English as far as it remains. Looks as if the sheet had been torn apart. There is a fortune for you if you can only find it.”
Mr. Pearce spoke somewhat lightly, but Jack could see that he was deeply interested in the account.
Our hero had been cautious enough not to let Fret Offut into the secret, knowing he could not be trusted.
“I believe I could find that wonderful island which plays at hide and seek if I were to try it,” said Mr. Pearce. “What do you say to going fortune hunting?”
Naturally Jack’s sanguine nature was thoroughly aroused and nothing could have suited him better, and from that time they discussed the lost island with its treasure at every opportunity they had when Fret was not with them.
There was one serious drawback to their plans.
It might be a long time before they would have an opportunity to leave the island where Robinson Crusoe had spent so many lonely years. During his stay there Jack explored every part of the island. He noticed that the soil had every promise of great fertility, but that even his friend had so far taken on the laziness of the Chilians that he cultivated as little as possible. This island had become a sort of rendezvous for the ships rounding Cape Horn, and many of them had contributed to its natural and animal wealth by planting orchards and sowing grains and in leaving there many domesticated creatures.
But at this season of the year it was likely to be considerable time before a vessel should touch there, and Jack had been on Robinson Crusoe’s island a little over a month, before he found a chance to go to Valparaiso.
He was glad for the opportunity, but disappointed at the last moment to find that Mr. Pearce had concluded to give up going with him.
“Too much like work, Jack. You see I have fitted in here, and if we should find that treasure it would be of no earthly good to me as I am alone in the world. I hope you will find it, my lad, and that it will help you and Jenny to make a happy home. Good bye.”
“Good bye,” said Jack, as he pressed his friend’s hand warmly, for he had grown to like the kindhearted gentleman.
Fret Offut nodded lightly to the other, as he entered the boat which was to take them to the vessel.
The trip to Valparaiso was uneventful, but there Jack met with a great disappointment.
The Standish had left for its homeward voyage.
Thus Jack found himself left alone among strangers, save for the companionship of Fret Offut, who seemed disposed to hold aloof from him. The other had refused to tell him the cause of his being hunted by the Chilians, though Jack suspected that it was in some way the result of his attack upon him. Fret had told enough in his sleep for our hero to know that he had been arrested for the deed, and that he had afterwards escaped. But Jack did not feel like saying anything to Fret about it, as long as he showed no inclination to mention the subject.
Knowing that it might be several months before he could return to his home and being short of money, Jack at once began to look about for an opportunity to earn a living. Unable to find anything to do in Valparaiso, he walked to Tocopilla, though Fret declined to accompany him. In this town he found work as a machinist at the princely income of four Spanish dollars a week. But this was better than nothing and he went to work with a hearty good will.
He worked in Tocopilla steadily for a month. During the time he heard nothing from home or from Fret Offut.
He still kept the paper describing the mysterious island holding its vast, hidden treasure, but he had not felt like undertaking the long journey necessary to search for it.
Seeing no prospect of advance in his position, Jack was beginning to think of seeking his fortune elsewhere, when his whole future life was changed into a different groove by the appearance of a stranger at the place where he was working.
The newcomer was a Peruvian, who had been an engineer on a railroad running through the southern part of Peru, but had left to come to Tocopilla.
He and Jack soon became friends, when the latter said to him one day:
“What was the trouble with engineering, that you should leave to come here, where you can’t begin to get the pay you did there?”
“The pay was good enough, but the shooting was better. I care more for my life than I do for a few silver doubloons.”
“I am afraid I do not understand you. I was not aware that shooting and engineering went together.”
“They do in the case of the St. Resa road, Jack.”
“Tell me about it, Francis. I am interested.”
“Then I can take out that interest shortly. The road runs through debatable ground from St. Resa to de la Pama. Not an inch of it but what is being hotly contested. But it isn’t the regulars that make the trouble, for at present the territory belongs to Peru, though how soon she will lose it is not for me to say. It’s the murderous bush-raiders that are making the trouble.”
“Who are the bush-raiders?”
“That question shows a lamentable ignorance. The bush-raiders are bands of guérillas united to make war upon anybody and anything that crosses their path. They pretend to favor Chili, but they are merely using that for a cloak, and are robbers of the worst class, outlawed by all governments. Of course you know that Chili and Peru are at war?”
