Part 6

Jim’s nerves were always weak, and this jeering question so unstrung them that he spoke the first words that occurred to him. (By the way, the phrase was a favorite one of his, one that he used on all occasions; and according to the tone in which he said it, it implied either doubt, indifference, petulance, fear, or _profanity_!)

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” is what he said.

“You hadn’t better!” Stephen thundered with lowering brow.

The reason why Steve espoused Charley’s cause so readily was because the boys still teased him about the donkey; and he rejoiced to find that another--that other his schoolfellow Charles--could be guilty of the misdemeanor of playing tricks. Truly, the abusive adage, “Misery loves company,” is right.

“It is bad enough for the store-keeper to handle the poor woman’s raisins; and Charley’s fingers don’t look so clean as a store-keeper’s, even;” George observed tauntingly.

“I guess Charley’s fingers are cleaner than Tim’s” retorted Stephen, always eager to play the part of champion to some aggrieved wight, especially so now.

But Charles perceived that his joke was not appreciated as it should have been; and he turned beseechingly to Will, his firm upholder in all things. “Will,” he said, “what do _you_ think about it? Did I do wrong?”

Thus appealed to, Will made answer: “Capital joke, Charley; but you have begun your career as a reformer rather early in life.”

This did not satisfy Charley, and he took to his last expedient.

When a renowned general becomes entangled in a snare which he himself has spread; when he is caricatured and lampooned in all the newspapers, and without a friend in all the world, he makes an impassioned and well-punctuated declamation in his defence, in which he sums up the difficulties that lay in his way so eloquently; sets forth the rightfulness of his cause so manfully; represents the disinterestedness of his actions so carefully; discourses on the purity of his designs so volubly; harrows up the feelings of the audience, and the disguised editors so subtly; exposes the fallacies under which his defamers labor so jocosely; and reiterates his asservations so persistingly, that all except the most malevolent and perverse are brought to coincide with his views.

Charles was now “on his defence.”

“‘The end justifies the means,’ you know. Now,--”

“That’s what the Jesuits profess, and they are--” George interrupted. But, not knowing exactly what the Jesuits are, he stopped short, and Charley went on without further interruption.

“Now, that Tim was a rascal, but this will reclaim him. He has been cheating his mother on a small scale for more than a year. She has sent him to all the different stores for her groceries, but with the same results. He is the only one she has to send, and he has a chance to steal at his leisure. Now, if I had informed her that her son does the cheating, what would have become of me? Ten to one, she would have called me a sneaking talebearer, and told me to march off home and get my father to belabor me. As it is, _Tim_ will probably get the drubbing. There now, wasn’t my ‘confession’ plan just the thing? Of course it was. You boys must be blind, or crazy, or silly.”

No oratory here, gentle reader. But the speaker was only a boy; if he had been older and more experienced, he would not have omitted to remark, incidentally, that he had acted “on the impulse of the moment.”

However, his reasoning, especially the latter part of it, was conclusive. “Quite right;” said all the boys. Then, as time is _very_ precious to a schoolboy during the holidays, Stephen added, “Now let us go on; we’ve fooled away too much time doing nothing.”

Will and Charles taking the lead, the explorers advanced deeper into the woods; and taking an obscure pathway, soon found themselves in a quarter scarcely known to some of the boys. Heaps of brush-wood blocked up the way, making their progress very slow. But this only exhilarated their adventurous spirit; and they tore through the brush with smiling contempt for sundry bruises and scratches.

All except George, whose mind was still exercised about Charley’s “vice,” and who took no interest in squeezing through underwood, and stumbling over heaps of loose and rough brush-wood.

“Look here, boys,” he said, “why should we overstrain our limbs and muscles here, when a little way to the north there is a capital spot to rest? We can learn nothing here, and by floundering about like top-heavy goblins we shall improve neither our minds, nor our morals, nor our garments. At any rate, _I_ am going back; _I_ am not going to make an Amazon of myself.”

Sooner or later, the most inattentive of readers will be struck with admiration at the artifice which Charles displays in working on the feelings of his comrades.

In this instance, though George had actually turned back, he paused irresolute on hearing Charles exclaim sarcastically, “George, I’m afraid you will never become an explorer. Why, if you only knew it, we are penetrating a jungle now! Think of that! _We_ in a jungle!”

