Treasure and Trouble Therewith | Page 5

on his palm, golden eagles, heavy, shining, solid.
Swaying his wrist, he let the sun play on them, strike glints from their
edges, burnish their surface.

"Twelve thousand," he murmured. "We ain't but once before got that
much."
The elder, pulling the gunny sack from his neck, dropped it into one of
the oil cans, pressing it against the sides like a lining.
"I can get the ranch now; six thousand'll cover everything."
"Are you honestly calculatin' to do that?" Knapp had reached for the
other can. With arm outstretched, he looked at Garland, gravely
curious.
"I am. I told you so before. I had a look at it again last week. They'll
sell for four thousand, and it'll take five hundred to put it into shape. I'll
bank the rest."
"And you'll quit?"
"Certain. I've had enough of the road."
The younger man pondered, watching the hands of his partner fitting
the money bags into the can. "Mebbe you got the right idea," he
muttered.
"It's the right idea for me. I'm not what I once was, I'm old. It's time for
me to lay off and rest. I can't keep this up forever and now I got the
chance to get out and I'm goin' to."
He had filled his can and rose, taking off his coat and throwing it on the
ground. Picking up the knife and chisel he went back to where the
bulrushes began and crushed in among them. Knapp, packing the other
can, could hear the sound of his heavy movements, the hacking of the
knife at the bulrush stalks and then the thud of falling earth. When he
had filled his can he saw that there were two sacks left over. He took
them up and, looking about, caught sight of a newspaper protruding
from the pocket of Garland's coat. He pulled it out, calling as he did so:
"There's two sacks I can't get in. I'm goin' to put 'em in this here paper

you got."
A grunt of acquiescence came from the bulrushes, the hacking of the
knife, the thuds going on. Knapp unfolded the paper, set the sacks in it,
and, gathering it about them, placed it on the top of his can. He heaved
the whole up and crashed through the rushes to where Garland had
already cleared a space and was digging a hole in the mud. When it was
finished, the cans--the newspaper bundle on top--were lowered into it,
and earth and roots replaced. No particular attempt was made at
concealment; the cache was as secure against intrusion as if it were on
the crest of the Sierra, and within the week they would be back to
empty it. The box was filled with stones and sunk in the stream.
Then they rested, prone on the ground, at first talking a little. There was
a question about the messenger; Knapp had shot and was casually
confident he had only winged him. The matter seemed to give him no
anxiety, and presently, his head burrowed into his arm, he fell asleep, a
great, sprawled figure with the sun making his red hair shine like a
copper helmet.
Garland lay on his back, his coat for a pillow, smoking a blackened
pipe and thinking. He saw the sky lose its blue, and fade to a thin,
whitish transparency, then flush to rose, bird specks skimming across it.
He saw the tules grow dark, black walls flanking paths incredibly
glossy, catching here and there a barring of golden cloud. He felt the
breath of the marshes chill and salt-tainted, and watched the first star,
white as a diamond, prick through the vault.
Then he rose and shook his partner, waking him with voluble profanity.
The night had come, the dark that was to hide their stealthy exit. They
went different ways; Knapp by a series of trails and planks to the south
bank and thence across country, footing it through the night to his lair
near Stockton. Garland would move north to friends of his up toward
the mining camps along the Feather. They made a rendezvous for a
night six days distant. Then they would carry away the money to places
of safety which they went to prepare.
The sky was star-strewn as Garland's punt slipped away from the island.

It was intensely still, a whisper of water round the moving prow, the
sibilant dip of the paddle the only sounds. He could see the water as a
pale, winding shimmer ahead, dotted with star reflections like small,
scattered flowers. Once, rising to make sure of his course, he saw the
tiny yellow light in a ranch house far away. He stood for a moment
looking at it, and when he crouched again the light had kindled his
imagination. Its spark glowed