“I have heard of it.”
“Well, these bush-raiders, pretending to favor Chili, are making hot times all along the St. Resa. It is necessary to keep the road open if Peru hopes to hold the country, and the company are doing their best, backed by the government. They have had as many as twenty men on in the last six months.
“The three men on before me were killed by the bush-raiders, and the one before the first of them fell off and was killed while running the gantlet of fire set by the fiends.”
“You say the road is all in Peru?”
“Yes, in Southern Peru. It runs through the nitrate regions. Bless me if I don’t think there is a fortune in those mines if properly worked.
“Say, Jack, if you are dissatisfied with the money you are making here there is an opportunity for you. You are young and full of fire, just such a rash head as the bush-raiders like to get hold of. The company is offering as high as twenty pistoles a month for a man to run that engine. More for one day than you get here in a week. But bless me, if every pistole was a doubloon and I had as many of them as I could carry I would not try another trip. What are a few paltry pistoles to a man’s life?”
“I believe I would like to get that position as engineer on the St. Resa,” said Jack, after a moment’s pause. “I can run an engine, you know.”
“You have only to apply for it,” replied the other. “But say, Jack, if you should be fool enough to go up to get killed on that old engine, you had better take a fireman along with you, for you will not be able to find a helper up that way.”
Another silence fell upon the twain, during which Jack’s hands were not as busy as his brains, until finally he laid aside his work, saying in his blunt way:
“I shall start within a week for St. Resa, unless in the meantime I get some sort of word from John Fowler & Company, or from my folks.”
After that the days flew by on the wings of the wind. Eagerly Jack waited for some kind of word from his home, but not a letter reached him, for the reason that his folks were very poor and had many troubles of their own, and because the manufacturing company that had sent him to South America were in financial difficulties.
Sunday passed and then Monday, and the week came to an end. Jack had another talk with the Peruvian about the railroad position and then slapped his hands together.
“I’m going to have a try at it, come what may,” he said, determinedly.
Jack as usual, was as good as his word.
He stopped long enough to lay down his tools and seek the foreman for a leave of absence.
“Going to St. Resa? You will make the journey but one way. You will never come back.”
But Jack was determined, and nothing that the other could tell him of the perils he was sure to encounter could deter him from his purpose.
An hour later he turned his back on Tocopilla.
He was passing one of the outer gates, near the edge of the city, when he was stopped by one of the many beggars which invest the town.
“Only a miserable pittance,” implored the ragged wretch, holding out a dirty hand for the gift.
Something in the beggar’s tone and manner arrested Jack’s attention. He had been addressed in English, which was unusual, but there was more than the language to attract him to the poor alms seeker.
Then, as he bent a closer gaze on the person, he exclaimed:
“Fret Offut! can this be you?”
“Jack North!” exclaimed the other. “I did not think of seeing you here.”
“Nor I you, most of all in this condition.”
“It was all I could do, Jack,” whined the other. “I have had such bad luck since you left me! But ain’t you looking like a peacock!”
“I have managed to get a living by working hard.”
“I’ll warrant you have; but I wouldn’t work at the starvation wages they offered me. Say, where are you going?”
“To St. Resa.”
“In South Peru?”
“Yes.”
“What do you expect to do there?”
“Going to apply for a situation as engineer on a railroad.”
“Whew! I heard a man say this morning they were offering big pay. Let me go with you, Jack? You will do this for old time’s sake? I will be fireman.”
Jack’s first thought was to refuse the other’s company. He felt that Fret had already done him harm enough, and that his presence would be a positive injury to him. But upon second thought he became more generous. In spite of all Fret had done against him he could not help pitying the young fellow now in his forlorn condition, and thus he said:
“If you will promise that you will not try to make trouble for me and that you will do the very best you can for yourself. You mustn’t forget, too, that you are going where you may not come back alive.”
Fret Offut promised very solemnly to all that Jack asked, and the couple started on their hazardous journey into the interior of the country which was about to become the battleground of three nations.
