CHAPTER V
THE CHEST OF GOLD

Ross Montgomery turned over the pages rapidly, and the boys could see a number of accounts in a precise, methodical script.

“The first two or three years were the hardest,” the strange boy went on, “but after that the money came in fast. Father made a number of investments in lumber and in fishing interests, and everything he touched seemed to bring him luck. By the time I was six years old, he had got enough together to pay all his debts and make him independent for life.

“There was one funny thing about it, though. He had burned his fingers so badly in that big bank failure that he never would trust a bank again. Every dollar he got above what he needed to use in business, he stored away in an oak chest that he kept in a secret place at home. He had no use for paper money either. He’d take it, of course, when he couldn’t get anything else, but the first chance he got he’d change it for gold. Of course it was just a whim of his, but somehow it made him feel safer. Maybe it was a little mental twist left from his siege of brain fever. At any rate that’s the way he felt, and he kept piling up the gold in that old chest. All sorts of money, too, English, Canadian, French and American coins. I was small then and didn’t know much of the value of money, but I can remember once how the pieces shone when father gathered up a handful and let the coins fall in a shower back into the chest–”

“Gee!” interrupted Teddy, “just think of it. A rain of gold!”

“I’d like to be caught out in such a shower,” laughed Fred.

“And I wouldn’t want any umbrella to ward it off either,” added Bill.

“Cork up, you money grabbers, and let Ross go on with his story,” Lester laughingly advised.

“It brought bad luck to father, though,” said Ross soberly. “If it hadn’t been for that gold he might be alive to-day.”

It was the first intimation the boys had had that the lad’s father was dead, and they kept a respectful silence during the moment that followed while Ross seemed struggling with painful memories.

“A little over nine years ago,” the boy went on at last, “father concluded that he had enough on hand to settle with all his creditors, capital and interest, and still have enough left to make him independent for life. He planned to leave mother and me–I haven’t any brothers or sisters–at home, while he came down to Boston and settled the claims. Then he was going to pick out a home here and send for us to come to him. Although he had made the money in Canada, he had always felt homesick for his own country.

“Then the question came up,” continued Ross, “of how he was to get the money down here. Of course, the safer way would have been to take it to some Canadian bank and get a draft on Boston. But I’ve told you of the bitter feeling he had toward all banks, and he’d counted so long on turning over that identical gold to his creditors that he couldn’t give it up.

“We were a long distance from any large city, and the only way to travel by sea was to take some sailing vessel that stopped once in a while at a town near by. There was a good deal of smuggling going on just then between Canada and this country, and as there was a big profit in it, almost all the coastwise sailing vessels took a hand in it now and then. Sometimes it would be opium that had been landed on the Pacific coast and brought over to Quebec. Then, too, there were French laces and silks and wines.

“Of course it was illegal, but lots of people couldn’t see much harm in it. You know how it is with people that come over from Europe to New York. A vast number of them try to get things in without paying duty and they think it’s rather smart to get the best of Uncle Sam. Many who are honorable in every other way seem to lose that feeling when it comes to smuggling.

“Of course it’s wrong, as everything is wrong that breaks the law, whether we think the law is just or not. But I’m just saying this to explain why father was willing to trust himself and his gold on board a smuggler.”

The boys bent forward eagerly.

“For that’s what he did,” continued Ross. “There was a schooner, named the Ranger, that often stopped at the river town near where we lived. The captain was a man, Ramsay by name, whom father knew and trusted. His boat did a good deal of legitimate trading, but sandwiched in with that was quite a lot of smuggling off and on. Still, aside from that, Captain Ramsay had the reputation of being a strictly honest man, and he and father had been on friendly terms for years.

“When the time came, father went on board with all his baggage, including the chest of gold. Of course he did not take any one in the secret of what the chest contained. He figured on getting to Boston in a week or ten days.

“But the second day out, a tackle block fell from the foremast and laid Captain Ramsay dead on the deck. He was buried at sea and the first mate took command of the schooner. And it was right here that the trouble began.

