“As he jerked it open, an old woman stumbled into the room.” (See [page 46])
THE BOY SCOUT
EXPLORERS
AT TREASURE MOUNTAIN
BY
DON PALMER
ILLUSTRATED
CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
Publishers New York
Copyright, 1955, by
CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE 1. [An Important Assignment] 7 2. [Captain Carter] 17 3. [Path to Adventure] 27 4. [A Mission] 35 5. [An Ancient Manuscript] 46 6. [Earthquake Tremors] 53 7. [Scout Cargo] 61 8. [Contraband] 68 9. [Captain Carter’s Deception] 77 10. [Fury of a Mob] 85 11. [Into the Wilderness] 92 12. [A Mysterious Follower] 105 13. [A Poisoned Arrow] 113 14. [Disaster] 120 15. [Into the Chasm] 132 16. [Capture] 138 17. [Hostile Indians] 145 18. [The Medicine Man] 152 19. [The Tunnel] 162 20. [The Hidden City] 170 21. [Cannibal Fish] 176 22. [Indian Secrets] 181 23. [Beneath the Mask] 190 24. [Captain Carter’s Scheme] 203 25. [Inca Gold] 215
Chapter 1
AN IMPORTANT ASSIGNMENT
“What do you suppose is delaying Mr. Livingston? He should have been here half an hour ago.”
Uneasily, Jack Hartwell glanced at his wristwatch and then toward the entranceway of the Savoy Hotel terrace dining room.
There was no sign of the Scout leader. George (Happy) Livingston, advisor to Explorer Post 21, had invited the four Scouts to meet him promptly at 7:30 p.m. for dinner at the hotel. Now it was pushing eight o’clock, and he’d neither shown up nor sent word.
Three times a waiter had pointedly asked the Scouts if they cared to order. It was getting harder to stall.
“Maybe Mr. Livingston forgot he invited us.”
This remark came from Willie Medaugh, a tow-headed fifteen-year-old with broad, powerful shoulders. He was assistant crew leader, and wore the green Explorers’ uniform.
The others, Jack of the twinkling blue eyes, serious Ken Dougherty and Warwick Washburn, were fellow members of the Rover Crew, Post 21. “War,” a lean, freckled youngster with great enthusiasm and a peppery temper, was the newest recruit, a willing if untried member of the tough, efficient little band.
“Mr. Livingston never would have forgotten his appointment with us,” Ken Dougherty said in answer to Willie’s remark. “Not Hap!”
“No, you can bet something important held him up,” agreed Jack. “He’ll be along, or send word.”
Quiet-spoken, the crew leader had an easy, assured manner which inspired confidence. Next term he would be a senior at Belton High School. He was an outstanding athlete, hard of muscle and ever ready for adventure.
“Hey, Jack’s right!” Willie suddenly warbled. “Here comes Mr. Livingston now!”
A powerfully built man of thirty-eight strode across the dining room to the table by the garden railing. Before becoming a Scout leader, he had spent ten years in FBI work.
“Sorry to be late, fellows,” he apologized, seating himself beside Ken.
After ordering for the group, he explained that an important conference had delayed him. “You wonder why I invited you here tonight?” he remarked, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Is it about our trip to Minnesota?” Jack inquired.
“Yes, Jack. I’m afraid it’s off for this year.”
As the news sank in, every face mirrored disappointment. For months, the Explorers had planned a canoe trip to the Minnesota lakes. And now it was off!
“It’s like this,” Mr. Livingston explained. “I have a chance to head an expedition to Peru. It looks pretty good and I hate to pass it up.”
If a rocket had exploded in their midst, the four Rovers could not have been more astonished.
“Peru?” echoed Willie. “Way off in South America!”
“Right. In many sections, the country still is wild and unexplored. I hate to give up our canoeing trip, but this may be the chance of a lifetime.”
“I don’t blame you,” Jack replied politely. “Peru, gosh!”
“You’ll go by boat?” inquired Ken.
“No, by plane. Our expedition supplies will be sent ahead by freighter. A man named Captain Carter will look after that detail. He’s to meet me here later tonight to discuss the plans.”
“Who’ll go with you?” asked War. “When do you leave? And what’s the purpose of the trip?”
“One question at a time. First of all, I expect to take all the Rovers.”
War dropped his fork. The other Scouts were jolted into rapt attention.