They received a warm welcome at the railroad company’s office as soon as the object of their call was known. It had been a week since the last train had gone over the route, and a big accumulation of freight wanted to be moved. They were offered big wages and accepted.
“Well, Fret, we’re in for it now,” said Jack, as they went to the station to make their first trip.
The young fireman made no reply. He was already beginning to regret the step he had taken, though Jack’s fearlessness was not without its effect on him.
A big crowd was at the station to see the train start, which made Fret feel the importance of his position.
The train had a fifty-mile run and Jack found that he was expected to make it and return the same day. This did not seem a difficult task, providing the bush-raiders let them alone.
The road was in a terrible condition, yet the first trip was made without adventure and Fret’s spirits rose.
“Probably the bush-raiders did not know we were going yesterday,” said Jack, as his helper was boasting of their easy job.
Jack could not say as much when he got back from his second trip, for no less than three shots had been fired into the caboose.
Fret Offut was in genuine alarm. The situation was worse than had been described to Jack. Reports showed that the bush-raiders were gaining in numbers every day, and growing more bold as they increased in strength. The country, sparsely settled, through which the railroad ran seemed especially fitted for their guerrilla warfare, to say nothing of the poor state of the road-bed, which at places actually made the passage dangerous. Then, too, the cars and engine were cheap and simple affairs, offering no protection from the bullets of the enemies.
But Jack had no intention of giving up at this stage of the situation, and Fret concluded to risk a third trip.
The company were anxious for the train to be kept running, but offered no protection, if it could supply any.
The round trip on this day was made without any shots being fired by the enemies, though at least twenty bush-raiders were seen drawn up in sight of the train, as it wound its way through one of the gloomiest spots of the entire route.
One of the disreputable looking party waved a red cloth on the muzzle of his short-barreled carbine as they whisked past.
“Look out for to-morrow,” said Jack. “That looks to me like a sort of warning.”
It proved that he was not the only one who had his suspicions, for as he swung himself upon the engine the following morning some one stepped from out of the motley crowd collected about the station and thrusting a scrap of paper into his hand instantly disappeared.
As soon as they were fairly on their way Jack smoothed out the crumpled paper to read in a scrawling hand:
“Look out for the bush-raiders to-day.”
The sheet bore no signature or date.
“Looks like a scare by some one,” remarked Jack, as he handed the missive to Fret. “But there can be no harm in keeping a sharp lookout,” he admitted. “I suppose the trouble has got to begin soon, and it might as well be to-day as to-morrow.”
Fret Offut, whose stock of courage was small, turned pale, as he read the brief message:
“You ain’t going to keep on, Jack?”
“What else are we hired for? We should be the laughing stock of the country if we stopped now.”
“But this warning makes it different.”
“Not a bit as I can see. We came up here expecting to take our chances, and as for me it seems the bush-raiders have been very modest in opening proceedings. It is too late for us to turn back. I--”
“No--no! Stop, Jack, and I will get off.”
“If you don’t get off until I stop you will ride into de la Pama. Now don’t be foolish and let that little piece of paper upset you. It was no more than we expected. Keep a cool head and stand to your post.
“It may not be as bad as it threatens. But if you persist in leaving you can do so when we have made this trip. I don’t propose to be left in the lurch by losing my fireman at a time I cannot afford to let him go.”
Jack’s quiet determination and assurance served to quiet Fret’s fears, so he said nothing further about quitting his duty.
After leaving St. Resa, the train, which was a mixed one, made up of two passenger coaches and a dozen freight cars, had to stop at irregular intervals, following which the road ran through a twenty-mile wilderness, the most of the way rugged in the extreme.
It was during this part of the journey that Jack expected trouble if anywhere, and as he approached the broken region he kept a sharp watch on every hand.
Fret, though pale and trembling, kept his post.
“Give me every pound of steam possible,” said Jack. “If we don’t go through Whirlwind Gap flying it will be because the old engine has lost her cunning.”
They were now rushing along at a tremendous rate of speed considering the condition of the track, and the old engine rocked and lurched as if it would leave the track at any moment. There were but a few passengers aboard, for only those who were compelled to do so traveled during this dangerous period. Jack knew there was a valuable freight behind him, to say nothing of human lives, and he was determined to get into de la Pama if it lay in his power.
