Brent never had worked so hard in his life as during the days that followed his strange engagement for the pursuit of fabulous treasure. The disabled Fraser, none too patient in his irksome imprisonment, directed most of the young man’s movements. His first efforts were in search of a suitable ship for a coasting and trading trip of indefinite length. He succeeded after a few days in finding a trim schooner of about two hundred and fifty tons which seemed to be just what was needed. Her owners were unwilling at first to charter her for an indefinite voyage that might last three months or possibly six. On Brent’s description of her, the Scotchman was willing to buy the craft outright if necessary, but a liberal offer finally secured possession of her for six months.

Fraser hoped they might succeed in returning to Buenos Ayres by the middle of February at latest. Casimiro had told him the gold was about one hundred miles from the coast, so that the task of transportation of the immense quantity he had described{35} would be slow and difficult. But he had explained that it was near a river, easily navigable for canoes or rafts down stream but almost impossible of ascent by either means, so rapid was the current at many places. He had promised to make such preparations as he could with the primitive means at his command during the Scotchman’s absence. Fraser hoped, therefore, that with the assistance of the Patagonians the treasure might be brought to tide-water within a month of his arrival at the nearest point on the coast.

One point in their problem troubled both Fraser and Brent for some little time. How were they to load the gold (provided they got it) upon the schooner, bring it to Buenos Ayres, and transship it to England or New York without the crew’s or other handlers’ discovering the nature of the cargo? Both men agreed that every precaution must be taken to prevent the disclosure of such a secret. They finally decided that before being put upon the schooner the metal must be packed in strong boxes securely made and practically unbreakable. When they came to figure a little they found that on the basis of the chief’s calculation of the quantity of gold, it would require a good many boxes to contain it. Even if five hundred pounds should be packed in each case, which would be as great a weight as could be conveniently handled, there would be no less than{36} four hundred boxes necessary to contain the two hundred thousand pounds which Casimiro had roughly indicated to be the amount of the treasure. The boxes would still be very small. The specific gravity of gold is so high that it occupies about one fourth the space of iron, weight for weight.

They determined that the boxes should be made of heavy two-inch timber, and that they should be lined with sheet iron and fastened with long stout screws. It was not an easy thing to procure the manufacture of such boxes, four hundred of them, at short notice. Brent divided the work among half a dozen carpenter shops and required that the work should be completed according to specification within ten days. He bought a large yawl which was put aboard the schooner. He hoped to use it for carrying the gold-packed cases, six at a time, from the shore to the ship as she lay at anchor. He procured also a windlass with necessary tackle for hoisting aboard the heavy cases from the small boat.

The schooner was thoroughly overhauled and refitted. Brent was fortunate in finding an English captain, who picked up a crew of Englishmen and Americans, four men only besides the mate and cook. They were good seamen, the captain assured Brent, and glad to ship for such a trip under promise of a bonus if the voyage was successful. The purchase{37} of supplies in great variety occupied several days, and it was not until the very last week in the month that preparations for departure were practically completed. They were still delayed two or three days by the non-delivery of a few of the peculiar boxes that puzzled the sailors so much as they stowed them away in the hold.

Fraser, meantime, had been mending rapidly. On the day before going aboard the schooner, his damaged leg was taken out of its plaster cast, and the surgeon promised him that at the end of another month it would be as good as the other if he treated it properly. He was delighted with the schooner when he went aboard on the morning of sailing. He insisted on hobbling about the deck a little upon his new crutches and inspecting all the equipment of the trim little craft.

It was a beautiful spring day, the 31st of October, when the schooner picked her way gracefully among the shipping and out of Buenos Ayres harbor before a light wind. There was speed as well as seaworthiness in the craft, as the owners had promised, and the two fortune-hunters, who were her only passengers, were enthusiastic over the happy auspices under which they started on their extraordinary quest. The voyage was not eventful. Storms and calms, head winds and currents, made it a trip that taxed the{38} patience of men with minds full of tremendous possibilities. Still it was no use grumbling, as Fraser explained to his companion. Nothing could be done until the 6th of December and they might as well spend the time at sea as at Rio Negro.

There were still ten days to spare when they dropped anchor off the Rio Negro settlement. They went ashore, and the Scotchman was heartily welcomed by his friends in the little colony. He made inquiries about the Indians, and learned that Casimiro had not been seen by any of the colonists since Fraser’s departure six months before. None of the natives had appeared often at the settlement within the same period, and trade with them had almost ceased. Fraser did not regard this as a bad sign.

