Jake made assurance; “only a matter o’ three mile on the lake. We’ll git thar in a jiffy, in the Shirtso.”
“The what?” Saxe questioned.
“That’s the ornery name old man Abernethey give a perfec’ly good boat,” Jake replied, complainingly. “He said as how it meant kind o’ lively.”
“The name must be Scherzo,” Saxe explained to the unmusical and bewildered Billy Walker; “the motor-boat, you know.”
But Billy was not appeased. He kept at Jake’s side, as the party moved toward the landing, a furlong to the east from the station, and expressed his sentiments vehemently, though not lucidly, so far as the boatman was concerned.
“I’m given to understand,” he said severely to the puzzled Jake, “that your craft is not merely a plain, slow-going, safe-and-sane-Fourth launch, but, on the contrary, one of those cantankerous, speed-maniacal contraptions that scoots in diabolical and parabolical curves, and squirts water all over the passengers. If so, I think I’ll walk—though I’m not fond of walking.”
Jake seized eagerly on the one intelligible phrase in Billy Walker’s bombast.
“Nary squirt!” he declared, with emphasis. “Old man Abernethey, he was ailin’ jest like you be, and I learned to nuss the Shirtso keerful—mighty keerful, yes, siree!”
The others, who had overheard, laughed impudently at this naïve reference to the invalidism of their friend, whose physical inertia was equal to his mental energy.
At sight of the motor-boat, Roy Morton gave critical attention, scanning it with the supercilious manner of one versed in the mysteries, as, indeed, he was. Unbidden, he ensconced himself at the engines, in the seat with Jake. Soon, however, his coldly inquiring expression softened to radiant satisfaction, as he noted the smoothness of the start, the delicate adjustment from speed to speed, the rhythm of the perfectly tuned cylinders. Of a sudden, as he turned to stare at the wizened face of the old man at his side, Roy’s eyes grew gently luminous; a smile that was tender curved the lips above the belligerent chin. He knew that Jake loved his engines, knew perfectly that the old man fairly doted on them, cherished them even as a lover his mistress. Because of the sympathy that he, too, had with such things, Roy respected the boatman mightily, began then and there to grow fond of the brown and shriveled face.
Billy Walker, for his part, after the first few moments of suspense, became convinced that his anticipations of disaster were little likely to be realized in fact, and thereafter he gave himself over to delighted contemplation of the wooded shores, which on either side sloped gracefully to the water’s edge. David Thwing, too, gazed about on the newly budded beauty of the wilderness with a content made keen by over-long sojourning in the places builded by men. It was only Saxe Temple himself, alone in the stern chair, who looked around with eyes that just then recked naught of the scenic loveliness, despite the appeal in such vistas to one of his beauty-loving temperament. But his whole interest, now, was centered on the quest that had brought him to this remote region. His roving glance was searching all the stretches of lake and forest wonderingly, hopefully, fearfully. Here was the place in which he must win or lose a fortune, according to the decree of the old man’s whimsy. The desire of his dearest dreams surged in him, the challenge of ambition, the ideals of art. This wealth, once achieved, would give freedom to work according to his loftiest aspirations. A sudden fierce resolve burned in him. He would succeed, notwithstanding all difficulties in the path. Fate had given him opportunity: he would wrest from it victory as well. His face set itself sternly in lines of strength … and, then, without any warning, the Scherzo swung around a densely wooded point of the shore that had seemed almost to bar the narrow channel, through which they had been passing thus far. Now, just before them lay broad reaches of placid water, a mile in width there at hand, much wider in the distance beyond. Low mountains loomed undulant afar, whence the descending forests ran to a shore that wound hither and yon in innumerable inlets, coves and bays, broken often by cliffs.
Yet, even now, Saxe Temple gave no heed to the loveliness of the spectacle. Instead, his whole care was fixed on an uncouth, rambling structure that blotched a clearing visible along the west shore, a mile away. It was the only dwelling to be seen anywhere, as far as eye could reach. The seeker had no doubt that now, at last, he had his first sight of Abernethey’s cottage—that spot in which his cunning must meet—and master—the cunning of a dead man, who had made grim jest with the gold he loved.
CHAPTER V
THE SEARCH BEGINS
AN UNWONTED activity prevailed in the miser’s cottage. The presence of Saxe Temple and his companions brought into the isolated dwelling a varied and bustling atmosphere, which, at times, came near confusion. The one member of the party who permitted naught to disturb his tranquillity was Billy Walker, and that because of a chronic aversion to every form of physical exertion. He contented himself with holding a sort of informal court on the porch, sitting at ease with his massive frame sprawled in a commodious wicker chair. Mrs. West remained with him much of the time, while Margaret by turns joined them, or moved about here and there as an interested observer of the other three men, who were already busily searching the house.
On occasion, Margaret and May Thurston wandered away together in long strolls by the lake shore, or over the hills through the forest. By the circumstances of such companionship, a considerable degree of intimacy was soon established between the two girls, which was inexpressibly comforting to the secretary. She would have delighted to tell this new friend of the engagement that existed between herself and the engineer, but she had passed her word not to do so, and it never occurred to her as possible that she should break it. At times, Masters joined the girls in their rambles, but that avaricious gentleman, though eager to press his suit with Margaret could not often bear to absent himself from the scene of operations that had to do with the treasure. So, for the most part, he either joined the group on the porch, or gave himself over to loitering hidden in the woods, at a point a few hundred yards to the south, where a thick screen of undergrowth effectually offered a barrier against observation from the cottage. By such espionage, he was sure to be instantly advised concerning any discovery of a clue, as it would create excitement among those on the piazza. He would have preferred to remain constantly among the searchers, but this was patently impossible. Masters was by no means lacking in shrewdness, however great his shortcomings in the way of respect for meum et tuum, and he was both sensitive and sensible enough to know that his company was not especially agreeable to Temple and his friends in their exploration of the house.
It was, in truth, rather curious to note the various opinions held in reference to the engineer by the four men engaged in seeking Abernethey’s treasure. Masters had been introduced to them by May on the morning after their arrival at the cottage, and had shown himself as friendly as possible. But, in accordance with the usual effect he had on men, the impression created by him on each of the four was distinctly unpleasant. Saxe Temple felt an intuitive dislike, which he was at no pains to explain. Billy Walker regarded the engineer with a mingling of amusement and disdain, ill concealed, and he did not scruple afterward to describe the visitor as a peculiarly obnoxious romantic pirate, with a flamboyant veneer of the Quartier Latin. But he refused to take the fellow with much seriousness. In this respect, he differed from Roy Morton, who made it a rule to be uniformly suspicious of all things and all persons, and lived up to this rule with finical fidelity. He immediately characterized the engineer as a completely base and designing person, one of whom all decent and honest men might well beware. He proved his contentions quite to his own satisfaction by physiognomy, by phrenology, by chiromancy, by the sixth sense and by the fourth dimension. David Thwing, who was ordinarily a kindly soul, made some small effort to combat the severity of Roy’s strictures,
