Across the parched bones lay the stick discarded by Jenks in his alarm.
He picked it up and resumed his progress along the pathway. So closely
did he now examine the ground that he hardly noted his direction. The
track led straight towards the wall of rock. The distance was not
great--about forty yards.
At first the brushwood impeded him, but soon
even this hindrance disappeared, and a well-defined passage meandered
through a belt of trees, some strong and lofty, others quite immature.
More bushes gathered at the foot of the cliff. Behind them he could see
the mouth of a cave; the six months' old growth of vegetation about the
entrance gave clear indication as to the time which had elapsed since a
human foot last disturbed the solitude.
A few vigorous blows with the stick cleared away obstructing plants and
leafy branches. The sailor stooped and looked into the cavern, for the
opening was barely five feet high. He perceived instantly that the
excavation was man's handiwork, applied to a fault in the hard rock. A
sort of natural shaft existed, and this had been extended by manual
labor.
Beyond the entrance the cave became more lofty. Owing to its
position with reference to the sun at that hour Jenks imagined that
sufficient light would be obtainable when the tropical luxuriance of
foliage outside was dispensed with.
At present the interior was dark. With the stick he tapped the walls
and roof. A startled cluck and the rush of wings heralded the flight of
two birds, alarmed by the noise. Soon his eyes, more accustomed to the
gloom, made out that the place was about thirty feet deep, ten feet
wide in the center, and seven or eight feet high.
At the further end was a collection of objects inviting prompt
attention. Each moment he could see with greater distinctness. Kneeling
on one side of the little pile he discerned that on a large stone,
serving as a rude bench, were some tin utensils, some knives, a
sextant, and a quantity of empty cartridge cases. Between the stone and
what a miner terms the "face" of the rock was a four-foot space. Here,
half imbedded in the sand which covered the floor, were two pickaxes, a
shovel, a sledge-hammer, a fine timber-felling axe, and three crowbars.
In the darkest corner of the cave's extremity the "wall" appeared to be
very smooth. He prodded with the stick, and there was a sharp clang of
tin. He discovered six square kerosene-oil cases carefully stacked up.
Three were empty, one seemed to be half full, and the contents of two
were untouched. With almost feverish haste he ascertained that the
half-filled tin did really contain oil.
"What a find!" he ejaculated aloud. Another pair of birds dashed from a
ledge near the roof.
"Confound you!" shouted the sailor. He sprang back and whacked the
walls viciously, but all the feathered intruders had gone.
So far as he could judge the cave harbored no further surprises.
Returning towards the exit his boots dislodged more empty cartridges
from the sand. They were shells adapted to a revolver of heavy caliber.
At a short distance from the doorway they were present in dozens.
"The remnants of a fight," he thought. "The man was attacked, and
defended himself here. Not expecting the arrival of enemies he provided
no store of food or water. He was killed whilst trying to reach the
well, probably at night."
He vividly pictured the scene--a brave, hardy European keeping at bay a
boatload of Dyak savages, enduring manfully the agonies of hunger,
thirst, perhaps wounds. Then the siege, followed by a wild effort to
gain the life-giving well, the hiss of a Malay parang wielded by a
lurking foe, and the last despairing struggle before death came.
He might be mistaken. Perchance there was a less dramatic explanation.
But he could not shake off his, first impressions. They were garnered
from dumb evidence and developed by some occult but overwhelming sense
of certainty.
"What was the poor devil doing here?" he asked. "Why did he bury
himself in this rock, with mining utensils and a few rough stores? He
could not be a castaway. There is the indication of purpose, of
preparation, of method combined with ignorance, for none who knew the
ways of Dyaks and Chinese pirates would venture to live here alone, if
he could help it, and if he really were alone." The thing was a
mystery, would probably remain a mystery for ever.
"Be it steel or be it lead,
Anyhow the man is dead."
There was relief in hearing his own voice. He could hum, and think, and
act. Arming himself with the axe he attacked the bushes and branches of
trees in front of the cave. He cut a fresh approach to the well, and
threw the litter over the skeleton. At first he was inclined to bury it
where it lay, but he disliked the idea of Iris walking unconsciously
over the place. No time could be wasted that day. He would seize an
early opportunity to act as grave-digger.
After an absence of little more than an hour he rejoined the girl. She
saw him from afar, and wondered whence he obtained the axe he
shouldered.
"You are a successful explorer," she cried when he drew near.
"Yes, Miss Deane. I have found water, implements, a shelter, even
light."
"What sort of light--spiritual, or material?"
"Oil."
"Oh!"
Iris could not remain serious for many consecutive minutes, but she
gathered that he was in no mood for frivolity.