“You’re inviting us all to go to Peru?” Jack demanded in disbelief.
“That’s right.”
“But the Rovers haven’t much folding money.”
“All expenses will be paid.”
“Say, that’s great!” Jack exclaimed. “But it’s fantastic! Who is the easy-mark willing to pay for this pleasure jaunt?”
“I didn’t say the expedition would be a pleasure trip,” Mr. Livingston warned. “The mission will be a tough one—harder than anything we ever attempted before. Mr. Monahan, our backer, is a level-headed business man. He’ll expect results.”
By this time, the waiter had brought chicken and steaks, but the four Rovers were too excited to do full justice to the appetizing food set before them. They fairly bombarded Mr. Livingston with questions.
“Here’s the meat of it,” he said. “For many years—twelve to be exact—Mr. Monahan’s brother, Burton, lived in Peru. Recently, through a meeting with a missionary in a little coastal village, he learned of an unexplored ancient Inca temple where great treasure had supposedly been hidden at the time Spaniards conquered the country.”
“Weren’t the Incas an Indian race?” Willie inquired.
“Correct. They excelled at road building, stone work and in the arts. When the Spaniards looted the country about 400 years ago, the Incas saved some of their vast treasure by dumping it into lakes or burying it in caves.”
“We’re going to Peru to search for lost treasure?” demanded War excitedly.
Mr. Livingston shook his head. “No, the lost treasure concerns us only as it may account for Burton Monahan’s strange disappearance.”
“Tell us more,” urged Jack.
“Burton Monahan learned of the lost Inca temple through a parchment which an old Peruvian missionary translated for him.”
“A parchment?” echoed Willie thoughtfully. “One of those animal skin things the old timers wrote on?”
“Right. It was a curious document, written by a Portuguese explorer in the early eighteenth century.”
“What became of the parchment?” Ken demanded. “Who has it now?”
“Why, I have,” Mr. Livingston replied in an offhand manner. “Accurately speaking, it’s a rough translation. I’ll show it to you in a minute. First, let me tell you more about the expedition.”
As the Scouts listened attentively, he explained that the parchment translation had been given to him only a few minutes earlier by Albert Monahan, brother of the missing explorer.
“Burton Monahan sent the copy to his brother more than a year ago, hoping to get him to finance a treasure search,” Mr. Livingston related. “Albert Monahan considered the tale about hidden gold pure fantasy. He refused the request. Burton undertook the search alone and poorly equipped. He vanished. That was fully six months ago.”
“No one ever heard of him again?” questioned Ken.
“A few half-hearted search parties were organized, but little came of them. Captain Carter, who was the last white man to see Burton after he started into the wilds, seems to have a few clues as to the route the missing man took. He’s persuaded Mr. Monahan to finance an expedition to learn whether or not Burton still is alive.”
“So we owe the trip to Captain Carter?” commented Jack.
“Quite the contrary. Captain Carter expected to control the expedition. He didn’t much like the idea of having me put in charge.”
“Then how did we get accepted?” Jack asked, puzzled.
“Mr. Monahan doesn’t entirely trust Captain Carter, I suspect. At any rate, in financing the trip, he specified that I was to be in charge. I insisted upon having you fellows along. I’ve already cleared with your parents, so if you’re game to tackle a really tough proposition, the expedition is set.”
“Peru, here I come!” Warwick chortled.
“Just lead me to the Inca treasure!” added Willie, his eyes sparkling.
“It’s quite a responsibility,” said Jack soberly. “I hope we’ll be equal to it.”
“You will be. I have full confidence in every member of our little team, and told Mr. Monahan so.”
“The parchment translation should be helpful in tracing Burton’s route,” Ken remarked thoughtfully. “You were going to show it to us, Mr. Livingston.”
The Scout leader nodded and laid several sheets of folded yellow paper upon the table. He picked one at random, and after studying the fine writing, read aloud:
“‘One afternoon we had drawn near unto the blue mountains, and were struck by their strangely jagged peaks—a wild sierra, whose walls gleamed with quartz crystals, betokening the presence of gold.
“‘That evening we stood entranced at the glory of the sunset falling on the jeweled rocks, touching them into splendor until cascades of fire seemed to spring from rock to rock. It was a country of strange and unearthly beauty, but over all there seemed to brood a spirit of mystery, an omen of fear.’”