“This first mate was a Portuguese, a good sailor, but aside from that I guess he was as big a villain as ever went unhung. There were five others in the crew, and they didn’t seem to be much better than the mate. Captain Ramsay had been a rough captain and had been able to hold the men down, but as soon as he had gone things began to happen.”

There was a pause for a moment while the boys held their breath waiting for the story to go on.

“And,” resumed Ross, impressively, “I’d give my right hand to know just what those things were.”

His hearers sat for a moment stunned and bewildered by this sudden ending.

“What!” gasped Teddy. “Do you mean that you don’t know what happened?”

“No,” was the reply. “I don’t know. From what I’ve been able to learn I can make a pretty good guess. All I know is that my father was picked up a week later in an open boat, wounded and starving and delirious.”

A gasp of wonder and pity ran around the little circle.

“From a letter found in his pocket they learned who he was, and after he had partially recovered they sent him home to us,” Ross went on. “But from then to the day of his death, which took place a year later, he was insane.”

“The scoundrels!” muttered Fred, clenching his fists in indignation.

“We tried to get at the facts by piecing together what he said when he was quieter than usual,” Ross continued. “Again and again, he would speak of ‘the lighthouse’ and ‘Bartanet Shoals.’ Then he would imagine himself in a fight with the mate. Many times he spoke of ‘burying the box.’

“All these of course were slight things to go on, but by putting them all together and looking at them from every side, we figured out something like this:

“The mate probably had his suspicions aroused by the weight of the box that held the gold. Father must have come upon him when he was trying to open it, and there was a fight in which the rest of the crew joined. They were probably somewhere near Bartanet Shoals when this happened, and they put in at some quiet place along here to think over what they’d better do. They finally decided to bury the box and leave it there until the matter should have blown over and been forgotten. The men probably intended to put father out of the way, and, after the search for him had been given up, to come back and get the box. Father either tried to escape in the open boat, or the crew, not quite willing to kill him in cold blood, set him adrift, knowing that in his wounded condition it would probably amount to the same thing.”

“Didn’t the Ranger ever turn up?” asked Fred.

“Not at any of the home towns,” answered Ross. “But some months later it was found tied up to a wharf near Halifax. It was from the log they found on board that they learned of Captain Ramsay’s death. The crew were traced, and it was found that they had shipped on a brig that was bound for the Pacific. She went down in a storm off Cape Horn, and every soul on board was lost.”

“Then everybody who was actually concerned in the matter is probably dead,” mused Lester.

“Yes,” answered Ross, “we can’t look for any help from human witnesses. There’s a bare chance that some letter or document may turn up that will give us a clue. But that’s so unlikely that it’s hardly worth considering.”

“Then all you have to go on is the possibility that the box was buried somewhere on this coast not very far from Bartanet Shoals, and that if it was, it’s never been taken away?” asked Bill.

“That’s all,” admitted Ross, “except–”

He checked himself hastily.

CHAPTER VI
AARON RUSHTON, CREDITOR

If the other boys noticed the involuntary movement, they made no comment, and Ross went on:

“You fellows may think I’m foolish to go on hunting for the gold when I’ve got so little evidence to go on. It seems almost like hunting for a needle in a haystack. But there’s such a lot at stake that I can’t give it up.”

“I don’t think you’re foolish,” maintained Teddy stoutly. “It’s just what I’d do, if I were in your place.”

“So would I,” agreed Fred. “Of course you may never find it. But if you didn’t try for it, you’d feel restless and uneasy all the rest of your life.”

“It’s better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all,” declared Bill.

“You’re young enough yet to spare a year or two more at it anyway,” said Lester. “If nothing comes of it, you can settle down at something else.”