"And the shelter--is it a house?" she continued.
"No, a cave. If you are sufficiently rested you might come and take
possession."
Her eyes danced with excitement. He told her what he had seen, with
reservations, and she ran on before him to witness these marvels.
"Why did you make a new path to the well?" she inquired after a rapid
survey.
"A new path!" The pertinent question staggered him.
"Yes, the people who lived here must have had some sort of free
passage."
He lied easily. "I have only cleared away recent growth," he said.
"And why did they dig a cave? It surely would be much more simple to
build a house from all these trees."
"There you puzzle me," he said frankly.
They had entered the cavern but a little way and now came out.
"These empty cartridges are funny. They suggest a fort, a battle."
Woman-like, her words were carelessly chosen, but they were crammed
with inductive force.
Embarked on the toboggan slope of untruth the sailor slid smoothly
downwards.
"Events have colored your imagination, Miss Deane. Even in England men
often preserve such things for future use. They can be reloaded."
"Yes, I have seen keepers do that. This is different. There is an air
of--"
"There is a lot to be done," broke in Jenks emphatically. "We must
climb the hill and get back here in time to light another fire before
the sun goes down. I want to prop a canvas sheet in front of the cave,
and try to devise a lamp."
"Must I sleep inside?" demanded Iris.
"Yes. Where else?"
There was a pause, a mere whiff of awkwardness.
"I will mount guard outside," went on Jenks. He was trying to improve
the edge of the axe by grinding it on a soft stone.
The girl went into the cave again. She was inquisitive, uneasy.
"That arrangement--" she began, but ended in a sharp cry of terror. The
dispossessed birds had returned during the sailor's absence.
"I will kill them," he shouted in anger.
"Please don't. There has been enough of death in this place already."
The words jarred on his ears. Then he felt that she could only allude
to the victims of the wreck.
"I was going to say," she explained, "that we must devise a partition.
There is no help for it until you construct a sort of house. Candidly,
I do not like this hole in the rock. It is a vault, a tomb."
"You told me that I was in command, yet you dispute my orders." He
strove hard to appear brusquely good-humored, indifferent, though for
one of his mould he was absurdly irritable. The cause was over-strain,
but that explanation escaped him.
"Quite true. But if sleeping in the cold, in dew or rain, is bad for
me, it must be equally bad for you. And without you I am helpless, you
know."
His arms twitched to give her a reassuring hug. In some respects she
was so childlike; her big blue eyes were so ingenuous. He laughed
sardonically, and the harsh note clashed with her frank candor. Here,
at least, she was utterly deceived. His changeful moods were
incomprehensible.
"I will serve you to the best of my ability, Miss Deane," he exclaimed.
"We must hope for a speedy rescue, and I am inured to exposure. It is
otherwise with you. Are you ready for the climb?"
Mechanically she picked up a stick at her feet. It was the sailor's
wand of investigation. He snatched it from her hands and threw it away
among the trees.
"That is a dangerous alpenstock," he said. "The wood is unreliable. It
might break. I will cut you a better one," and he swung the axe against
a tall sapling.
Iris mentally described him as "funny." She followed him in the upward
curve of the ascent, for the grade was not difficult and the ground
smooth enough, the storms of years having pulverized the rock and
driven sand into its clefts. The persistent inroads of the trees had
done the rest. Beyond the flight of birds and the scampering of some
tiny monkeys overhead, they did not disturb a living creature.
The crest of the hill was tree-covered, and they could see nothing
beyond their immediate locality until the sailor found a point higher
than the rest, where a rugged collection of hard basalt and the
uprooting of some poon trees provided an open space elevated above the
ridge.
For a short distance the foothold was precarious. Jenks helped the girl
in this part of the climb. His strong, gentle grasp gave her
confidence. She was flushed with exertion when they stood together on
the summit of this elevated perch. They could look to every point of
the compass except a small section on the south-west. Here the trees
rose behind them until the brow of the precipice was reached.
The emergence into a sunlit panorama of land and sea, though expected,
was profoundly enthralling. They appeared to stand almost exactly in
the center of the island, which was crescent-shaped. It was no larger
than the sailor had estimated. The new slopes now revealed were covered
with verdure down to the very edge of the water, which, for nearly a
mile seawards, broke over jagged reefs. The sea looked strangely calm
from this height. Irregular blue patches on the horizon to south and
east caught the man's first glance. He unslung the binoculars he still
carried and focused them eagerly.
"Islands!" he cried, "and big ones, too!"
