The Treasure of El Patron Read online

  TREASURE QUEST

  “What does it say, Gamell?” Tag asked eagerly.

  “It happens to be a ship’s manifest. A ship called El Patrón.”

  “I don’t get it—” Cowboy started.

  Tag held up his hand to silence his friend. “Let Gamell finish.”

  The old man cleared his throat. “El Patrón was a galleon on its way back to Spain from a trade mission. It went down in a hurricane and most of the crew and passengers were lost. A few members of the crew escaped with this. This manifest is now more than three hundred years old. It lists the silver, gold, and other cargo that was aboard El Patrón.” He took a second yellowed piece of paper out of the case. “This is another account of the cargo. The unregistered cargo, that is. It’s signed by an Admiral Bartolomé de Campos, who survived the shipwreck.”

  “Shipwreck?” Tag said the word almost reverently.

  “The one your daddy was looking for, Tag.”

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  SHILOH, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  MISSING MAY, Cynthia Rylant

  THE SECRET FUNERAL OF SLIM JIM THE SNAKE, Elvira Woodruff

  AWFULLY SHORT FOR THE FOURTH GRADE, Elvira Woodruff

  THE SUMMER I SHRANK MY GRANDMOTHER, Elvira Woodruff

  HOW TO EAT FRIED WORMS, Thomas Rockwell

  HOW TO FIGHT A GIRL, Thomas Rockwell

  BEETLES, LIGHTLY TOASTED, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  YEARLING BOOKS are designed especially to entertain and enlighten young people. Patricia Reilly Giff, consultant to this series, received her bachelor’s degree from Marymount College and a master’s degree in history from St. John’s University. She holds a Professional Diploma in Reading and a Doctorate of Humane Letters from Hofstra University. She was a teacher and reading consultant for many years, and is the author of numerous books for young readers.

  For a complete listing of all Yearling titles,

  write to

  Dell Readers Service,

  P.O. Box 1045,

  South Holland, IL 60473.

  Published by

  Bantam Doubleday Dell Books for Young Readers

  a division of

  Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

  1540 Broadway

  New York, New York 10036

  Copyright © 1996 by Gary Paulsen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The trademarks Yearling® and Dell® are registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-80399-3

  Series design: Barbara Berger

  Interior illustration by Michael David Biegel

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Yearling Books You Will Enjoy

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Dear Readers:

  Real adventure is many things—it’s danger and daring and sometimes even a struggle for life or death. From competing in the Iditarod dogsled race across Alaska to sailing the Pacific Ocean, I’ve experienced some of this adventure myself. I try to capture this spirit in my stories, and each time I sit down to write, that challenge is a bit of an adventure in itself.

  You’re all a part of this adventure as well. Over the years I’ve had the privilege of talking with many of you in schools, and this book is the result of hearing firsthand what you want to read about most—power-packed action and excitement.

  You asked for it—so hang on tight while we jump into another thrilling story in my World of Adventure.

  1641

  Admiral Bartolomé de Campos of the Spanish galleon El Patrón set his jaw and stared grimly at the vast horizon.

  The wind was beginning to die.

  He’d seen it like this only a few times before. The air was thick with a muggy yellow haze, and in the distance high, thin clouds rolled across the sky.

  It was coming. He could smell it. Why wouldn’t that fool Captain Vargas pay attention to him and ready for bad weather?

  The admiral considered their vessel. El Patrón was a top-heavy, leaky ship that seemed to require constant manning of her pumps just to keep her afloat.

  The ship was overloaded in every way—a fact the admiral had complained about also, but to no avail. Some 495 passengers and more than 140 tons of cargo took up practically every square inch of room.

  It was the cargo the admiral thought of now. There was, of course, the consignment of gold and silver belonging to the Spanish Crown. And there were the Chinese porcelain and silks brought aboard to use for trading purposes in the colonies.

  But there was also the contraband, large fortunes in gold bars accumulated by colonial traders and smuggled aboard ship by bribing the officers to not declare it on the manifest. In addition there were the personal items, jewelry and precious gems of great value that the more important passengers had managed to conceal and bring aboard.

  The admiral thought of his own personal contraband. He was fond of one item in particular—a gold dagger with three perfect emeralds in the hilt, given to him in the colonies by a very special lady.

  The wind suddenly picked up. Whitecaps appeared on the surface of the ocean and rain began pelting the deck. The admiral raced to speak to the pilot.

