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My Buried Treasure
by
“Your caution is admirable,” I said; “but what,” I jeered, “makes you think you can point to the spot, because your map says something like, ‘Through the Sunken Valley to Witch’s Caldron, four points N. by N. E. to Gallows Hill where the shadow falls at sunrise, fifty fathoms west, fifty paces north as the crow flies, to the Seven Wells’? How the deuce,” I demanded, “is any one going to point to that spot?”
“It isn’t that kind of map,” shouted Edgar triumphantly. “If it had been, I wouldn’t have gone on with it. It’s a map anybody can read except a half-caste Portuguese sailor. It’s as plain as a laundry bill. It says,” he paused apprehensively, and then continued with caution, “it says at such and such a place there is a something. So many somethings from that something are three what-you-may-call-’ems, and in the centre of these three what-you-may-call-’ems is buried the treasure. It’s as plain as that!”
“Even with the few details you have let escape you,” I said, “I could find THAT spot in my sleep.”
“I don’t think you could,” said Edgar uncomfortably; but I could see that he had mentally warned himself to be less communicative. “And,” he went on, “I am willing to lead you to it, if you subscribe to certain conditions.”
Edgar’s insulting caution had ruffled my spirit.
“Why do you think you can trust ME?” I asked haughtily. And then, remembering my share of the million dollars, I added in haste, “I accept the conditions.”
“Of course, as you say, one has got to take SOME risk,” Edgar continued; “but I feel sure,” he said, regarding me doubtfully, “you would not stoop to open robbery.” I thanked him.
“Well, until one is tempted,” said Edgar, “one never knows WHAT he might do. And I’ve simply GOT to have one other man, and I picked on you because I thought you could write about it.”
“I see,” I said, “I am to act as the historian of the expedition.”
“That will be arranged later,” said Edgar. “What I chiefly want you for is to dig. Can you dig?” he asked eagerly. I told him I could; but that I would rather do almost anything else.
“I MUST have one other man,” repeated Edgar, “a man who is strong enough to dig, and strong enough to resist the temptation to murder me.” The retort was so easy that I let it pass. Besides, on Edgar, it would have been wasted.
“I THINK you will do,” he said with reluctance. “And now the conditions!”
I smiled agreeably.
“You are already sworn to secrecy,” said Edgar. “And you now agree in every detail to obey me implicitly, and to accompany me to a certain place, where you will dig. If I find the treasure, you agree, to help me guard it, and convey it to wherever I decide it is safe to leave it. Your responsibility is then at an end. One year after the treasure is discovered, you will be free to write the account of the expedition. For what you write, some magazine may pay you. What it pays you will be your share of the treasure.”
Of my part of the million dollars, which I had hastily calculated could not be less than one-fifth, I had already spent over one hundred thousand dollars and was living far beyond my means. I had bought a farm with a waterfront on the Sound, a motor-boat, and, as I was not sure which make I preferred, three automobiles. I had at my own, expense produced a play of mine that no manager had appreciated, and its name in electric lights was already blinding Broadway. I had purchased a Hollander express rifle, a REAL amber cigar holder, a private secretary who could play both rag-time and tennis, and a fur coat. So Edgar’s generous offer left me naked. When I had again accustomed myself to the narrow confines of my flat, and the jolt of the surface cars, I asked humbly: