T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (31) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XXXI. The Confession

However much you may hate or despise a man, you forget all that when he is snake-bitten.

Martin dropped down on his knees beside the wretched Willard.

“Where?” he asked quickly.

“My right leg, just above the ankle,” groaned Willard.

Martin had the trouser leg rolled up in a twinkling, and the sock turned down. Sure enough, there were two small punctures about half an inch apart. They were red and angry, and the flesh around the marks was already beginning to puff.

Martin snatched out a handkerchief, tied it round the leg just above the bite, and, picking up a short piece of stick, began twisting the bandage as tightly as he could.

“That’s right, sonny,” said Ladd. “Say, I’ve got a syringe with permanganate in my pocket. Wait a jiffy. I’ll fix him.”

As he spoke he took the hypodermic syringe out of its case, then, pushing the point well under the skin of Willard’s calf, injected a good dose of its contents.

They carried him into one of the huts, and there he lay in a heap, almost insensible.

“It’s fright,” whispered Ladd to Martin. “He’s plumb scared. I’ve known chaps to die of fright, and it looks to me like this galoot was going to do it. Myself, I don’t believe it was a rattler at all, but just a moccasin. A moccasin’s bad enough, but not near so bad as a rattler.” It looked as if Ladd was right. Willard was so terrified that he made no sort of fight for life. He collapsed like a pricked bladder.

Two hours passed. Night had fallen, but a big fire blazed outside the hut. The party had cooked their supper and were eating it when Ladd, who had been watching Willard, came out.

“Say, Martin, I reckon Willard’s going. But he’s sensible and reckons he wants to make a confession. He’s told me enough to clear your Dad, and I’ve written it down. I reckon, if he signs it and Captain Krieger here witnesses it, the job’s as good as done.”

Martin sprang to his feet.

“If he clears Dad, I’ll forgive him everything,” he declared.

“And so will I,” said Mr. Vaile. “Indeed, I can find in my heart to be sorry for the wretched man. This is a terrible way in which to die. Go in, Krieger, and witness his confession.”

Someone came up through the narrow hatch of the Saga, and Martin, who was standing on the deck, fishing for mullet, looked round.

His eyes widened.

“Great Scott! Is that you, Dad? Upon my word, I’d never have known you.”

Mr. Vaile, clean shaven, with his hair cut and dressed in neat white drill, was a different figure from the worn, white-haired man whom they had brought in on the previous night that even his son might be excused for not recognizing him.

He smiled.

“I feel better,” he said. “Where’s Ladd?”

Martin winked.

“I’m not to tell you. As a matter of fact, I don’t know. All that I know is that he took Willard off somewhere this morning, and when he comes back Willard won’t be with him.”

“I am glad,” said Mr. Vaile gravely. “Since Willard has handed over the money he stole to be restored to his victims, I would not have him in prison. It is amazing how quickly he recovered, once he had got that confession off his mind. He will have a chance now of starting again, and after the lesson he has had I think he will be a better man.”

“I hope so, too, Dad. But what about us? Seems to me we are rather at a loose end. We haven’t more than enough between us to pay the Professor’s hotel and doctor’s bill.”

“We must not complain,” replied his father. “We are together again. Somehow we shall find means of repairing this vessel, and getting back to Lemuria.”

Martin shrugged his shoulders, then laughed.

“Yes, luck’s been good to us so far. Must have been those lucky stones Akon gave me, and which, by the way, I’ve never looked at from that day to this.”

“Wait,” he added. “I’ll go and fetch them. Perhaps, if we put them out in the light, they’ll bring us fresh fortune.”

Slipping through the hatch, he dropped down the ladder, to return in a few minutes with the little leathern bag which Prince Akon had given him.

“Here they are,” he said.

Mr. Vaile took the bag, opened it and turned the contents into his open hand.

He gave a gasp of astonishment.

“Luck stones?” he exclaimed. “Good Heavens, Martin, look at them!”

Martin looked, and his eyes fairly goggled.

“They’re pearls!” he exclaimed hoarsely.

“Pearls,” repeated his father—“pearls, and the finest I ever set eyes upon. Twenty—twenty-five—there are thirty-three of them, and the smallest worth at least two thousand dollars!”

For a moment the two stood silent, staring at the beautiful gems which gleamed softly in the morning sunlight.

Suddenly Martin laughed.

“The luck holds,” he said. “The luck holds. Now I shall be able to do what I have always wanted to do—take you and the Professor to Lemuria and introduce you to Akon and Hymer. Dad, it’s going to be the jolliest holiday you ever had in your life.”