As if to whet their curiosity, Mr. Livingston deliberately broke off.
Forgetting the manuscript for a moment, he next brought forth from his pocket a bit of multi-colored rope. The cord was tied at intervals with tiny knots.
“Now this,” he explained, “is an ancient Inca quipu or book.”
“Those knots were used by the Incas to record figures, weren’t they?” Ken recalled from his reading.
“Yes, Ken, for our purpose it has no practical value. The parchment translation however, might lead us to Burton Monahan. Particularly if we can find the old missionary who gave it to him originally.”
“Read some more,” urged Jack. “That stuff about ‘a spirit of mystery’ sort of intrigues me.”
Before Mr. Livingston could pick up the manuscript a waiter approached to say that he was wanted on the telephone.
“It may be Mr. Monahan calling,” the Scout leader said, getting up quickly. “Excuse me, fellows. I’ll be right back. Meanwhile, see what you can make of the writing.”
After Mr. Livingston had gone, the four Explorers pored over the translation. They were still trying to puzzle out the difficult writing when the waiter reappeared to tell them that they too were wanted in the lobby.
“Must be Mr. Livingston,” said Jack. “But why does he send for us, instead of coming back?”
“Go and see,” War advised with a shrug. “I’ll wait here.”
The other three went quickly to the hotel lobby. Mr. Livingston was not there, nor did they find him in the telephone booth. After trying vainly to learn who had summoned them, they started back to the terrace dining room.
“Where’s War?” Ken demanded, noticing that their table was now deserted.
Just at that moment, they caught a glimpse of the freckle-faced boy, coming from the opposite direction.
“I was looking for you,” War greeted them cheerfully. “Took you an awful long time—say, why that dead-pan look, Jack? What’s wrong?”
“The parchment! You didn’t go off and leave it lying unguarded on the table?”
“Why, just for a minute,” War admitted, looking scared. “But no one would touch it. Take it easy, Jack! I can see that bundle of colored cord still there.”
Without replying, Jack went quickly to the deserted table. True, the quipu lay on the tablecloth beside Ken’s half-empty water glass. But the parchment translation was nowhere visible.
Could a breeze have blown the manuscript to the floor? Jack was convinced otherwise, but to make certain he searched under the table and along the terrace railing.
“War,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you’re sure you didn’t take those papers with you?”
Miserably, the boy shook his head. “I left ’em lying right here on the table. They can’t be gone!”
“But they are,” Jack said, his voice grim with worry. “That call to the lobby was a trick by someone to get us away from this table. Mr. Livingston trusted that translation to us, and now it’s been stolen!”
Chapter 2
CAPTAIN CARTER
“A fine Scout I prove to be!” Warwick berated himself. “Why, I’ve messed up the expedition to Peru! Without that translation, there may be no trip.”
The other three Rovers knew that War might be right about the expedition. However, careless as he had been in leaving the manuscript unguarded, they did not blame him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ken said, to make him feel better. “We all fell for that telephone gag.”
“Whoever took that translation can’t be far from here,” Warwick muttered. “Why, I wasn’t away from this table five minutes, if that long.”
As the four Explorers searched the terrace floor, a waiter came over to inquire if anything had been lost. Jack told him about the missing papers and asked if anyone had visited the table during their absence. The waiter recalled that a man had stopped there for a moment and then had left the terrace.
“Can you describe him?” Willie asked eagerly.
“He was heavy set, deeply tanned. Why, there he is now—leaving the hotel grounds.”
The waiter indicated the retreating figure of a stockily built man, dimly outlined against the dark shrubbery. The stranger moved swiftly, away from the terrace.
“He’s the one who snatched the parchment!” War exclaimed with instant conviction. “Let’s nail him!”
To the dismay of the waiter, the four Explorers leaped nimbly over the terrace railing onto the lawn below.
By this time the man they pursued was midway across the hotel grounds. Unaware that anyone followed, he paused beside a tall evergreen and bent over as if to place something at its base. Now that the stranger was beyond the reflection of the terrace lights, the Scouts could not discern his movements clearly.
“He’s pitching that manuscript!” Warwick whispered. “Let’s grab him quick!”
“We can circle in from behind,” Ken advised. “Be quiet and careful.”
“We might be making a mistake,” Jack advised uneasily, but the others did not heed.