Though coaxing would not have influenced the sage, this happy expression did. He cast a sweeping glance in search of Charley’s “jungle,” and then went on with the others.

Charles was satisfied, for he knew that however much the boy might grumble, he would not turn back again.

A certain word George had spoken, excited Steve’s curiosity. False pride never restrained Stephen from asking for information, and he said eagerly, “George, what’s a namazon?”

George’s smiling face discovered that the right cord had been struck at last, and, always willing to enlighten the ignorant, he answered benignly, “Steve, an Amazon is a West African woman warrior, who fights instead of men. And she fights with a vengeance--harder than a sea-serpent that I read about the other day. Why, she wears a sword called a razor, and it’s so strong and heavy that she can chop off an elephant’s head at one blow with it!--At least” truth obliged him to add, “I guess she could, if she chose. And she will scale a rampart of briers and thorns,--no, _brambles_ the book said,--of brambles, all in her bare feet, and come back all covered with blood and chunks of bramble, but with her arms full of skulls!”

Steve’s look of horror only encouraged George to make greater exertions. But he was forced to pause for want of breath, and his hearer inquired in alarm, “Where do they get the skulls? Do they kill folks for them?”

Now, it was very inconsiderate, very disrespectful, very _wrong_ in Stephen to put such a question. George was wholly unprepared for it; and it rather befogged his loquacity. After a doubtful pause, he began blunderingly: “Why, as I told you, they scale a rampart of bri--_brambles_,--sixty feet high, sometimes--and come off with those skulls. I--I believe they are put there beforehand; and the feat is to pounce on them.--I mean, the feat is to scramble over the brambles barefooted. It is a valiant achievement!”

Then a bright idea occurred to him, and he continued impetuously, “Why, Steve, you must be crazy, crazy as an organ-grinder! You don’t know what a skull is; you don’t know a skull from a dead-head. Why, I’m astonished at you!”

“Oh, of course. I see what you mean now; yes, of course they do;” Stephen assented with alacrity.

“I might lend you my book about all these things,” George graciously observed.

“Oh, thank you!” said Stephen with sparkling eyes.

Meanwhile, the heroes had been pressing deeper and deeper into the “jungle,” and would soon be at their journey’s end. But at this critical juncture the sage’s evil genius again preyed upon his spirits, and he muttered with filial concern: “A boy’s first duty ought to be to take care of his clothes, and--”

“But it never is!” Steve broke in.

“--and here we are destroying ours!” the sage continued, disregarding Steve’s impertinent interruption.

“Never mind the ‘garments,’ George,” Charles replied. “Your old coat looks as if it might survive the frolics of a hurricane; so, ‘banish care and grim despair,’ as the second page of our new copy-book says.”

This was indiscreet in Charles. The aggrieved George was but a boy, and, naturally, he was angered. “Look here,” he exclaimed, “what is your object in dragging us through this dismal place? Where are we going? If you should lead the way to a python’s lair, should I be bound to tag blindly after you?”

This reasoning was forcible, and for a schoolboy, poetical. Will--knowing that their scheme would be disconcerted if George should turn back, and fearing that he would--bounded forward a little way, and then flung himself plump into a certain pile of brush.

“Oh!” he screamed. “Come here! Boys, hurry! Something rattles all around under me!”

The others quickly urged their way towards him, some in real, some in pretended alarm.

George now proved himself a hero. The vigour of his intellect overawed the others, and they made way for him respectfully. At length he was about to derive some advantage from the ponderous tomes whose pages his grimy thumbs had soiled so often.

“Yes,” he said, “I know just what you heard. Don’t be excited, Will; keep very cool. _It’s a rattlesnake!_ The great naturalist says they skulk around brush-heaps and tangled bushes, ready to pounce on their prey. I know, for I’ve read all about it; and luckily, I am prepared for the worst. Now, where are you bitten, and I’ll cauterize it.”

And the speaker busied himself by stripping his pockets of their treasures, which he dropped on the ground at random.

Jim, however, did not view the matter so philosophically. At the bare mention of the word _rattlesnake_, he turned and tore wildly through the “jungle,” crying piteously: “Oh! I’ve got the chills! I’ve got the chills! the chills! the chills! awful chills!”