“Yes,” replied Ross, “it isn’t a matter of life and death anyway. Mother is still keeping the old place up in Canada and looking after the property that father left there. The income is small, but it is enough to keep us going, and if I finally have to give up looking for the gold, I can go back there and do pretty well. But it would take me a long time to get enough together to pay father’s debts, and perhaps I could never do it. That’s the real reason why I’m so anxious to find the chest. It isn’t so much for what it would give me, though of course I’d be glad to have it. But I know how father felt, and I feel that I owe it to his memory to carry out his wishes, if I possibly can.”

“Do the debts mount up to a very large amount?” Bill ventured to ask.

“Larger than I care to think of,” answered Ross. “I should say that it would take about twenty thousand dollars if they were settled now. And, of course, there’s the interest creeping up with every day that passes.”

“I guess the creditors would be so glad to get back the principal, that they wouldn’t worry much about the interest,” remarked Lester.

“I suppose they would,” answered Ross. “But they ought to get both, and I shall never feel that I’m clear with the world until they do.”

It was clear that the son had inherited to the full his father’s independence of spirit, and the boys’ liking for him deepened.

“Most of the debts are for small amounts,” Ross continued, again taking the little red memorandum book from his pocket, “that is, comparatively small. There’s one big one that is more than all the rest put together. The others are for a few hundred dollars each, though one or two of them run into the thousands.”

He turned over the pages.

“Father was very methodical and precise,” he went on, showing the pages. “You see, he has all the names arranged in alphabetical order. There’s Allen, three hundred and twenty-seven dollars; Carey, one hundred and ninety-two; Linson, eighty-five; Masters, six hundred and eighteen. And here we come to the big one, Rushton, twelve thousand four hundred and–”

“What was that?” broke in Teddy excitedly. “Why that’s my name and Fred’s.”

“Is that so?” asked Ross in surprise, for so far he had heard the boys speak to each other only by their first names, and there had been no formal introduction. “It isn’t such a common name, either. Perhaps it’s your father. What’s his first name?”

“Mansfield,” came simultaneously from both of the boys.

“Oh, then he isn’t the one,” said Ross, consulting his book. “This is–let me see,” as his finger sought the place, “Aaron–Aaron Rushton.”

“We have an Uncle Aaron, my father’s brother,” stated Fred.

“Can it possibly be Uncle Aaron?” asked Teddy, his pulses quickened by the possibility.

“I shouldn’t be a bit surprised,” rejoined Ross. “There can’t be so many Aaron Rushtons in this part of the country. This man lived, at that time in Medford, not far from Boston.”

“That’s just where Uncle Aaron used to live!” broke in Fred. “He has some property there yet, although lately he spends a good deal of the time with us in Oldtown.”

“Would you know his handwriting, if you saw it?” asked Ross, feeling in his pocket.

“Sure we would!” answered Fred. “We’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“Take a look at that then,” said Ross, taking a wrinkled sheet of paper from a collection wrapped in oiled silk and held together by a rubber band, “and see if it’s your uncle’s writing.”

Fred unfolded the paper with hands that trembled with excitement, while Teddy looked over his shoulder.

It was a brief note, dated fifteen years before, acknowledging the receipt of three hundred and sixty dollars, being the semi-annual interest on notes given by Mr. Montgomery. It had been written from Medford, and it bore the stiff precise signature of Aaron Rushton.

“That’s Uncle Aaron’s writing!” exclaimed Fred. “I can’t be mistaken.”

“It sure is,” echoed Teddy. “I’d know it among a thousand.”

“Well, what do you think of that?” chimed in Bill, as he and Lester crowded around to look.

It gave the boys a queer thrill to think of all that had been pressed into the years between the time that note was written and the present. It seemed like a link between the living and the dead. The man who had received it was in his grave, and the one who had sent it had long since given up all hope of hearing of the matter again. And now chance had brought together the son of one and the nephews of the other on this stormy night on the seacoast, and they sat tracing out the faded lines by the flickering light of the brush fire.

Fred sat back and drew a long breath.

“Do you remember what Dave Parloe said–that it was a small world after all?” he asked Bill. “I know now that he was right.”