Moving softly through the darkness, they suddenly surrounded the stranger. War grabbed him firmly by the arm.
“We got you, mister!” he asserted. “Hand over that manuscript!”
The man pulled angrily away. He was powerfully built, with a close-cropped head of chestnut colored hair. Ken and Willie moved in close, cutting off all possible escape.
“Manuscript!” the stranger exclaimed. “What are you blubbering about anyhow? What’s the big idea?”
“You know well enough!” War accused. “You took that translation from our hotel table just now!”
“Say, are you kids crazy?”
“We want those papers,” War insisted. “Hand ’em over!”
“You little hoodlum, you!” the man snarled. “If you don’t stop pawing in my pants pocket, I’ll sock you! I’ve had enough of this!”
“Maybe you can explain what you were hiding by this evergreen,” Willie suggested pointedly.
“Well, jar my rigging! You kids have got bats in the belfry! I was looking for my wristwatch.”
“Your wristwatch!” War said scornfully, “That’s good!”
“The strap unfastened and it slipped off. It’s here somewhere.”
Taking no part in the conversation, Jack had devoted himself to inspecting the ground beneath the evergreen.
“Is this your watch, sir?” he inquired, holding up the shiny object.
“It is! I hope you realize now that you’ve made a blasted mistake.”
“But—I was sure—” Warwick stammered, completely deflated. “The waiter said he saw you at our table on the terrace. Maybe you’ll explain what you were doing there.”
“I went to the terrace to see a guy named George Livingston. They told me that was his table. No one there. Only empty dishes. So I left.”
“You were to see Mr. Livingston?” Jack repeated. “Then you must be—”
“Captain Carter. Captain Edmund Carter, skipper of the Shark.”
“Jumping hop toads!” War muttered. “I—I guess I’ve made another bad mistake.”
The captain’s laugh was unpleasant. “I should complain to the police,” he said. “But forget it. No use getting one’s wind up over trifles.”
“That’s very decent of you,” Jack replied. “We apologize, Captain Carter.”
“It was an unfortunate mistake,” added Ken. “Happy—Mr. Livingston had shown us the parchment translation. We left it on the table when we were called away, and it disappeared.”
“So you tag me?”
“It was a mistake,” Jack said patiently. “By the way, when you stopped at our table, did you see the manuscript?”
“Oh, so now you want to put me through the third degree! It’s not enough that you grab me from behind and maul me?”
“We’re only trying to learn what became of a very valuable property,” Jack answered, carefully holding his temper in check.
“Son, I didn’t see your papers or whatever it was you lost. Get that straight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, that’s settled. Now do you know where I’ll find this character, Livingston?”
Jack resented the captain’s manner of referring to the Scout leader. He answered briefly. “He’s at the hotel.”
“Can you take me to him?”
“I guess so.”
“Then cast off,” Captain Carter ordered. “We’ll forget that you tried to manhandle me. Lucky for you I got a milk-and-honey disposition.”
Unconcerned by the Scouts’ loss of the manuscript, the seaman strode down the path toward the hotel.
In the darkness, he could not see the faces of the four Rovers which all too plainly mirrored their private thoughts as to the captain’s “milk-and-honey” temperament.
At the hotel once more, the boys could not find Mr. Livingston in the lobby. Somewhat puzzled by his prolonged absence, they returned to their original table with the captain.
As he studied the menu, the Explorers were able to examine his ruddy, unfriendly face. A jagged scar marred his left cheek. As for his dark eyes, they had a quick trick of shifting, and never seemed to return a steady, even gaze.
Willie, trying hard to make conversation, said: “You must know a lot about Peru, Captain Carter.”
“I’m wondering—” Jack began, and broke off.
“Have you been there often?”
“Too often.”
“It must be an interesting country.”
“Lousy,” the captain growled. “Three areas—coastal, the sierra region and the heavily forested slopes that lead to the Amazonian plains. Rain, heat, freezing cold. Lima, the capital, ain’t so bad. They ought to chuck the rest of the country into the Pacific.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Ken protested. “I hope not, because we’re going there with Mr. Livingston.”
Captain Carter laid aside his menu and stared directly at Ken. In that unguarded moment, concern and hostility were reflected in his lined face.
“You mean I got to nursemaid a bunch of kids?” he demanded.