Brent found the ten days’ waiting far from dull amid the picturesque scenery of the wild coast and the primitive colonial life which was all a charming novelty in his eyes. His partner was not yet able to make very active use of his convalescent limb, and an Englishman in the colony accompanied the young man on several long tramps through what was to him a delightful country.

On the morning of the 6th of December, Fraser and Brent set off together on foot at about ten o’clock. The Scotchman had almost discarded his crutches, but he carried them with him on this occasion. They{39} would help to explain Brent’s presence to the chief, he intimated. The rendezvous was at a small spring in the hills, about four miles from the settlement, where Fraser and the Patagonian had often refreshed themselves on their tramps. High noon was to be the hour of meeting. They were fully an hour in advance of the time, and when they sat down by the pool of bubbling water in a charming little hollow among the rugged hills, there was no sign of any living creature hear them. They talked together for half an hour or more about the possible results of their venture, and then the younger man began to be anxious. He was feverishly impatient to see the strange man upon whose simple, unsecured promise they had based weeks of time and effort. As the minutes 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{40} 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 ap{41}proached 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.{42}

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{43} 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{44} 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{45} 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.{46}

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 an agreement of some sort and, when it was finished, Casimiro went below and aroused Fraser and Brent. It was not yet six o’clock although the sun was almost two hours high. The two men soon made their appearance, surprised to find guests already on board. The Scotchman quickly recognized the three Indians as the chiefs who had joined in their council eight months before and he greeted them warmly. Brent was presented to them and they received him not unkindly. They were all younger men than Casimiro, but past middle life and in the prime of physical vigor. Each was more than six feet tall, well built, muscular, and splendidly developed. In color they were neither as coppery as the North American aborigines, nor as brown as the mulatto.{47}

Their features were of the same general type as Casimiro’s, neither sharply aquiline nor round like a Teuton’s.

Casimiro said to the two white men that he had explained the situation to his brother caciques, including what Fraser had said about the removal of the gold, and that they joined in his own opinions. The younger chiefs expressed immediate interest in the cargo which the ship contained, and while breakfast was being prepared Fraser and Brent displayed to them many of the articles that they had brought. The Indians said that a large number of horses and several of their tribesmen were on shore near by ready to transport the supplies into the interior. The Scotchman assured them that the work should begin that very day.

They ate upon deck, the visitors preferring to squat cross-legged upon the white floor and take their food in native fashion. The captain of the schooner in a spirit of hospitality brought out a bottle of Scotch whisky, with which he was about to regale his savage guests when Fraser caught sight of it. He astonished the skipper with a sharp request to put the liquor quickly out of sight. He explained in English that the chiefs were much prejudiced against white men’s liquors, which had worked great havoc with many of their followers, and that the{48} chances of profitable trading would be much diminished if whisky should be offered to any Indians who might come on board.

In answer to Fraser’s questions, Casimiro said that there were about one hundred members of his tribe in the hills near by and that they had with them some two hundred horses which could be used to carry inland much of the schooner’s cargo. Nearly all the other male Caillitchets were in the vicinity of the Bed of Gold, where they had been engaged for weeks in gathering up and putting the bright metal into caches. The spot lay two days’ journey to the southwest. The chief proposed that a portion of the ship’s cargo should be landed at once, its transportation arranged for, and then the four caciques with Fraser and Brent should ride on ahead to the goal the two white men were so anxious to reach. The plan was adopted.

The Scotchman decided to land first the tools and materials for mining and raft-building. He had brought for the latter purpose nearly one hundred axes, some saws, a large supply of heavy spikes, and a liberal quantity of small wire rope. The Indians were much interested as these articles were brought out and their uses explained. They began evidently to credit more fully Fraser’s confident assertion that the difficulties which had been described were not insurmountable. A yawl-load of miscellaneous articles{49} was made ready at once and with Fraser and Brent on board they followed the canoe of the four chiefs to a landing place about six hundred yards from the ship. They found it in a tiny rock-bound cove with a narrow beach so steep that as the heavy boat ran upon it, the occupants were able to step dry-shod from the bows.

