6,000 Tons of Gold. Henry Richardson Chamberlain
passed and they saw and heard nothing save nature’s face and voice about them, Brent was unable to conceal his fears of disappointment.
“Do you think he will come?” he asked impatiently looking again at his watch and noting that the hands were close to the meridian.
“I wish I was as sure of getting the gold as I am that Casimiro will keep his appointment,” said Fraser smiling. “Don’t judge him by your watch. The sun will govern his movements.”
Scarcely had he spoken when the Scotchman sprang suddenly to his feet and started rapidly upon his crutches toward a group of trees about two hundred yards away on the opposite side of the little valley. Brent looked and saw a man standing there motionless. Uncertain of his welcome, the young man waited until his friend should explain his unexpected appearance at the tryst. He saw the two men meet, greet each other, and engage in conversation. Then they came slowly toward the spring, talking earnestly together.
As they drew near, Brent watched the splendid figure of the Patagonian with growing surprise and admiration. He could not believe it was a man of ninety, this proud, unbent form with the bearing of an athlete, the reserved vigor of a retired gladiator. His face alone and the white hair upon his great bare breast gave token of age. His features were Caucasian in type, almost Grecian in mold. The eyes were dark, still brilliant and searching, but they had in them even greater depths of melancholy than Fraser had described. Brent felt before a word had been spoken an involuntary springing up within him of the same implicit confidence in this man which he had been unable to understand in his friend. He felt himself in the presence of one who commanded something deeper than respect—a savage perhaps, but a personified force and power and wisdom such as the young man had never encountered before. He approached the newcomer with a deference which was not assumed and greeted him with some words in the native tongue which Fraser had taught him.
Casimiro received him gravely but kindly. He accepted the outstretched hand and said a word or two of welcome which Brent was delighted to find he could understand.
“I have told Cacique Casimiro,” said Fraser, “that it is to your assistance that I owe my ability to keep my promise here to-day, that I owe you much in many ways, that I have made you my friend and partner, that in all things you will be to him and his people as I am, and that you are more worthy than I to be intrusted with the mission he has offered me.”
Brent endeavored in a mixture of Spanish and the native language of the Patagonian to express his thanks for the welcome and his desire to render to him and to his people every service in his power. Casimiro watched the young man keenly for some moments. Presently he said gravely:
“Your words are good, young man, which is nothing. Your face is true, which is much. I trust your friend, who is my friend, therefore I trust you. It shall be as he says.” And the old chief offered his hand, which the young man took with genuine pride at the honor which he felt had been conferred upon him.
Casimiro said no more upon the subject but forthwith asked the Scotchman for an account of his adventures and stewardship, which the latter gave at some length. The chief listened attentively but made no comments until the story was finished. He expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with what had been done. Then he sat very silent and very grave for some time. Both Brent and Fraser grew a little apprehensive of what might be coming and they were startled at Casimiro’s first words when he finally spoke.
“I bring bad news for my people,” he began sadly. “We cannot, I fear, expel from our country the gold which will surely crush us and blot us out.” He noticed the involuntary dismay upon the faces of both the white men. He went on with a touch of bitterness in his voice: “Do not fear. You shall have all I promised and more. The gold is more, much more, than I told you. We have been digging it up and storing it, that you might take it away easily. We cannot move it all, not with many horses, in many weeks. Many rafts cannot float it. The white men’s biggest ship cannot carry it away. I fear we are lost.”
The two listeners were haggard with astonishment at the chief’s words. They looked at him confused, half comprehending. When the significance of the stern old Patagonian’s utterance came home to them its inherent improbability did not arouse doubts of his truthfulness. There was an intrinsic honesty about the man that disarmed suspicion and compelled confidence. So it was that the minds of both his companions did not stop to question his almost incredible declarations, but turned at once to the problem which his statement presented. The Scotchman was the first to find his tongue, and speaking in Spanish, which all three understood fairly well, he said:
“Your words amaze us beyond expression, Casimiro. It is difficult for us to conceive of so great a quantity of gold as you describe. It is impossible for us to believe the amount is greater than can be moved. The white man’s skill in such tasks is beyond anything that can be known to you. He makes rivers where before was dry land, he digs a path through the heart of vast mountains, he forces back the sea from the shore, he builds ships larger by fifty or a hundred fold than those which come to your coast. The task you set for us will not be impossible. Neither shall we find it necessary to bring other white men for its execution, which would be an offense to you and your people. We will accomplish it with the help of your own strong men. We have brought tools, which you will easily learn to use. We will build rafts so large that they will carry more than five hundred horses can draw. Many of these rafts will float your gold to the sea. We will bring a ship so great that her length will stretch from this spot as far as yonder trees where you appeared to us. You and your people shall yourselves put the gold upon this ship, and no white man on board her shall put foot upon your shores or ever again return to disturb you. Believe me, the undertaking is not beyond our powers.”
“You speak of riddles and wonders, of works of God and not of men,” responded Casimiro in incredulous awe, but deeply impressed nevertheless by the Scotchman’s earnest confidence. Turning suddenly to a steep cliff towering nearly one hundred feet above them, the chief raised his arm toward it and asked, “Could you cut down yonder rock and carry it away?”
“Aye, ’tis often done and greater works than that in building the iron path for the locomotive, which you know runs with faster speed than horses between the white men’s settlements not very far now to the north,” the Scotchman answered.
“Yes, my young men have seen it and told me of it,” said the chief. “Your words give me hope. We will go to the spot where my people are still at work separating the gold from the earth. You shall judge for yourselves whether the task is too great for you.”
They decided to go immediately to the harbor and sail at once to the mouth of the river which Casimiro had described as flowing from the hiding-place of his treasure. Fraser judged from the chief’s words that the point was two hundred miles or more down the coast. They reached the settlement in an hour’s time and went on board the schooner. Instructions had been given in advance for everything to be in readiness for immediate departure, and before three o’clock the anchor was up and they were under way.
Under baffling breezes and with the necessity for keeping within sight of the coast that Casimiro might not lose the bearings, the voyage was a slow one. On the fifth day, the chief sighted a landmark which he said was close to their destination. The schooner soon ran into a large, well-protected, natural harbor. The coast was still rugged and forbidding and not a sign of human handiwork or habitation was visible. It was not until they were well within the little bay that they discovered that it concealed the mouth of a river of considerable size, which found its way somehow through what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of rocky hills. A quiet anchorage was found about two hundred yards from the shore, but as it was nearly dusk no attempt was made to land that night.
At daybreak the next morning Casimiro was on deck eagerly scanning the shore near the mouth of the large stream, whose current swept into the bay several hundred yards from where the ship lay. At length the old chief sprang upon the railing and waved his arms as though signaling. A few minutes later a boat or native canoe put out from the shore and came rapidly toward the ship. Three Patagonians soon came on board. They stood talking for a long time with Casimiro in the bow of the schooner, while all others on board were still below and asleep. Their consultation seemed to result in