“That’s an unflattering way of putting it,” Ken replied. “We’ve never been to Peru, but we’re not softies.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” said a voice directly behind the captain.
Unnoticed, Mr. Livingston had crossed the terrace to the table.
“Oh, here you are!” exclaimed Jack in relief. “We couldn’t find you anywhere, Mr. Livingston.”
“I see you’re in good company,” replied the Scout leader, shaking hands with Captain Carter. “Sorry to have been held up. Anything wrong?”
“Plenty,” Warwick answered. Without mentioning the unfortunate episode with Captain Carter, he told of the manuscript’s disappearance.
The loss plainly startled the Scout leader. Nevertheless, he said very little and did not blame Warwick.
“Don’t worry about it,” he advised the Scouts. “I’m mighty sorry to lose the translation, but if we’re lucky enough to find that old missionary who made it, we should be able to duplicate the information.”
As Captain Carter ate his dinner, the Scouts listened attentively to his talk with Mr. Livingston. The seaman ignored them entirely as he discussed details of the proposed trip.
“According to the arrangement, I’ll be off for Peru next week,” he growled. “See to it that all your heavy supplies are at the dock ready for loading on the Shark by noon of the sixth.”
“Everything will be there,” Mr. Livingston promised. “We’ll follow next month by plane and meet your boat at the coastal port of Cuertos. Right?”
“Right,” the captain scowled. “I’m warning you though, this is no expedition for a bunch o’ kids.”
“The Explorers are well seasoned,” Mr. Livingston returned. “They’re tough and efficient. I know I can depend on them. That’s why I told Mr. Monahan I wouldn’t attempt the search for his brother without their help.”
“That’s a laugh! If you run afoul of a tribe of wild Indians, you figure to hold ’em at bay with your Scout knives?”
“I doubt that would be our way, captain. There are methods of handling a situation that do not involve force.”
“Yeah? Well, give me my two fists or a round of ammunition!” Captain Carter had finished his dinner. He shoved back his chair. “I’ll be going now,” he announced. “My job is to get your supplies through to Cuertos on time. The Shark will be there. Just don’t come cryin’ to me when the going gets rough!”
With barely a nod to the four Scouts, the seaman left the terrace. Without comment, Mr. Livingston settled the bill for all the dinners.
“Pleasant character,” Jack remarked. “Tough as an old lanyard knot!”
“I wonder where Mr. Monahan found him?” speculated Ken.
“Captain Carter introduced himself—sold the expedition, so to speak. He knows Peru thoroughly.”
“He certainly took a dislike to us,” Jack commented. “Not that I blame him too much.”
War himself related to Mr. Livingston how he had mistaken the captain for a thief.
“I sure am sorry I jumped him the way I did,” he said contritely. “I guess I’m in the doghouse now.”
“No such thing,” the Scout leader smiled. “You acted a bit impulsively, without thinking through the situation. Next time you’ll react more wisely.”
“You still want me to make the trip?”
“I certainly do.”
“Thanks,” War said, his eyes shining. “I’ll do my best to prove worthy. I’m going to try to find out what became of that missing manuscript.”
“That’s a job for all of us,” Jack amended. “We’re all equally responsible for the loss.”
Before leaving the hotel, Mr. Livingston and the Rovers talked to several of the waiters and other diners. No one had seen any person except Captain Carter visit their table.
“I’m wondering—” Jack began, and broke off.
“Wondering what, Jack?” prompted Mr. Livingston.
“Well, maybe my suspicions are unfounded. But it hit me that maybe we made a mistake not to search Captain Carter.”
“We got into enough trouble as it was,” Warwick muttered.
“Supposing—just for speculation—that Captain Carter knew we were following him and dropped that watch into the shrubbery.”
“So that when we found it we’d assume we’d made a terrible mistake!” Willie exclaimed. “Maybe he had the translation in his pocket all the time!”
“We were chumps not to have searched him,” asserted War.
Mr. Livingston smiled. “An interesting speculation,” he commented. “Off hand though, I can’t imagine why Captain Carter would want the translation. For that matter, had he asked to see it, I certainly would have shown it to him. We’re all supposed to be working together to find Burton Monahan. So a motive for the theft seems to be lacking.”
“I guess so,” Jack admitted reluctantly.
“Bear in mind that we’re saddled with Captain Carter for the duration of the trip.”
“And it’s poor policy to stir up bad feeling before we’re even on our way.”