It was a novel experience for Brent, a New Yorker blasé to all the fin de siècle features of civilization, but ignorant a few days before of all but the existence of these savages and their wild, almost untrodden country. Prudence suggested treachery and danger in placing himself thus at the mercy of untried barbarians. He felt no alarm. The streets of New York or Paris or London did not seem to him safer than this virgin wilderness under the protection of its dark-skinned sons. There appeared presently along a faint trail winding up among the rocks others of the Patagonians. They greeted their caciques with a gutteral sound or two and at once assisted in unloading the boat, whose contents they examined with great curiosity.

Casimiro suggested that while the boat returned to the ship for another load, they should visit the native camp not far away. Fraser and Brent followed the old chief for nearly a mile up the steep trail until they came suddenly upon a little plateau still surrounded{50} by hills. The American was astonished to find grazing upon the luxuriant grass a large herd of the finest horses he had ever seen assembled together. His exclamations of admiration pleased the Patagonian. The old man proudly made known to him that his people were the best horsemen and possessed the best horses in all the world. Brent was a lover of horses and a good judge of their qualities. He had not been among the Patagonians twenty-four hours before he was willing to admit without reservation both points of Casimiro’s somewhat sweeping boast. Horsemanship that was a marvel of skill, strength, bravery, recklessness, and endurance was matched only by the speed, training, intelligence, and beauty of the splendid animals that made the wonderful exploits possible.

The American’s attention was divided between the horses and their masters. Three or four score Indians were in the camp, and they watched the white visitors curiously. Nearly all these natives were men of superior physical qualities. Brent thought they would average somewhat greater in height and general proportions than a similar number of Americans or Englishmen, but they were by no means giants. He went about among them without hesitation, and tried to profit by a month’s instruction from Fraser in their native language by ex{51}pressing his admiration of the horses. Their stoical silence soon gave way to evident surprise and pleasure, both at hearing their own tongue spoken by a white man and by his tribute to their one great pride. The Indians caught several of the finest horses and led them up to the young man for his inspection. He was delighted and his pleasure was so manifest that it soon won the confidence and friendship of the Patagonians. Several of them mounted and performed feats in riding that he had never seen attempted even in the circus-ring. He was so absorbed in the exciting scenes that he was quite loth to accompany his friend back to the boat and would not believe it when he was told he had been for three hours admiring Patagonian horses and horsemanship.

With the help of the Indians and four or five canoes, besides the big yawl, rapid progress was made in discharging the schooner’s cargo. The boxes intended for packing with gold, it was decided to leave on board until after the trip to the interior. On the third day, Brent, Fraser, and the four chiefs started on their journey toward the Cordilleras. Mounted on six of the best horses in the herd they set off at a sharp lope soon after daybreak. Brent had a blanket for a saddle, and the others rode bareback. The two white men and one of the Indians carried rifles; the others were contented with the{52} bolas with which all the Indians were armed. It is a peculiar weapon, if weapon it be called. It consists of two heavy balls of metal or stone connected with a strong thong or cord. The Indians are wonderfully expert in using it against all manner of game or human enemies. They bring down a wild horse at an almost incredible distance. The bola goes flying through the air and twists itself about the fore or hind legs of the running animal throwing it violently to the ground. It is sometimes used also with deadly effect as a single or double slung-shot, the wielder holding the cord in the middle.

The route for many miles over a faint trail was rough and difficult. The country through which they passed was picturesque almost to grandeur. It was far from being the “bleak and uninhabitable region” which the geographies only a few years ago would have us believe was a truthful description of Patagonia. Late in the day the path became smoother and the landscape more even. They were upon a high table-land, fertile and delightful. But nature’s charms had few attractions for Brent during the last three or four hours of the drive. Riding without a saddle for ten or eleven hours with only a brief halt at midday was no joke to a man who had not been on horseback for six months and who was physically quite out of training. For the others in the party,{53} even Fraser, there seemed to be little fatigue in the trip, and Brent did his best to conceal his feelings. There was something very like a twinkle in the eye of old Casimiro, when they finally halted for the night and the American limped very unsteadily from his horse to the spot chosen for a camp-fire. The chief made no comment at the time.

It was a hungry group that did full justice to the supper Cuastro prepared. Some few delicacies from the schooner’s stores had been brought along for the benefit of the two strangers, but the viand which Brent enjoyed most of all was a liberal piece of a tender fillet or steak which was roasted over hot embers. The young man remarked enthusiastically that it was the most appetizing morsel he had tasted for many a day.