_Chapter VIII._

GEORGE COMES OUT AHEAD.

Meanwhile, Will stepped out of the pile of brushwood and said, somewhat foolishly, “Now, George, don’t be foolish; you know well enough there are no rattle-snakes in this part of the country. Put up your instruments of cauterization, and let us all take a squint under these ‘brambles.’”

Poor George looked so crestfallen that Will almost relented. “Didn’t you get bitten?” the former asked blankly.

“What could bite me, George!” Will asked mildly.

“Well, _I_ don’t know what,” George said savagely, “But Charles Goodfellow declares this is a jungle; and we all know, I hope, that poisonous lizards, and reptiles, and centipedes, and tarantulas, and all hideous creatures, live in just such a place as this--I mean in jungles. So, _what_ disturbed you in that brush-heap! Answer that question!--Botheration!” he continued furiously, “here you’ve led me into this horrible place, made fun of me, and contradicted me--you, who have no practical knowledge. And now, to cap it all, I’ve lost my jack-knife, the best jack-knife in these regions, and I got it only yesterday!”

Poor George! One thing after another had happened to irritate him, and he was now in a savage mood. In fact, he was really angry, and the boys had never seen him angry before.

Charles felt a pang in the region of his heart, and Stephen was very uneasy.

“Never mind George,” Will said soothingly. “I’ll help you to look for your knife as soon as we see what is under the brush.”

He stooped over the brush-heap, groping, and then said with awe, as _he_ supposed: “Boys, here are bones! It was bones that rattled under me!--George,” conciliatingly, “what does that mean?”

“Well, I don’t care what it means. My knife is worth more than all the bones you can find in a whole summer; and I intend to look for it in spite of everything. You boys may squabble over those bones till--till--any time you choose.”

Charley was dismayed. George was too sullen to catch at the bait, and their little scheme seemed likely to end ingloriously. Was it for this that they had toiled and plotted?

But Marmaduke, who had hitherto held his tongue, now came to the front, saying eagerly, “Bones! Bones! Let me see!”

He rummaged among the branches, and while Will, Charles, and Stephen, crowded around him, George looked on “askance.”

“O-o-h!” gasped Marmaduke, “what a horrible discovery we have made! Bones! Bones of a mortal! Boys,” with emotion, “SOME ONE WAS FOULLY MURDERED HERE.”

“O-o-h!” echoed all the boys, as in duty bound.

But Steve gave a horrible chuckle, and whispered to Charles, “It works already with _him_; and,” pointing his elbow at George, “_he’ll_ come around.”

The pain in Charley’s heart was not very deep-seated, and it now made room for exultation. The searcher was left to his own musings, and the rest were absorbed in the discovery.

Marmaduke paused a moment, to realize the awfulness of the word _murder_; then, snatching up the branches, he nervously tossed them out of the way.

A little heap of white substances was disclosed which--to Marmaduke’s heated imagination--were all that remained of a human skeleton.

Now, the writer has so much respect for the feelings of his readers that he herewith warns them, in all honesty, that what is immediately to follow, borders upon the grisly; and that consequently it would be well for the queasy reader of fashionable fiction to skip the rest of this chapter and all of chapter the twelfth.

Marmaduke was now in his element; he felt somewhat as a philosopher does when a new theory in science bursts upon him; he was happy. All boyish bashfulness forsook him, and he began rapturously:--

“Yes, boys, we have made a great, an _appalling_, discovery! We have certainly stumbled on a dreadful mystery! It now remains for us to solve this great problem, and gain immortal renown. In the near future, I see us sitting in the courts of law, with the ferret-eyed reporters; the grim lawyers; the shrill-voiced foreman keeping order among the honest and eager jury; the gaping multitude; the venerable judge; and the quaking murderer, found at last, and his crime unearthed and fastened on him by _us_. Then the grand old judge, in solemn tones, will turn to us and say, “You are now called upon to give your conclusive evidence, and charge the crime--long hidden, but brought to light at last--upon the trembling, cringing wretch--this murderer!” Oh! what a proud day it will be for us! Now, boys, an unpleasant duty lies before us, and if any of you wish to withdraw, do so at once. As for me, I will not drop the matter till the mystery is cleared up, and the murderer gibbeted. But who ever wishes to take a bold part with me, must continue in it till justice is satisfied. Then together we shall reap the fruits of our zeal.”