"How odd!" whispered Iris, more concerned in the scrutiny of her
immediate surroundings. Jenks glanced at her sharply. She was not
looking at the islands, but at a curious hollow, a quarry-like
depression beneath them to the right, distant about three hundred yards
and not far removed from the small plateau containing the well, though
isolated from it by the south angle of the main cliff.
Here, in a great circle, there was not a vestige of grass, shrub, or
tree, nothing save brown rock and sand. At first the sailor deemed it
to be the dried-up bed of a small lake. This hypothesis would not
serve, else it would be choked with verdure. The pit stared up at them
like an ominous eye, though neither paid further attention to it, for
the glorious prospect mapped at their feet momentarily swept aside all
other considerations.
"What a beautiful place!" murmured Iris. "I wonder what it is called."
"Limbo."
The word came instantly. The sailor's gaze was again fixed on those
distant blue outlines. Miss Deane was dissatisfied.
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "We are not dead yet. You must find a better
name than that."
"Well, suppose we christen it Rainbow Island?"
"Why 'Rainbow'?"
"That is the English meaning of 'Iris,' in Latin, you know."
"So it is. How clever of you to think of it! Tell me, what is the
meaning of 'Robert,' in Greek?"
He turned to survey the north-west side of the island. "I do not know,"
he answered. "It might not be far-fetched to translate it as 'a ship's
steward: a menial.'"
Miss Iris had meant her playful retort as a mere light-hearted quibble.
It annoyed her, a young person of much consequence, to have her kindly
condescension repelled.
"I suppose so," she agreed; "but I have gone through so much in a few
hours that I am bewildered, apt to forget these nice distinctions."
Where these two quareling, or flirting? Who can tell?
Jenks was closely examining the reef on which the Sirdar struck.
Some square objects were visible near the palm tree. The sun, glinting
on the waves, rendered it difficult to discern their significance.
"What do you make of those?" he inquired, handing the glasses, and
blandly ignoring Miss Deane's petulance. Her brain was busy with other
things while she twisted the binoculars to suit her vision. Rainbow
Island--Iris--it was a nice conceit. But "menial" struck a discordant
note. This man was no menial in appearance or speech. Why was he so
deliberately rude?
"I think they are boxes or packing-cases," she announced.
"Ah, that was my own idea. I must visit that locality."
"How? Will you swim?"
"No," he said, his stern lips relaxing in a smile, "I will not swim;
and by the way, Miss Deane, be careful when you are near the water. The
lagoon is swarming with sharks at present. I feel tolerably assured
that at low tide, when the remnants of the gale have vanished, I will
be able to walk there along the reef."
"Sharks!" she cried. "In there! What horrible surprises this speck of
land contains! I should not have imagined that sharks and seals could
live together."
"You are quite right," he explained, with becoming gravity. "As a rule
sharks infest only the leeward side of these islands. Just now they are
attracted in shoals by the wreck."
"Oh." Iris shivered slightly.
"We had better go back now. The wind is keen here, Miss Deane."
She knew that he purposely misunderstood her gesture. His attitude
conveyed a rebuke. There was no further room for sentiment in their
present existence; they had to deal with chill necessities. As for the
sailor, he was glad that the chance turn of their conversation enabled
him to warn her against the lurking dangers of the lagoon. There was no
need to mention the devil-fish now; he must spare her all avoidable
thrills.
They gathered the stores from the first al fresco dining-room
and reached the cave without incident. Another fire was lighted, and
whilst Iris attended to the kitchen the sailor felled several young
trees. He wanted poles, and these were the right size and shape. He
soon cleared a considerable space. The timber was soft and so small in
girth that three cuts with the axe usually sufficed. He dragged from
the beach the smallest tarpaulin he could find, and propped it against
the rock in such manner that it effectually screened the mouth of the
cave, though admitting light and air.
He was so busy that he paid little heed to Iris. But the odor of fried
ham was wafted to him. He was lifting a couple of heavy stones to stay
the canvas and keep it from flapping in the wind, when the girl called
out--
"Wouldn't you like to have a wash before dinner?"
He straightened himself and looked at her. Her face and hands were
shining, spotless. The change was so great that his brow wrinkled with
perplexity.
"I am a good pupil," she cried. "You see I am already learning to help
myself. I made a bucket out of one of the dish-covers by slinging it in
two ropes. Another dish-cover, some sand and leaves supplied basin,
soap, and towel. I have cleaned the tin cups and the knives, and see,
here is my greatest treasure."
She held up a small metal lamp.
"Where in the world did you find that?" he exclaimed.
"Buried in the sand inside the cave."
"Anything else?"
His tone was abrupt She was so disappointed by the seeming want of
appreciation of her industry that a gleam of amusement died from her
eyes and she shook her head, stooping at once to attend to the toasting
of some biscuits.