Thus, with a full realization of the peril of his situation, he was standing at his post, with one hand on the throttle and the other on the reversing lever, peering intently ahead, taking in every object as they sped furiously over the rails, when he suddenly beheld a sight which for a moment fairly took away his breath.
They were swiftly approaching the foot of a high bluff, upon the top of which he had discovered a dozen of the bush-raiders looking down upon him. But they were not the most startling part of what he saw and heard.
As the train dashed madly under the rocky wall, above its terrific thunder rang a deafening crash, and he saw with horror a huge bowlder coming down the side of the cliff, directly toward the engine!
It had been loosened from its bed by the bush-raiders, and so well had they timed their work that it would be impossible for the engine to get beyond its reach before the rock should fall upon it!
It would be equally hazardous to try and stop the train.
Fret Offut had seen the appalling sight, and with a despairing cry, feeling that it would be death to remain on the engine, he leaped far out over the embankment.
“Fret!” cried Jack, but no answer came back to the call.
Jack North felt that it was all over with him, but true to the instinct of his nature, he stood bravely at his post.
With the wild cry of Fret Offut and the exultant yells of the bush-raiders ringing in his ears above the thunder of the rushing train, Jack North heard the ominous crash, of the descending bowlder, and saw with a dazed look its swift approach.
The locomotive, throbbing and panting like a human being in a race for life, was fairly flying along the winding track.
It all lasted but a moment, the downward rush of the deadly body, the cries of exultation and despair, the lightning-like passing of the fatal spot by the engine, and the ordeal was over as quickly as it had come!
The descent of the ponderous missile was swift and sure until a projection on the side of the cliff was reached, when with a terrific concussion the bowlder glanced. It suddenly shot outward like a cannon ball, and was carried fairly over the engine into the gulch below.
Jack witnessed this miraculous movement with breathless eagerness bordering upon terror.
The huge rock passed so near that it scraped the top of the caboose, and the current of air it raised swept the boy engineer’s cap from his head.
The train had got its length beyond the place before Jack could realize that he had escaped.
The bush-raiders reminded him of it then, if he needed any further notification, by a volley of bullets and renewed yells of rage.
Though some of the leaden missiles flew uncomfortably near his head, Jack was unharmed, and as he was borne on by the iron horse around the next curve in the track, leaving his enemies out of sight, he offered a prayer of thankfulness for his providential escape.
Fret, he was certain, must have been killed by his mad leap from the engine. As much as he would have liked to have gone back and looked for the youth, he knew such a course would have been the height of folly. Besides his own life to look after, there were the passengers who had intrusted themselves to his care.
“Poor Fret! I could do no good now, and I must remember the others. If you had only remained on the engine it would have been better for you.”
To his infinite relief, Jack saw nor heard nothing further of the baffled bush-raiders, who must have been greatly surprised at the escape of the train with its rich freight.
At the first station, which was several miles away from the scene of the outlaws’ attack, the young engineer told of the loss of his fireman and his own narrow escape from death, when an armed squad of men started to search for the body of the missing youth, and to rout the bush-raiders if they could be found.
Finding an assistant at this place, Jack finished his run to de la Pama and then came back to this station, which was known as Resaca.
The relief party had not returned, but Jack was told that a bridge had been found to be unsafe for the passage of the train, so he could not reach St Resa that day, while it might be a week before the road would be in a condition to resume his regular trips. But he was willingly allowed to start after the relief party with the engine and one car, accompanied by a dozen armed men.
They were approaching the bridge mentioned, when they met the others coming back, bearing in their midst the lifeless form of Fret Offut.
Jack immediately stopped to have the body of his associate put on the car, when he started on the return to Resaca.
The untimely fate of Fret Offut impressed him with the great uncertainty of life. It was true the other had never been his friend, but now that was forgotten and he felt a deep regret over the youth’s sad end.
The return to Resaca was made in safety. In fact nothing had been seen of the raiders since the start, and it was uncertain what might be their next move.
The following day Jack saw that Fret’s body was given burial in a little plot within sight of the low-walled church of this clustered settlement, he being the only mourner.