This neat little speech amply repaid the boys for all the perils they had encountered in penetrating into Charley’s jungle. Their delight is beyond our description. Charley, Will, and Steve, exchanged winks most recklessly.

Marmaduke, however, paid no attention to them, but drew a scrap of paper and a lead-pencil, which he always carried, from his pocket.

“What are you going to do now?” Steve queried of the romance-stricken boy.

“I am going to make a memorandum of this affair,” was the answer.

“Where is Jim?” Will asked, thinking that youth would enjoy the scene.

“Oh,” said Steve, “his old and convenient disorder seized him when George spoke of rattle-snakes, and he skedaddled.”

“Yes,” supplemented George, who was recovering his temper, “there is a good deal of philosophy in his complaint; for, like most things cold, it vanishes away when heat is applied; and, to generate heat, Jim sets out on a run.”

“Good for you!” Charley said promptly, hoping to induce the boy to examine and pass an opinion on the bones.

But George still felt too sore--perhaps, too obstinate--to yield.

“Look here, Marmaduke,” he said, “how are you going to prove that somebody was _murdered_ here? Perhaps he was gobbled up by an unprincipled and broken-down quadruped--say, a shipwrecked gorilla.”

“Yes,” chimed in Steve, “perhaps a devouring monster of a famished sea-cow fell on him, and gnawed him, and wallowed him around, and extinguished him!”

Marmaduke was now being jeered in his turn. Considering that he was only a boy, he put up with their banter with stoical unconcernedness; but his quivering lips and humid eyes betrayed that he felt it, and turning to Will, he said, “In such a case as this, you always find something to discover the guilty one,--a pet dog’s collar, a monogrammed metal tooth-pick, an old card case, a seal-ring, a gold watch-key, a book-mark, a--a--or something else.”

“Why, have you found anything?” Steve asked quickly.

No answer. Silence, in this instance, was peculiarly golden; more, it was sufficient.

“Then how do you know, and how are you going to prove it was murder?”

Then Marmaduke’s indignation was roused, and he scowled upon Stephen so malignantly that this worthy quailed, unable to bear up under that “steady gaze of calm contempt.”

Turning to Will and Charles, the persecuted boy thus explained himself: “Not long ago, I read in a story how an awful murder was cleared up, simply because a cast-off wig, that had fallen into the murderer’s pocket by accident, and belonged to nobody in particular, fell out again at the fatal moment, and proved the whole crime. You boys might read about such things from to-day till your hair turns gray; and you would find that some little trinket, some trifle, turns the evidence one way or the other, and decides the verdict. Why, where would the romance of romances be, if it wasn’t so?” excitedly. “I mean to hunt for that lost trinket when I get ready; it has been here all this time, and it isn’t going to disappear forever now.”

“How long has it been here?” asked George, laying stress on the word _how_.

“When we stumbled on this mystery,” pursued Marmaduke, too much absorbed to regard George’s incivilities, “it was about ten o’clock.”

Having made a note of this, he went on, “the scene was a tangled glade in a thick jungle.”

Another note.

“Fit scene for such a tragedy!” Charles commented.

“The bones were hidden under brush-wood, which _I_ removed,” and again his pencil was heard to scribble a note.

We say, _scribble_. The boy intended to “polish” his notes at a more convenient season.

“I say,” interrupted Stephen, “it isn’t _your_ place to take all these notes; you ought to inform a constable, or, a bailiff,--or, better still, a detective!”

Marmaduke scowled at him again, but held his peace.

“Oh, I see,” continued Stephen, bent on teasing the poor boy; “you’ll hand your notes over to some detective, so that he’ll see how clever you are.”

Then Marmaduke spoke. “Boys,” he said, “I’m astonished at your levity and indifference in such a case as this.”

With that, he laid down his pencil and paper, and again examined the bones, handling them with reverence, and muttering what he supposed to be their names.

For some time a fierce conflict had been raging in George’s mind--curiosity battling with wounded vanity. Which would triumph?

