Part 7 (1/2)

On the morning of the third day after this the _Santa Theresa_ poked her nose into San Miguel Gulf on the southern coast of Panama. The captain took her across the gulf into Darien Harbor, then followed the southern branch practically to the head of the bay, at which point he anch.o.r.ed.

Tired of being confined aboard the s.h.i.+p, the crew were eager to get ash.o.r.e. This suited the plans of Evans. As soon as the long boat had gone with the sh.o.r.e party he packed the treasure in boxes and lowered them into a boat. Late in the afternoon the tired sailors returned to the s.h.i.+p.

Evans ordered the boatswain to pipe all hands on deck. To the a.s.sembled crew he made a speech, pointing out the need of getting the treasure to some safer place than aboard a s.h.i.+p which might any day fall into the hands of the enemy. He intended, he said, to take three men with him and bury the chests on the sand spit within sight of them all.

But at this proposal the men broke into flat rebellion. Not one of them was willing to trust the gold out of his reach. Things in fact had come to such a pa.s.s that, though there was plenty for all, each was plotting how he might increase his share by robbing his neighbor.

Evans had made his preparations. The officers, Lobardi, Quinn, and two other sailors who sided with the chief villains were grouped together, all of them heavily armed. In the struggle that followed the victory lay with the organized party. The mutineers were defeated and disarmed.

Evans selected Quinn, Lobardi, and a sailor named Wall to go with him ash.o.r.e to bury the gold. Those on board watched the boat pull away with the gold that had cost so many lives. To the fury and amazement of all of them the boat rounded a point of land and disappeared from sight.

Evans had broken his agreement to bury the treasure in the sight of all.

Even Captain Rogers joined in the imprecations of the men. He ordered the long boat lowered for a pursuit, but hardly had this started when a shot plumped into the water in front of it.

Un.o.bserved in the excitement, the _Truxillo_ had slipped into the bay.

Its second shot fell short, its third wide, but the fourth caught the boat amids.h.i.+p and crumpled it as the tap of a spoon does an empty eggsh.e.l.l. Of the eight men aboard two were killed outright and the rest thrown into the sea. One of them--a man named Bucks, as we were to learn in a most surprising way--clung to the wreckage and succeeded in reaching sh.o.r.e. The rest were drowned or fell a prey to sharks.

The long boat disposed of, the _Truxillo_ turned her guns upon the _Santa Theresa_. Those left on board made a desperate defense, but the captain, seeing that escape was impossible, chose to blow up the s.h.i.+p rather than be hanged as a pirate from the yardarm.

Meanwhile, the boat with the treasure, which had rounded the point before the _Truxillo_ had appeared, had been beached on the spit and the chests dragged ash.o.r.e. Evans was burying the boxes when the first shot of the _Truxillo_ fell upon his ears. Naturally he concluded that it was from the _Santa Theresa_ as a warning of what he might expect.

Bully Evans showed his yellow teeth in a grin.

”Compliments of the old man,” he said, no whit disturbed at his double treachery.

But at the sound of the final explosion the desperadoes looked at each other.

They ran to the nearest hill and saw the destruction of their companions.

The Portuguese boatswain was the first to recover.

”There ees now fewer to share,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Evans looked at Quinn and gave a signal. The double murder was done with knives. Where there had been four, now only two remained.

Evans and Quinn finished burying the treasure and removed all trace of their work. A map was drawn by Quinn, showing the exact location of the cache. The murderers slipped back to their boat and, under cover of darkness, crept up the harbor till they came to the mouth of a large river. Up this they pulled and disappeared into the interior. Neither of them was aware that Bucks had seen the treacherous killing and the disposal of the treasure.

Six weeks later a living skeleton crawled out of the fever-laden swamps of Panama and staggered down to a little village on the Gulf of Uraba.

The man was Nat Quinn. He had followed the Rio Tuyra, zigzagged across the Isthmus, and reached the northern coast.

Somewhere in the dark tangle of forest behind him, where daylight never penetrates the thick tropical growth, lay the body of Bully Evans. It was lying face down in the underbrush, a little round hole in the back of the head. Quinn's treachery had antic.i.p.ated that of the mate.

As the survivor lurched down to the settlement his voice rose in a high cackle of delirious song. These were the words of his chant:

It's bully boys, ho! and a deck splashed red-- The devil is paid, quo' he, quo' he, A knife in the back and a mate swift sped!

Heave yo ho! and away with me.