“Exactly, Jack,” the Scout leader agreed. “We must do our level best to get along with the captain. He’s not the man of my choice. But if he once gets the idea that we’re unfriendly or watching him, he could cause us a peck of trouble.”
Chapter 3
PATH TO ADVENTURE
During the next few weeks, the entire Scout organization buzzed with the news that Ken, Jack, Willie and War were to set off on a great adventure.
Younger Scouts eyed them enviously. Belatedly, there was a rush by boys over 14 to join the Rovers. Applications readily were accepted, but the newcomers quickly learned that the trip to Peru was a closed expedition except for those who had proven their ability to endure real hardships.
As for the fortunate four, they scarcely could believe their own good luck. It seemed a miracle that they had been selected, that all expenses would be paid, and that their parents had given consent.
Their enthusiasm boundless, the young Explorers spent hours at the public library, reading about South America. Jack, in particular, studied Spanish grammar, trying out phrases on his friends.
According to a carefully worked out plan, Captain Carter was scheduled to sail without delay for Cuertos, an almost unknown dog-hole port on the Peruvian coast.
The trip through the Canal would take many weeks, while the Rovers, by clipper, would reach their destination speedily. Captain Carter’s Shark was expected to arrive at Cuertos well ahead of Mr. Livingston’s party. A meeting date was set for the following month.
As preparations rapidly went forward for the sailing, the four Explorers saw little of Captain Carter. Occasionally, they ran into him at Mr. Livingston’s home, but always he shunned them. Though they tried to be friendly, he would not respond.
“He won’t get over his grudge,” Willie remarked. “A nice way to start a long trip!”
“It’s not our fault,” Jack returned. “We’ve done everything we can to make amends. He distrusts us, and between you and me and the gatepost, I feel the same about him!”
The Explorers consoled themselves with the thought that once their equipment and stores had been delivered at Cuertos, they would be done with Captain Carter. Few freighters, they were told, ever visited the out-of-the-way port.
“Don’t underestimate Captain Carter,” Mr. Livingston advised the Rovers. “He can be very useful to us if we win him over. He knows the ropes and can put us in touch with the right people.”
“You’re not expecting trouble on this trip?” Jack asked quietly.
“It’s well to be prepared. Our expedition may end at Cuertos. If we learn that Burton Monahan is dead and can establish it, that terminates our mission. On the other hand, if we discover that he went into the old Inca country, it will be our duty to trace him as far as we can. That’s why we’re sending plenty of supplies ahead.”
“I sure wish we hadn’t lost that translation,” War said gloomily.
“Forget it,” the Scout leader advised. “It’s gone, and we may as well stop worrying about it.”
Equipped with lists Mr. Livingston supplied, the Explorers packed carefully for the trip. Nothing was left to chance. Informed that they might expect extremes of weather in Peru, sweltering heat in the lowlands and frigid temperatures if their journey took them high into the mountains, they chose each item with great care.
Mr. Livingston personally inspected all luggage that was to go by boat. Every unnecessary item was discarded.
Finally, the last box was labeled and sent to the dock for shipment. On the day of sailing, the Rovers drove to the waterfront to see the Shark on her way. Mr. Livingston, having important duties elsewhere, was unable to accompany the group.
The vessel proved to be a small, rather filthy-looking schooner, which regularly carried cargo through the Panama Canal.
Bent upon exploring the vessel from stem to stern, the four Rovers started up the gangplank. A sailor stopped them.
“Sorry,” he said curtly. “No visitors.”
“But we came to see our stuff loaded,” Willie replied. “Captain Carter knows us. He won’t object.”
“There’s the Captain now!” cried War, spying the officer on deck. “Hi, Captain! May we come aboard?”
“We sail in thirty minutes,” the Captain returned shortly. “You’d only be in the way.”
War would have pressed the matter, but Jack gave him a quick nudge.
“Let it slide,” he advised. “No use getting the Captain’s goat again. Come on, we can watch the loading from shore.”
Hiding their annoyance, the Explorers sought a patch of shade in the lee of a large warehouse. Stevedores trundled boxes and barrels of cargo aboard. Captain Carter remained on deck personally supervising the job.
The boxes marked for the Scout expedition were raised in a great net and swung down into the hold. The stevedores then moved the overflow up the gangplank.
