Chapter X: The Storm Blows Over

They told us at Sandyfield that old Buck had died of pneumonia and been buried somewhere near Mt. Ivy. As the old hunter had anticipated, and dreaded I think, June had been sent to an orphanage in the neighborhood of Haverstraw.

Sandyfield, it seemed, was independent of the reservation, notwithstanding that it was within its boundaries; it was part of the township of Haverstraw. I suppose that this fact operated in the choice of an asylum for the girl. I had an idea of hunting the place up and going to see her, but you know how it is--good intentions.

I was relieved to learn that old Buck had not been laid to rest in some potter’s field but in a quiet little rural cemetery in the region which he knew so well. He was the last inhabitant of Rattlesnake Gulch.

“So that’s that,” I said, as we drove back down the state road. “I wish now that you could have seen him.”

I don’t suppose I would have gone to see him again myself, but now that I couldn’t I felt that I would miss him.

“Well, there’s one thing,” Tom said. “I’m going up there to camp and hunt for that money.”

“Treasure, you should call it,” said Brent.

“Well, then, treasure,” said Tom.

“And when it comes to using the right words,” I said, “_nut_ is the word to use for a treasure hunter. I’ve known you to do many reckless things, but until now I’ve never known you to make yourself ridiculous!”

He just drove along, lickety split, in his old Ford; I never was so shaken in my life.

“It’s a stirring ride, isn’t it?” said Brent, in his funny way. “Don’t you feel all stirred up?”

“You’re not in with me, then?” Tom asked.

“I? I should hope not! Do you think I want to get my picture into the Pathé News, digging treasure? Do you suppose I want all the boy scouts up that way laughing at me?”

“You coming?” he asked Brent.

“If I thought I’d get into the Pathé News I’d certainly go,” Brent said. “I’ve seen so many airplanes and dirigibles in the Pathé News that it would be a pleasure to dig into the solid earth. What they need in the Pathé News is more underground stuff. I rather think I’ll go.”

“Well,” I said, “all I can say is that I’m sorry I ever told you anything about it--either one of you. Brent, I would say that _you_ at least have too much sense of humor to go hunting for hidden treasure.”

“That’s just what you need, a sense of humor,” said Brent.

“Well, I don’t know but what you’re right,” I added half-disgustedly.

“We’ll go up there,” said Tom, intent upon his breakneck driving, “and we’ll camp right in old Buck’s cabin; I can get permission from the Interstate Park bunch, all right. We won’t have to say what we’re there for. We’ll have the whole summer to hunt.”

“How about Temple Camp?” I asked him.

“I can get leave all right,” he shot at me.

“And what are you going to do with the--the _treasure_--when you get it, if I may ask?”

“We’re going to turn it over to June Sanderson,” said Tom.

“Then we’re going to marry her and live happily forever after,” said Brent. “With the money from the Pathé News I’m going to get my laundry.”

I said, “Tom, if you ask for leave of absence from Temple Camp to spend the summer in such a fool enterprise you put yourself on a level with freaks and fanatics the country over. You’ll have every boy scout up in that place laughing at you----”

“Let ’em laugh,” said Tom decisively.

“Let me ask you,” I continued, “did you ever know of any one finding hidden treasure? Did you ever know any one that knew any one that ever heard of any one who was personally acquainted with anybody that ever really found any hidden treasure--did you?”

Brent said, “That’s rather a long question; let me think a minute.”

“If you could just name me one person,” I said. “Why, there was a young fellow, a millionaire’s son, who fitted up a yacht and went down off the coast of South America fishing for a sunken Spanish galleon. He ended in an insane asylum. There was a man in Massachusetts who had some inside dope on where Captain Kidd bunked some bars of gold and stuff--Baxter, his name was. They wouldn’t take him for service overseas because he was mentally deficient.”

“Thanks muchly,” said Tom. “You don’t have to be connected with this.”

“Heaven forbid,” I said.

“If it’s a question of reason and common sense----”’ he began.

“Will you _please_ drive a little slower?” I begged.

“If it’s a question of reason and common sense,” he continued, “where _is_ the money if it isn’t somewhere up there? You think the game wardens cracked Munk or Mink, or whatever his name was, on the head and got it somehow. I don’t believe that; I say those men were on the level--I know the type. All right, then, _you_ say Mink didn’t pull a game on his partner--_you_ know that type. Well, then, Mink left the money _somewhere_, didn’t he? Do you see anything so ridiculous about that? Where is it?”

“I was wondering,” Brent said; “of course, this is only a suggestion----”

“That’s what I want--suggestions,” said Tom.

“I was wondering if the rattlesnakes could have eaten it. No?”

“Tom,” I said, “I’m going to ask you seriously, now before we get to Bridgeboro, don’t fly out of your senses and go hunting for treasure--that’s old stuff. I wouldn’t even put it in a story. The way to get money is to earn it----”

“Now you’re making a noise like a papa,” he said.

“You go up to Temple Camp and work on your job and earn your salary,” I told him; “don’t be a quitter. At least don’t be a quitter to go chasing a rainbow. Everybody respects you in town; don’t make a fool of yourself. I’m sorry I told you. If you get a leave of absence from Temple Camp to go treasure hunting, why, Temple Camp is paying for the treasure hunt. If that tastes good in your mouth, all right.”

That got him. I honestly believe that it was the only thing I said that had any weight with him. In any case, weeks went by and I never heard any more about treasure hunting in Rattlesnake Gulch. I saw Tom about town and once he told me that he had been up to Temple Camp and was back in Bridgeboro to see Mr. Temple about something or other. He seemed to be in a hurry, as he usually is, and I assumed that he had come safely through the treasure-hunting peril. Anyway, he did not speak of it.

As for Brent, I don’t think he was disappointed at all. I don’t think it makes much difference to him what he does; he seems always to be whimsically ready for anything. That’s the funny thing about him.