Chapter XI: News from Another Quarter

So there you are. I was out of it and I was glad to think that Tom and Brent were out of it. I felt almost as if I had incited a couple of boys to go hunting Indians. Though, to be sure, Tom and Brent are “grown-up fellows,” as boys say. I went in for golf at the North Bridgeboro Country Club and a couple of times I went fishing up the river. And in my work and summer diversions I forgot all about Long Buck Sanderson and his deserted, sequestered home. After all, the episode had loomed large only while it lasted.

Then, all of a sudden, Tom Slade had a fatal relapse. Up he came to my house one evening waving a newspaper in my face. I should tell you that Temple Camp (the big Scout community up in the Catskills) is advertised in newspapers all over the land. Tom attends to these matters along with six million other duties, and I never in my life knew any one so thoroughly well posted on Scout activities the country over as he. He is all the time foraging in western dailies, and this paper with which he now confronted, or rather menaced, me was the _St. Louis Star_.

“Here’s something to open your eyes,” he said, all excitement. “_Now_ who’s a freak and a bug? Read that!”

The news item which confronted me was headed, SKULL CURE SUBJECT DISAPPEARS, and was as follows. I copy it word for word from the old yellowed clipping with the red stain on it which Tom has carried in his wallet these many months.

The Missouri Institution of Physicians and Surgeons is
greatly interested in the case of an inmate of the State
Hospital for the Criminally Insane who escaped yesterday.
The man was known as John Mink and he had been in the
institution for the last fourteen years where he was taken
following the failure of a St. Louis jury to convict him of
theft upon the ground of insanity. He was pronounced a
typical case of aphasia, or amnesia, which is that phase of
the former disorder characterized by loss or morbid
impairment of the memory.

The man’s history and antecedents were not known to the
authorities, and he came to be known as Treasure Jack
because he was forever making vague references to a bait-box
full of money which he had once put in the ground. He was
harmless and amiable and able to work with his hands at
making baskets in the institution.

Recently the man was the subject of an experimental
operation by Doctors Calloway and Waring which resulted in
certain encouraging signs pointing to complete success. A
piece of bone which was pressing against the brain was
removed. Shortly afterward the old inmate made one or two
rational and very interesting references to his boyhood but
seemed unable to recall any significant details which might
have enlightened his keepers as to his history prior to the
time of his arrest.

Following his operation, John Mink was placed in the
observation department of the institution where he showed an
encouraging inclination to read, something which he had
never done before. His case attracted a good deal of
attention. He was lately given a copy of Stevenson’s
_Treasure Island_ to read in the hope that the title and
subject matter dealing with hidden treasure might recall
certain episodes in his own life. He did not react to this
except to remember that he had been to sea, and he has the
tattooed design of an anchor on his arm which he had never
before been able to explain.

The apparent convalescence of this interesting subject was
interrupted on Monday last by the departure for Europe of
the young physician who has been personally caring for him
and watching his case. He suffered a nervous attack on the
following day, and that evening, evidently under the spell
of a delusion that he was pursuing someone, jumped from a
second-story window of the institution and has not been seen
or heard of since.

His disappearance has been broadcasted by western radio
stations and it is hoped that some trace of him may be
secured in that way.

“Well,” said Tom, “what do you think of that? Is that Mink Havers or not?”

“Why, it may be,” I answered. “Mink is an unusual name, but this man was known as John Mink.”

“Treasure Jack,” urged Tom. “And let me tell you something,” he added, waxing very excited. “Mink was probably the only name he remembered. When a person who runs foul of the law doesn’t know his name or refuses to give it or gives a name that they know isn’t right, they put him down in the records as John. Public insane asylums are full of Johns. It’s sort of--a name they use like John Doe. Why, anybody with any sense at all would know this was Mink Havers!”

“Well,” I laughed, “I suppose I haven’t any sense, then. I _don’t know_ that this is your unknown friend of long ago, Mink Havers--I tell you frankly. But it may be, for all I know.”

“He talked of treasure and they called him Treasure Jack,” said Tom, conclusively.

“All right, Tomasso,” I laughed, “if we’re going to match facts, the man seems likely to have been a sailor; he had an anchor tattooed on his arm.”

“He might have been a sailor once upon a time,” Tom shot at me.

“Do sailors become hunters?” I ventured.

“Why not?”

“All right, then,” I said, “here’s another. He spoke of money he hid away as being in a bait-box. Bait-boxes, all that I’ve ever seen, are quite large and made of metal. Did old Buck carry his precious money from New York in a metal bait-box and hand that over to his partner? Is that the way you carry your money? You can put three thousand dollars in a wallet.”

“Maybe they had only coin in those days.”

“And maybe they hadn’t,” I laughed. “Look here, Tomasso,” I added, folding the newspaper up and rapping him on the head with it. “If you want to go treasure hunting, go ahead and do it. So far as I can see, the matter stands about as it did a month ago.”

“Then you don’t think that that man out west there may have had an inspiration about his treasure--that he may remember where he put it? You don’t?”

I shook my head skeptically, sorry at the same time that I had not the assurance and enthusiasm of youth.

“And that he may be on his way east--to Rattlesnake Gulch?”

“Clearly he is not capable of enterprise yet,” I said; “even assuming him to be Havers, which is possible, of course. I doubt if he would get so far--without money.”

“Half of it belongs to the child, doesn’t it?” he shot at me.

“Yes, I suppose so,” I conceded.

“Of course, you don’t think it’s there,” he said. “You think old Sanderson was right about what became of it.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do,” I laughed.

“All right,” said he. “Here’s one for you, and I didn’t read it in a newspaper. I did some investigating while you’ve been playing golf.”

I smiled, “Yes?”

“Barney Wythe, game warden in that section, lived in old Tappan and died there in 1916. I wrote to the Fish and Game Commission and learned that much. He had been head game warden for thirty-nine years--he was a character. He was a respected citizen, a church member, and as square and honest and clean an old codger as ever lived; one of those blunt, old-fashioned, honest, adventurous countrymen that it’s refreshing to hear about. Old Squire Wythe--that’s what they called him--wasn’t any grafter like you think. I talked to his grandson. Old Buck was wrong there, you can bet on that!”

I confess this somewhat took the wind out of my sail. “Well,” I said, “I’m glad to hear that; poor old Buck did him an injustice. And I’m sorry that I dishonored his memory. You’re quite a Sherlock Holmes, Tom.”

“That isn’t the point,” said Tom vehemently. “The point is that if the law’s men didn’t get the money, _it’s up there yet_.”

“So you said a month ago.”

“And Brent and I are going to find it.”

“Well, I can’t stop you,” I laughed. “What does Brent think?”

“Oh, he says he rather likes the idea, he likes the western element in it,” Tom said. “He says that with the anchor tattooed on his arm, Mink may turn out to be a nephew of Captain Kidd himself--you know how he talks.”

“Well, it would be fun with him along,” I confessed.

“And you won’t go?”

“To live in Rattlesnake Gulch? Not so you’d notice it,” I said.