“To think that it was you who saved my life this afternoon, and that it was your uncle who helped my father when he was in business trouble!” exclaimed Ross. “I feel that I owe you more than ever now. You see, Mr. Aaron Rushton lent part of the twelve thousand dollars to father when he started into business in Canada.”

“Just think of Uncle Aaron’s doing a thing like that!” exclaimed Teddy.

“You don’t owe me anything,” affirmed Fred, “and as for what you owe Uncle Aaron, he’s stopped worrying over that long ago.”

“But won’t he be surprised when we write and tell him all about this?” demanded Teddy.

“If we could only pitch in and help Ross find the gold, we’d square ourselves with Uncle Aaron for the rest of our lives,” remarked Fred.

“Why, has he anything against you now?” asked Ross, in surprise.

Teddy’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Fred.

“Oh, no,” he explained, “not especially. Down in his heart I think he’s rather fond of us. But he’s a bachelor, and he hasn’t much use for boys. I got in bad with him last year when I sent a baseball against the horse of a coach he was riding in and made the team run away. He jumped just as they got to a bridge and went head first into the river. Do you remember how he looked, Fred, when he came up dripping?”

“Will I ever forget it?” chuckled Fred, as the picture of his uncle, with his hair plastered over his face and the water streaming from his bony frame, came up before him.

“He was furious,” explained Teddy, “and he was worse yet when he found that he’d spoiled his watch and lost some valuable papers. We got those back for him, though, and that made things better, though I don’t think he approves of us yet. But if we could get this money for him, he’d sure give us a clean bill of health.”

“Uncle Aaron likes money, all right,” added Fred, “though I will say that when he does spend, he does it royally. He certainly fixed us up in style when he bought the tickets for us to go out to Bill’s ranch. He’s got a hair-trigger temper, but take him all in all, he’s a good old chap.”

“I think he must be, from what mother has told me,” said Ross. “He might have seized what property we’ve got in payment of the debt, but when he learned that father had died and that mother had just enough to get along on, he did not trouble us. And that’s one thing that makes me all the more eager to pay what father owed him.”

“I tell you what we fellows ought to do!” exclaimed Fred. “We ought to spend the rest of our vacation here helping Ross look for the gold. There’ll be lots of fun and excitement in it anyway, even if we never lay eyes on it.”

“And think what it would mean if we did really find it,” gloated Teddy. “Think what Uncle Aaron would say, and how proud father and mother would be if we had a hand in it.”

“To say nothing of how Ross would feel, if we got back his father’s money,” added Bill.

“The idea looks good to me,” declared Lester. “I have the Ariel, and if we can get the motor boat back for Ross, there won’t be a spot on the coast within fifty miles that we can’t explore. Between us, we may run across some clue, and even if we don’t, we’ll get lots of fun out of the hunt.”

“Like the old darky with his lottery ticket,” laughed Bill. “His boss reproved him for spending money on a mere chance. ‘Oh, I dunno, boss,’ the old fellow answered. ‘T’ree dollars ain’t much to spend fur a whole year’s hopin’.’”

“It’s mighty good of you fellows to help me out this way,” said Ross gratefully, when the laugh had subsided. “Of course, if you do find it, there’ll be a great big reward in it for you. I know that isn’t what you are looking for, but you’ll get it just the same.”

“We’ll leave that all to you,” answered Lester. “We’ve got to find it first.”

“Like the old English recipe for cooking rabbit that begins: ‘First catch the hare,’” chuckled Fred.

The lads sat about the fire for another hour, too excited by all that had happened to think of sleep. Then Lester gave the signal.

“Come, boys,” he said, “we’ll have plenty of time to talk this over, but now we must get some rest. I want to get an early start in the morning, if the storm has blown over. It’s me for the downy couch now and the early bird stunt in the morning.”

The “downy couch” resolved itself into beds hollowed out in the sand with the boys’ coats rolled up for pillows. But no king in his bed of state ever enjoyed a sounder sleep than that into which the tired boys fell at once, while the fire died down and the surf beat on the rocks outside.