In an ugly temper, Captain Carter berated the men for being slow. One fellow, who carried an especially heavy load, stumbled on the uneven planking. Either by accident or design, he permitted a box to slip from his shoulder into the water.
“Stupid idiot!” Captain Carter shouted. “Brainless! Can’t you watch what you’re doing?”
Jack and Ken instantly leaped to their feet. Seizing a grappling hook, they tried to raise the sunken box from the shallow water.
“Lay off that!” Captain Carter shouted, even more furiously.
Startled by the violence of the outburst, Jack gazed up into the enraged face of the Captain. In that instant, he fancied that the surly, pouch-like face mirrored not only anger but fear. What reason might the Captain have for not wanting the Explorers to help retrieve the lost cargo?
“Ken and I were only trying to help,” he said quietly.
“When I want your assistance, I’ll tell you so!” the Captain growled. “Aboard the Shark, I’m in command. Now get away from the gangplank!”
“Okay,” Jack muttered, eyes blazing. He’d learned in early Scouting days that it nearly always paid to hold one’s tongue.
War, however, could not resist making a muttered comment.
“What was that?” Captain Carter bellowed at him.
“Oh, peddle your fish!” War exclaimed. “I’m glad we’re not passengers on your old tub!”
“A sentiment shared, young man. When I see you in Peru, it will be soon enough!”
“Just be sure you deliver our stuff safely!” War shouted back. “Don’t be dumping any more of it!”
To break up the useless repartee, the other Explorers pulled War away from the dock.
One and all, they smarted under the Captain’s rude treatment. He was being well paid to transport the expedition supplies to Peru. Why then, should he have taken such a dislike to them?
“It’s because of that parchment translation incident,” Willie declared as the four stepped back to watch two sailors recover the sunken box. “The old boy won’t forget or forgive.”
Later that afternoon, after the Shark had sailed, Jack and Ken related the unfortunate loading affair to Mr. Livingston.
“Captain Carter is a surly fellow, I’m afraid,” the Scout leader commented. “Fortunately, we won’t run into him again until we hit Peru. And we shouldn’t have too close an association after that.”
“I sure wish we were leaving tomorrow,” Jack declared with a grin. “How’ll we wait?”
“The days will pass fast enough,” Mr. Livingston assured him.
He was right. Almost before the Explorers realized it, the long weeks had slipped by.
On the night before the party was scheduled to board the clipper for Peru, the Scout organization held a final meeting.
For the four Rovers, the occasion was a solemn, impressive one. Well they knew that weeks, perhaps months, might elapse before they would meet again in formal session. Even so, they had no inkling of the exciting adventures that lay ahead or of the part that Captain Carter was to play in their lives.
During the early part of the evening, movie slides were shown on Peru. Jack, as crew leader, thanked the committee for the fine program presented, and then, with regret, announced that it was time to end the meeting by closing the log.
A hush fell upon the throng. War arose, and soberly closed the big book in which were recorded minutes of the organization.
Never had the simple ceremony been more impressive than on this night. On the table beside Jack was the Explorer’s Emblem—wings, anchor and compass—symbolic of air, sea and land activities. In front of it were two glowing candles. To the left stood the American flag, and on the right, the unit banner.
Jack himself turned to extinguish the candles, symbolic of the ideals lighting the way of all Explorers.
“This emblem is to remind us that we are part of a great organization,” he said soberly. “An organization made up of thousands of fellows in troop, crew and post everywhere.”
Normally, the ceremony would have ended there, but Jack went on. With deep feeling, he added the words of the Scout oath:
“‘On my honor, I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.’”
The other Explorers joined in, speaking each word with sincerity. All eyes were glued upon Jack, Ken, Willie and Warwick.
At that impressive moment, knowing that on the morrow they would be speeding far from America, the four felt their responsibility keenly.
Hadn’t they been singled out for an important mission? They must try hard to make Mr. Livingston and the other Scouts proud of them! Come what would, they dared not fail or falter.
Chapter 4
A MISSION
“Six days overdue, and no sign of the Shark! What a help Captain Carter proved to be!”
Jack delivered the remark as he lay on the steep hillside overlooking Cuertos harbor in Peru. His sentiment was shared by the other Explorers, Willie, Ken and War. Six days of waiting in a desolate coastal town had left the four Rovers decidedly restless and impatient.