While Marmaduke mumbled, George took mental notes. Soon a broad grin spread over the latter’s face, and he said, “Look here, boys; Marmaduke has named five thigh-bones, and thirty-one ribs! I know, for I’ve kept count. Now, the skeleton of a common man has no business with so many thighs and ribs; and Marmaduke isn’t supposed to know the name of a bone as soon as he sees it. Now, I’ve studied into the matter, and I ought to know something about it. I’m just going to see them for myself.”

Curiosity had triumphed!

This disconcerted poor Marmaduke. He made room for George, and sat down beside Charles. A look of dismay appeared in his face, and he pondered deeply. “Boys,” he said, “did you ever hear that anybody was ever murdered in this neighborhood?”

“Never!” shouted all four in a breath.

“I don’t care; it _is_ a skeleton!” doggedly. “I know as much about it as _he_ does,” glaring at George, “and I will stick to it, it was a skeleton.”

“Whatever it _was_ it’s not a skeleton _now_!” roared George.

Do not take alarm, gentle reader: this history is not the register of any squabbles among savants: the writer is too tender-hearted to inflict such a punishment on you.

George resumed: “That is a foolish conclusion; for there are no human bones here at all! Not a skull, nor a radius, nor a--, a--”

At this point Charley interrupted the osteologist by saying, “George, don’t tell off the parts of a skeleton with such disgusting gusto; have a little respect, even for bones.”

“Well, I will;” George assented--the more willingly because he found himself less versed in the matter than he had imagined. “But it was very foolish to think of murder. Boys, do you want to know what it is? _I_ know; _I’ve_ solved your mystery: _I’ll_ reap all the glory!” he cried, so excited that he lost control of his voice.

“Well, what is it?” Will asked sharply, perhaps afraid that George had detected the fraud.

Groundless fear; George was quite as credulous as Marmaduke.

Wild with excitement, his voice rang out loud and discordant. He shouted, at the top of his voice, “Boys, _it’s a fossil_!”

“A _what_?” Charley demanded.

“A _fossil_! An _extinct animal_! A _mastodon_! A _gyasticütûs_! (If this word is new to the reader, let him raise his voice and pronounce it according to the accents.) Yes; here is a field for a geologist or naturalist; not for a humdrum, cigar-puffing, bejewelled detective!”

And the Sage’s form dilated with pride and complacency. His day had come. He could have it all his own way now; for what did the others know about geology?

Poor George! his imagination was as powerful as Marmaduke’s; but he could not equal him in oratory.

As for the boys, they were thunder-struck; this exceeded their utmost expectations.

Steve was the first to speak. “Don’t yell so loudly, George; there are no geologists near to hear you;” he said.

Then again the boys, Marmaduke excepted, huddled around the bones, and expressed unqualified astonishment.

“What will you do about it, George?” Will inquired.

“Travel them around the country for a show;” Marmaduke sneered.

But George was too much elated to regard such gross indignities. Let the envious little simpleton rave; hadn’t he read that every great man has his enemies and detractors? He would ignore the mean wretch and his insulting words.

But for all his philosophy, the words did rankle in his breast.

“Well, what will you do?” Will inquired again.

“Ship them to a geologist, I suppose;” George said jocosely.

“Excuse me, George,” Charles broke in, “but I always used to think they found those old mastodons under ground; and these bones are _on_ the ground.”

“EH?”

“Yes; don’t they dig all those horrid old telegraph poles of bones out of the ground?”

George rose, looking very black and wretched. That important fact had escaped him. His castle in the air toppled down as Marmaduke’s had done, and all his grand ideas were buried in its ruins.

“Perhaps I’m wrong,” Charles continued; “but,” proudly, “I’ve read a little about such things, and I believe they come out of the ground. But you know better than I do, George; so, which way is it? Which of us is right?”

It was cruel for him to ask such a question. George, however, was not a boy obstinately to persist that he was right, when common sense said that he was not. In justice to the boy, it must be observed that, although he was fully aware of his own cleverness, he did not consider himself infallible, but was at all times open to reason. To be still more explicit, he was apt to change his opinions very abruptly.

“No, Charley,” he said, “you are right enough. But I’m astonished to think we should take those paltry bones for a fossil! Why--”

“I never did!” Marmaduke interrupted furiously.

“Why,” he continued, “of course not! A real fossil would be ashamed to look at such bones; they would be to him what a minnow’s bones are to ours. I--I didn’t think, boys; I know what a fossil is, of course.”