This time he was genuinely sorry.
"Forgive me, Miss Deane," he said penitently. "My words are dictated by
anxiety. I do not wish you to make discoveries on your own account.
This is a strange place, you know--an unpleasant one in some respects."
"Surely I can rummage about my own cave?"
"Most certainly. It was careless of me not to have examined its
interior more thoroughly."
"Then why do you grumble because I found the lamp?"
"I did not mean any such thing. I am sorry."
"I think you are horrid. If you want to wash you will find the water
over there. Don't wait. The ham will be frizzled to a cinder."
Unlucky Jenks! Was ever man fated to incur such unmerited odium? He
savagely laved his face and neck. The fresh cool water was delightful
at first, but it caused his injured nail to throb dreadfully. When he
drew near to the fire he experienced an unaccountable sensation of
weakness. Could it be possible that he was going to faint? It was too
absurd. He sank to the ground. Trees, rocks, and sand-strewn earth
indulged in a mad dance. Iris's voice sounded weak and indistinct. It
seemed to travel in waves from a great distance. He tried to brush away
from his brain these dim fancies, but his iron will for once failed,
and he pitched headlong downwards into darkness.
When he recovered the girl's left arm was round his neck. For one
blissful instant he nestled there contentedly. He looked into her eyes
and saw that she was crying. A gust of anger rose within him that he
should be the cause of those tears.
"Damn!" he said, and tried to rise.
"Oh! are you better?" Her lips quivered pitifully.
"Yes. What happened? Did I faint?"
"Drink this."
She held a cup to his mouth and he obediently strove to swallow the
contents. It was champagne. After the first spasm of terror, and when
the application of water to his face failed to restore consciousness,
Iris had knocked the head off the bottle of champagne.
He quickly revived. Nature had only given him a warning that he was
overdrawing his resources. He was deeply humiliated. He did not
conceive the truth, that only a strong man could do all that he had
done and live. For thirty-six hours he had not slept. During part of
the time he fought with wilder beasts than they knew at Ephesus. The
long exposure to the sun, the mental strain of his foreboding that the
charming girl whose life depended upon him might be exposed to even
worse dangers than any yet encountered, the physical labor he had
undergone, the irksome restraint he strove to place upon his conduct
and utterances--all these things culminated in utter relaxation when
the water touched his heated skin.
But he was really very much annoyed. A powerful man always is annoyed
when forced to yield. The revelation of a limit to human endurance
infuriates him. A woman invariably thinks that the man should be
scolded, by way of tonic.
"How could you frighten me so?" demanded Iris, hysterically.
"You must have felt that you were working too hard. You made me rest.
Why didn't you rest yourself?"
He looked at her wistfully. This collapse must not happen again, for
her sake. These two said more with eyes than lips. She withdrew her
arm; her face and neck crimsoned.
"There," she said with compelled cheerfulness. "You are all right now.
Finish the wine."
He emptied the tin. It gave him new life. "I always thought," he
answered gravely, "that champagne was worth its weight in gold under
certain conditions. These are the conditions."
Iris reflected, with elastic rebound from despair to relief, that men
in the lower ranks of life do not usually form theories on the
expensive virtues of the wine of France. But her mind was suddenly
occupied by a fresh disaster.
"Good gracious!" she cried. "The ham is ruined."
It was burnt black. She prepared a fresh supply. When it was ready,
Jenks was himself again. They ate in silence, and shared the remains of
the bottle. The man idly wondered what was the plat du jour at
the Savoy that evening. He remembered that the last time he was there
he had called for Jambon de York aux épinards and half a pint of
Heidseck.
"Coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currant," he thought.
By a queer trick of memory he could recall the very page in Horace
where this philosophical line occurs. It was in the eleventh epistle of
the first book. A smile illumined his tired face.
Iris was watchful. She had never in her life cooked even a potato or
boiled an egg. The ham was her first attempt.
"My cooking amuses you?" she demanded suspiciously.
"It gratifies every sense," he murmured. "There is but one thing
needful to complete my happiness."
"And that is?"
"Permission to smoke."
"Smoke what?"
He produced a steel box, tightly closed, and a pipe, "I will answer you
in Byron's words," he said--
"'Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest.'"
"Your pockets are absolute shops," said the girl, delighted that his
temper had improved. "What other stores do you carry about with you?"
He lit his pipe and solemnly gave an inventory of his worldly goods.
Beyond the items she had previously seen he could only enumerate a
silver dollar, a very soiled and crumpled handkerchief, and a bit of
tin. A box of Norwegian matches he threw away as useless, but Iris
recovered them.