“Do you know what it was?” asked Fraser with a peculiar smile.

“No, why?” replied Brent noticing the odd expression on the face of his friend.

“It was one of the best cuts from a well-fatted mare,” said the Scotchman. “Nearly all the meat the Patagonians eat is horseflesh and they think it the best in the world. I’m glad you like it.”

Brent turned pale, but he rallied bravely before his feelings could overcome him. “Great Scott,” he exclaimed, “have I been eating horseflesh? {54}I’m glad you didn’t tell me before. Perhaps it was hunger that made it seem so good. It thinks bad, but it didn’t taste bad.”

Fraser laughed heartily. “I was afraid you wouldn’t eat it if I told you, and I didn’t want you to offend the chiefs,” he said. “Really there is nothing unwholesome about it. It isn’t as though it were an old, worn-out animal that had spent its life in city streets. They prepare horses for food with more care than we do beef and mutton. Animals that do not come up to their high standards of speed and strength furnish the most esteemed delicacies of their bill of fare.”

Soon after eating, Brent was fain to wrap himself in his blanket and rest his aching limbs. Casimiro called him away from the fire and suggested that they should walk for a time. The young man pleaded fatigue and he felt indeed scarcely able to keep his feet. The chief explained partly by signs that if he would walk briskly until the cramped muscles were limbered up, he would be much better able to continue the journey in comfort on the morrow; otherwise he would have a painful experience. Brent acted on the advice, though at the expense of an uncomfortable half-hour. He felt better for the exercise even before he slept.

The next day’s journey was easier and more rapid.{55} Their destination lay, the chiefs said, in a group of high mountains which were in sight all day. They were a spur or offshoot of the Cordilleras of the Andes, the main range lying still two or three hundred miles to the west. In the afternoon the landscape again became broken. At length Casimiro led the party into a narrow defile which grew wilder and grander with every furlong. The trail, which no stranger could have discovered, crept along the side of a mountain, craggy and bare. For a time they were just above the verdure of a narrow valley, which below was bright and fresh along the banks of a twisting river, while over them hung black and threatening masses, flung into grotesque and insecure shapes by some not remote cataclysm of nature.

The path became narrow and shelf-like. The verdure below them disappeared. The valley grew narrower and more wild. The river was condensed almost out of sight between steep black precipices. Their horses walked in single file and the riders made no attempt to guide them. The strange scene awoke a conflict of emotion in the minds of the two white men. The sense of danger could not overcome the mingled admiration and awe which some of nature’s weird manifestations aroused in them. The marks of a terrific convulsion of gigantic forces were all about them. There were no signs of volcanic action, but{56} the disturbance seemed to have been even more violent than that which accompanies the eruption of a volcano.

Turning after a time a bend in the trail, the leader of the file suddenly stopped, waited till the white men had approached, and then pointed silently with his long arm to the opposite side of the gorge. Brent gave an exclamation of amazement. His companion was too astonished to speak. They saw the opposite mountain, which had seemed more massive and regular than the one they were circling, apparently cleft in two by a narrow line from peak to deepest base. It was as though the stroke of a mighty knife or the blow of a colossal ax had split the vast mass in twain. The heart of the great mountain had become transparent and they looked through it to bright sunshine and green fields in the plain beyond. It was a narrow glimpse, a single, thin column of light that pierced the black cone from summit to foundation. If they moved a few steps forward or back the phenomenon was not visible, the mountain became as dense and impenetrable as the rock upon which they were standing.

The two white men gazed in silent wonder at this evidence before them of a fit of mighty fury to which some natural or supernatural power had given vent. Nature’s wildest, maddest chaos was all about them.{57} Even the Indians, to whom the scene was not new, were awed by the grim grandeur, the anarchy of matter that reigned supreme in this domain of Titanic wrath. The six horsemen grouped themselves in a small niche, where the pathway widened into the side of the mountain. The horses seemed to partake of the mute solemnity of the spot. They stood silent and statue-like as though the intrusion of life was a desecration amid these monuments of a vanished rage. Minutes passed without a word being spoken. At length, when the first spell of a dead but mighty power had relaxed its hold upon them, Casimiro raised his hand, pointed with long, bony finger into the heart of the valley below them, and said:

“White men, there lies the curse from which you must rescue my people.”

They looked and amid the gathering shadows in the depths they saw a single gleam of white. And presently they hurried on.