The Rushton Boys at Treasure Cove: or, The Missing Chest of Gold. Davenport Spencer

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      “We tried to get at the facts by piecing together what he said when he was quieter than usual,” Ross continued. “Again and again, he would speak of ‘the lighthouse’ and ‘Bartanet Shoals.’ Then he would imagine himself in a fight with the mate. Many times he spoke of ‘burying the box.’

      “All these of course were slight things to go on, but by putting them all together and looking at them from every side, we figured out something like this:

      “The mate probably had his suspicions aroused by the weight of the box that held the gold. Father must have come upon him when he was trying to open it, and there was a fight in which the rest of the crew joined. They were probably somewhere near Bartanet Shoals when this happened, and they put in at some quiet place along here to think over what they’d better do. They finally decided to bury the box and leave it there until the matter should have blown over and been forgotten. The men probably intended to put father out of the way, and, after the search for him had been given up, to come back and get the box. Father either tried to escape in the open boat, or the crew, not quite willing to kill him in cold blood, set him adrift, knowing that in his wounded condition it would probably amount to the same thing.”

      “Didn’t the Ranger ever turn up?” asked Fred.

      “Not at any of the home towns,” answered Ross. “But some months later it was found tied up to a wharf near Halifax. It was from the log they found on board that they learned of Captain Ramsay’s death. The crew were traced, and it was found that they had shipped on a brig that was bound for the Pacific. She went down in a storm off Cape Horn, and every soul on board was lost.”

      “Then everybody who was actually concerned in the matter is probably dead,” mused Lester.

      “Yes,” answered Ross, “we can’t look for any help from human witnesses. There’s a bare chance that some letter or document may turn up that will give us a clue. But that’s so unlikely that it’s hardly worth considering.”

      “Then all you have to go on is the possibility that the box was buried somewhere on this coast not very far from Bartanet Shoals, and that if it was, it’s never been taken away?” asked Bill.

      “That’s all,” admitted Ross, “except–”

      He checked himself hastily.

      CHAPTER VI

      AARON RUSHTON, CREDITOR

      If the other boys noticed the involuntary movement, they made no comment, and Ross went on:

      “You fellows may think I’m foolish to go on hunting for the gold when I’ve got so little evidence to go on. It seems almost like hunting for a needle in a haystack. But there’s such a lot at stake that I can’t give it up.”

      “I don’t think you’re foolish,” maintained Teddy stoutly. “It’s just what I’d do, if I were in your place.”

      “So would I,” agreed Fred. “Of course you may never find it. But if you didn’t try for it, you’d feel restless and uneasy all the rest of your life.”

      “It’s better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all,” declared Bill.

      “You’re young enough yet to spare a year or two more at it anyway,” said Lester. “If nothing comes of it, you can settle down at something else.”

      “Yes,” replied Ross, “it isn’t a matter of life and death anyway. Mother is still keeping the old place up in Canada and looking after the property that father left there. The income is small, but it is enough to keep us going, and if I finally have to give up looking for the gold, I can go back there and do pretty well. But it would take me a long time to get enough together to pay father’s debts, and perhaps I could never do it. That’s the real reason why I’m so anxious to find the chest. It isn’t so much for what it would give me, though of course I’d be glad to have it. But I know how father felt, and I feel that I owe it to his memory to carry out his wishes, if I possibly can.”

      “Do the debts mount up to a very large amount?” Bill ventured to ask.

      “Larger than I care to think of,” answered Ross. “I should say that it would take about twenty thousand dollars if they were settled now. And, of course, there’s the interest creeping up with every day that passes.”

      “I guess the creditors would be so glad to get back the principal, that they wouldn’t worry much about the interest,” remarked Lester.

      “I suppose they would,” answered Ross. “But they ought to get both, and I shall never feel that I’m clear with the world until they do.”

      It was clear that the son had inherited to the full his father’s independence of spirit, and the boys’ liking for him deepened.

      “Most of the debts are for small amounts,” Ross continued, again taking the little red memorandum book from his pocket, “that is, comparatively small. There’s one big one that is more than all the rest put together. The others are for a few hundred dollars each, though one or two of them run into the thousands.”

      He turned over the pages.

      “Father was very methodical and precise,” he went on, showing the pages. “You see, he has all the names arranged in alphabetical order. There’s Allen, three hundred and twenty-seven dollars; Carey, one hundred and ninety-two; Linson, eighty-five; Masters, six hundred and eighteen. And here we come to the big one, Rushton, twelve thousand four hundred and–”

      “What was that?” broke in Teddy excitedly. “Why that’s my name and Fred’s.”

      “Is that so?” asked Ross in surprise, for so far he had heard the boys speak to each other only by their first names, and there had been no formal introduction. “It isn’t such a common name, either. Perhaps it’s your father. What’s his first name?”

      “Mansfield,” came simultaneously from both of the boys.

      “Oh, then he isn’t the one,” said Ross, consulting his book. “This is–let me see,” as his finger sought the place, “Aaron–Aaron Rushton.”

      “We have an Uncle Aaron, my father’s brother,” stated Fred.

      “Can it possibly be Uncle Aaron?” asked Teddy, his pulses quickened by the possibility.

      “I shouldn’t be a bit surprised,” rejoined Ross. “There can’t be so many Aaron Rushtons in this part of the country. This man lived, at that time in Medford, not far from Boston.”

      “That’s just where Uncle Aaron used to live!” broke in Fred. “He has some property there yet, although lately he spends a good deal of the time with us in Oldtown.”

      “Would you know his handwriting, if you saw it?” asked Ross, feeling in his pocket.

      “Sure we would!” answered Fred. “We’ve seen it a hundred times.”

      “Take a look at that then,” said Ross, taking a wrinkled sheet of paper from a collection wrapped in oiled silk and held together by a rubber band, “and see if it’s your uncle’s writing.”

      Fred unfolded the paper with hands that trembled with excitement, while Teddy looked over his shoulder.

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