"You never know what purpose they may serve," she said. In after days a
weird significance was attached to this simple phrase.
"Why do you carry about a bit of tin?" she went on.
How the atmosphere of deception clung to him! Here was a man compelled
to lie outrageously who, in happier years, had prided himself on
scrupulous accuracy even in small things.
"Plague upon it!" he silently protested. "Subterfuge and deceit are as
much at home in this deserted island as in Mayfair."
"I found it here, Miss Deane," he answered.
Luckily she interpreted "here" as applying to the cave.
"Let me see it. May I?"
He handed it to her. She could make nothing of it, so together they
puzzled over it. The sailor rubbed it with a mixture of kerosene and
sand. Then figures and letters and a sort of diagram were revealed. At
last they became decipherable. By exercising patient ingenuity some one
had indented the metal with a sharp punch until the marks assumed this
aspect (see cut, following page).
Iris was quick-witted. "It is a plan of the island," she cried.
"Also the latitude and the longitude."
"What does 'J.S.' mean?"
"Probably the initials of a man's name; let us say John Smith, for
instance."
"And the figures on the island, with the 'X' and the dot?"
"I cannot tell you at present," he said. "I take it that the line
across the island signifies this gap or canyon, and the small
intersecting line the cave. But 32 divided by 1, and an 'X' surmounted
by a dot are cabalistic. They would cause even Sherlock Holmes to smoke
at least two pipes. I have barely started one."
She ran to fetch a glowing stick to enable him to relight his pipe.
"Why do you give me such nasty little digs?" she asked. "You need not
have stopped smoking just because I stood close to you."
"Really, Miss Deane--"
"There, don't protest. I like the smell of that tobacco. I thought
sailors invariably smoked rank, black stuff which they call thick
twist."
"I am a beginner, as a sailor. After a few more years before the mast I
may hope to reach perfection."
Their eyes exchanged a quaintly pleasant challenge. Thus the man--"She
is determined to learn something of my past, but she will not succeed."
And the woman--"The wretch! He is close as an oyster. But I will make
him open his mouth, see if I don't."
She reverted to the piece of tin. "It looks quite mysterious, like the
things you read of in stories of pirates and buried treasure."
"Yes," he admitted. "It is unquestionably a plan, a guidance, given to
a person not previously acquainted with the island but cognizant of
some fact connected with it. Unfortunately none of the buccaneers I can
bring to mind frequented these seas. The poor beggar who left it here
must have had some other motive than searching for a cache."
"Did he dig the cave and the well, I wonder?"
"Probably the former, but not the well. No man could do it unaided."
"Why do you assume he was alone?"
He strolled towards the fire to kick a stray log. "It is only idle
speculation at the best, Miss Deane," he replied. "Would you like to
help me to drag some timber up from the beach? If we get a few big
planks we can build a fire that will last for hours. We want some extra
clothes, too, and it will soon be dark."
The request for co-operation gratified her. She complied eagerly, and
without much exertion they hauled a respectable load of firewood to
their new camping-ground. They also brought a number of coats to serve
as coverings. Then Jenks tackled the lamp. Between the rust and the
soreness of his index finger it was a most difficult operation to open
it.
Before the sun went down he succeeded, and made a wick by unraveling a
few strands of wool from his jersey. When night fell, with the
suddenness of the tropics, Iris was able to illuminate her small
domain.
They were both utterly tired and ready to drop with fatigue. The girl
said "Good night," but instantly reappeared from behind the tarpaulin.
"Am I to keep the lamp alight?" she inquired.
"Please yourself, Miss Deane. Better not, perhaps. It will only burn
four or five hours, any way."
Soon the light vanished, and he lay down, his pipe between his teeth,
close to the cave's entrance. Weary though he was, he could not sleep
forthwith. His mind was occupied with the signs on the canister head.
"32 divided by 1; an 'X' and a dot," he repeated several times. "What
do they signify?"
Suddenly he sat up, with every sense alert, and grabbed his revolver.
Something impelled him to look towards the spot, a few feet away, where
the skeleton was hidden. It was the rustling of a bird among the trees
that had caught his ear.
He thought of the white framework of a once powerful man, lying there
among the bushes, abandoned, forgotten, horrific. Then he smothered a
cry of surprise.
"By Jove!" he muttered. "There is no 'X' and dot. That sign is meant
for a skull and cross-bones. It lies exactly on the part of the island
where we saw that queer-looking bald patch today. First thing tomorrow,
before the girl awakes, I must examine that place."
He resolutely stretched himself on his share of the spread-out coats,
now thoroughly dried by sun and fire. In a minute he was sound asleep.