rth I and my
detail were back on the job. We were making progress. By this time a
path had been cut through to the palm grove and from it to the umbrella
tree.

It was clear that a century ago the line of palms must have stretched
farther down the hill, for now the nearest was at least fifty yards from
the umbrella tree, instead of twelve as mentioned in the directions.

The only alternative to this was that the original umbrella tree had
disappeared, and this I did not want to believe. At best one of the
landmarks had gone.

We could go seven paces beyond the big tree, but "beyond" is a vague
word, the point from which the measurement began having vanished.

Moreover, we encountered here another difficulty.

"Take a Be line from here thirty paces throu ye Forked Tree," we read on
the chart, but the forked tree had apparently fallen and rotted long
since. There were trees in the jungle, to be sure, but none of them were
of sufficient age to have been in existence then.

The best I could do was to guess at the point seven paces beyond the
umbrella tree and, using it as a center, draw a circle around it at
thirty paces. Our machetes hacked a trail, and at one point of it we
crossed the stump of a tree that had been in its day of some size.

The stump had rotted so that one could kick it to pieces with the heel
of a boot. This might or might not be the remains of the forked tree,
but since we were working on a chance, this struck us as a good one to
try.

It was impossible to tell where the fork had been, but we made a guess
at it and proceeded to follow directions.

"Here cut a Rite Anggel N. N. E. till Tong of Spit is lost."

This at least was specific and definite. North northeast we went by the
compass, slashing our way through the heavy vines and shrubbery inch by
inch. We dipped over a hillock and came out of the jungle into the sand
before the end of the spit was hidden by higher ground.

"Cast three long steps Souwest to Big Rock and dig on landward side."

Three steps to the southwest brought me deeper into the sand. There was
no big rock in sight.

I looked at Tom. He laughed, as he had a habit of doing when in a
difficulty.

"I guess we'll have to try again, Jack."

Gallagher broke in, touching his hat in apology:

"Not meaning to butt in, Mr. Sedgwick, but mightn't the rock be covered
with sand? Give a hundred years and a heap of sand would wash into this
cove here."

"There's sense in tha