Behind them now were a thrilling plane journey from the States, exciting days in Lima. But nearly a week had elapsed since they had registered at the little Cuertos Hotel in this sleepy town seldom visited by tourists.
To the annoyance of Mr. Livingston and the Scouts, the Shark had not yet made port. What, they wondered, had delayed Captain Carter and their supplies?
On this sunny morning, while Mr. Livingston conferred with government officials, Jack and his friends had decided to watch the harbor for a possible glimpse of the long overdue vessel.
“Maybe Carter never will show up,” War remarked, tossing a stone into the waves which broke gently on the shore below. “I don’t trust him.”
“The Shark may have run into bad storms,” Jack replied. “It’s hard waiting, though—especially when we can’t pick up any information about Burton Monahan.”
“Apparently the only one who knows anything about him is that old missionary who lives on the hill,” Ken said thoughtfully. “And he won’t see us.”
A week ago, the day of their arrival, the Scouts and Mr. Livingston had called at the crumbling old mission overlooking the sea. Politely but firmly, a servant had informed them that Father Francisco Manoel was ill and would receive no visitors. For five straight days, the answer always had been the same.
“It’s an excuse not to see us!” Willie asserted, getting up from the rocks. “Father Francisco just does not want to tell what he knows about Burton Monahan or that old parchment!”
“Oh, we can’t be sure,” Jack drawled. “Father Francisco may be sick. We didn’t expect this job to be an easy one. Or did we think Burton Monahan would be sitting conveniently on a rock pile waiting for us?”
“I’m getting tired of perching on this one!” War announced. “Let’s move!”
“Where?”
“We might amble into the village again.”
“Okay,” Jack agreed. “We’re not to meet Hap for a couple of hours. Plenty of time.”
Slowly, the Rovers climbed a crooked path which twisted up the steep hillside. Midway to the summit they met an old woman with a brilliantly colored parrot perched on her shoulder.
“Buenos dias,” croaked the bird.
“Good day, yourself!” Jack responded.
He halted, intending to inspect the saucy parrot. But the bent old native woman glared angrily at him and shuffled hurriedly on.
“Guess she didn’t like the way I spoke to her pet,” Jack said with a shrug. “Or was she suspicious of our Explorers’ uniforms?”
At the top of the hill, the four Scouts paused to breathe deeply of the salt air. Willie snapped several pictures of the old mission, and then he and War wandered on.
Left behind, Jack and Ken watched the sea for a while before starting in the direction their companions had taken. In passing the old mission door, Jack impulsively paused to knock.
“No use,” Ken discouraged him. “There’s never any answer.”
But even as he spoke, they heard footsteps. Surprisingly, the massive door swung open and a servant peered out at them.
“Father Francisco see you now,” she informed them in broken English. “Enter!”
“Well, what d’ you know!” Ken murmured startled. “We must have pressed the magic button!”
The servant motioned for the two Scouts to follow her down a tiled corridor. Eventually, they came to a pleasant half-underground library whose long, wide window provided a view of the ocean. On three sides, the walls were lined with books.
Father Francisco sat facing the sea, but he turned slowly as the Scouts entered. He was a small, bent old man in a black dressing robe and sandals. Pillows braced his back.
Motioning Ken and Jack into well-worn leather chairs, he said in precise but perfect English: “I regret I have been ill and could not see you when first you called. My arthritis has been most painful. Mr. Livingston did not accompany you?”
Jack replied that their leader was in conference with government officials. He and Ken both were uncomfortably aware of the old missionary’s intent scrutiny. They had an odd feeling that he not only knew everything about them and their party, but could read their innermost thoughts.
“How do you like Peru?” Father Francisco inquired politely.
“We haven’t seen very much of it,” Jack confessed. “Cuertos though, isn’t exactly as we pictured it.”
“The coastal area is very dry,” the missionary said, fingering a long, gold neck chain. “Here at Cuertos we have a good rain at least once a century. Earthquakes, I regret to say, are more frequent.”
An awkward silence fell. Father Francisco broke it by inquiring: “You are Scouts from America?”
“Explorers,” Ken said proudly. “I guess you already know why we are here.”
Father Francisco eyed the pair quizzically. “You are searching for Burton Monahan? Or is it the treasure which intrigues you?”
“We’re trying to find Mr. Monahan,” Jack replied earnestly.