“If I should fall in my hazardous work, I could not expect as much as poor Fret gets in this land of strangers. The last bond between this wild country and home seems to be broken. Little did we think of this, Fret, when we anticipated that South American trip!”
The last sad duty done for Fret Offut, and finding that the bridge would not be repaired inside of a week, Jack resolved to take a little outing on his own account.
He still carried with him the paper so strangely found on Robinson Crusoe island, and he was determined to make a search for the hidden treasure which it mentioned.
Accordingly, mounted on a small but sure-footed and faithful pony, with a supply of provisions, Jack set out on his uncertain journey without telling any one his intentions, little dreaming of the result which was to come of his secret movement.
He believed the mysterious island was nearly north of Resaca, so he shaped his course in that direction, keeping a sharp lookout for any enemy that might be in his pathway.
He was in the heart of the great dry region of South America, a district of nearly a thousand miles in length, where rain seldom if ever falls, and the country is afforded sufficient moisture by the sea vapors condensed on the Andes and sent down upon the plains and lowlands. The desert of Atacama lay many miles to the south, but as he progressed he often found sections of the country without a thing growing upon the land, though sometimes these spots were bordered by the most abundant growth he had ever seen, even in that realm of grand forests and magnificent flora.
Everywhere, save on these dark patches of waste land, the vegetation was on the boldest scale imaginable, the magnitude of the trees being simply beyond the comprehension of him who had never seen them, while some of even the largest were adorned with beautiful flowers, making them seem like gardens of themselves.
On account of the density of the growth, Jack often found it difficult to advance, and many times he was obliged to make long detours in order to reach a certain point.
Zig-zagging about, always keeping his eyes open for bush-raiders, wild beasts, and, above all, for the strange island, he had spent four days in the wilderness, when he felt that it was time for him to think of returning to civilization.
He had seen no sign of the looked-for body of inland water with its treasure island, though the increasing presence of cinchona trees told him that he was already ascending into the region of the Peruvian Andes.
“I am sure it is at the foot of these mountains that the strange island exists,” he thought, as he paused on the summit of one of the foothills of the snow-crowned Monarch of Mountains. “But there is no sign of water, and how can I expect to find an island where there is no water?”
The involuntary speech brought a smile to his lips. As he would explain his thoughts, he said aloud:
“Somehow I got it into my head that there was a lake in this region, and there I was to find my treasure island. But I have been a fool to look for either. Come, Juan,” patting the neck of his pony, “let us go back while we have sense enough to do so.”
But while he spoke he lingered around the place, as if there was some strong fascination for him. It was a beautiful scene, made up almost entirely of forest, but such a forest as only Peru, with its wonderful natural wealth, can produce.
The trees were composed largely of rosewoods in all their varied beauty, the giant quassia in all their hues and tints of foliage, with a sprinkling of cinchona, lending a happy blending of more sober coloring, while from the lowlands was wafted to him on the gentle breeze of that tropical clime the perfume of the tinga.
The finger of silence lay on the lip of Nature, even the broad leaves of the quassia rising and falling on the shifting breaths of air, without that peculiar rustling sound generally belonging to the forest domain.
It was the most beautiful scene he had ever looked upon, and as he allowed his gaze to slowly move around the encircling country, he found himself looking down upon the strangest valley or mountain pocket he had ever beheld.
The singular feature of this isolated, wood-environed retreat was its complete absence of all kinds of growth, except for a sort of silky grass which covered its uneven surface like a rich carpet of the deepest green tint. Near the centre was an oval elevation of rock and earth higher by a few feet than knobs and miniature hills which dotted it elsewhere.
It was bare of vegetation, not even the silken tasia ornamenting its sides, though a solitary tree did rise in lonely grandeur from its utmost crest.
Jack uttered a low exclamation as he saw that this tree was a pimento.
In a moment his mind reverted to the description given in the strange manuscript, but a look of disappointment succeeded his eager anticipation.
“What a fool!” he exclaimed. “That tree stood on an island--”
A rustle in the undergrowth arrested his attention at that moment, and, before he could avoid the unexpected attack, a dark lissom body shot through the air, to alight squarely upon his pony, that, with a snort of terror, started madly through the growth.