  The galleon was already being tossed about like a child’s toy. From somewhere forward, timbers snapped. To lighten the ship, the frantic crew began tossing the deck cargo overboard, along with five of the ship’s bronze cannons.

  In the first hour of the hurricane, the mainmast was cut in two. As it fell into the ocean it took with it immense portions of rigging. El Patrón was crippled and water was coming in faster than the crew could pump it out.

  The struggle lasted three days. Miraculously, El Patrón stayed afloat. Some of the crew and passengers had been lost, but those remaining had worked around the clock to hold the water at bay, while others had managed to rig a makeshift sail.

  They had been blown so far off course that the captain and pilots were confused about their position. To the admiral, however, the new area seemed familiar. He was convinced they were near the deadly coral reefs that extended some twelve miles off Bermuda in the western North Atlantic Ocean.

  His suspicions were proved correct late that third night. It was midnight when the galleon struck a reef, and with a sickening crunch the ship lurched to one side. It jolted to a stop and then pitched forward, the hull scraping against a rock. Water began gushing in.

  The crew manned the longboats, forgetting their duties and leaving most of the passengers, including the Archbishop of Havana, to a watery grave. The brave admiral elected to go down with his ship. But as the galleon heaved and the bow rose, he was flung into the foamy black sea. Sailors from a departing longboat hoisted him, barely breathing, aboard and set out in the darkness.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Hey, wake up, mate. Maybe I want to buy something here.”

  Thirteen-year-old Tag Jones’s eyes flew open. He scrambled to an upright position from his makeshift bed on the bright pink Bermuda sand inside the bait shack. “I’m awake, I—Cowboy! I ought
to—”

  “Ought to thank me, that’s what.” The tall, dark native Bermudian boy folded his arms smugly.

  Tag scowled at his friend. “For what? Waking me out of one of the best dreams I ever had?”

  “I got something better than an old daydream about Spanish gold. I got tourists.”

  “Where?” Tag jumped up, leaned over the bait shop counter, and searched the narrow strip of beach. “I don’t see anybody.”

  Cowboy, whose real name was Kevin Trace, whipped the tattered straw hat that had earned him his nickname off his head in exasperation. “I didn’t bring them with me, mate. They asked where was a good place to get fishing equipment and bait. I gave directions to your shack here on the beach and then hurried up here to tell you. Besides, I figure you don’t want to be caught sleeping by a couple of rich tourists.”

  Tag stretched and ran his hand through his sandy brown hair. “What makes you think they’re rich?”

  Cowboy grinned. “I been following them for a while. They’re handing out money right and left.”

  Tag’s face brightened. He fingered the worn Spanish coin that hung on a chain around his neck. “Maybe we’ll get enough to get my reserve tank fixed and we can go down again.”

  “Shooo. Is that all you think about? Diving by those reefs? There ain’t nothing down there. Every treasure hunter on these islands done been all over them reefs. Nobody ever come up with nothing.”

  “Then where did this come from?” Tag held out the gold coin.

  “Your daddy was one of the best divers around here. He gave that piece to you before he died. And I know all about his diary telling how he thinks there’s more where that come from. But if he were here right now, he’d tell you he didn’t know for sure.”

  “He knew.” Tag pulled a T-shirt over his deeply tanned upper body.

  The sound of two approaching mopeds interrupted their conversation. Cowboy wisely stepped around the corner of the small thatched building, out of sight. He didn’t want the potential customers to think he had been scamming them.

  The men were tourists. That was easy to spot. But there was something about them that made Tag uneasy.

  The taller man wore his blond hair pulled straight back in a tight, greasy ponytail. His eyes looked over a sharp nose in an icy blue stare. The other man had a shiny bald head. He was shorter and heavier and did most of the talking.

  “My friend and I are interested in renting some equipment to go fishing.”

  Tag nodded. “Sure thing. What are you going after?”

  The man hesitated. “Does it matter? We just want to fish. You set us up and we’ll pay you and be on our way.”

  Tag scratched his head. “Are you going to be close to shore or out in deep sea?”

  “Why do you want to know?” the tall man growled.

  The bald man put up his hand. “It’s all right, Spear, the kid asked a perfectly logical question.” He turned to Tag. “We thought we’d go out in the bay a ways. Maybe fish around the reefs some. You have any suggestions?”

  Normally Tag would have given them some advice, but the way the blond man spoke made him uncomfortable. “I hear they’re having some luck out in the harbor.” Tag gathered up two long, thin poles and bagged some bait. Then he set a rental agreement on the counter. “Sign here, mister. Oh, and you need to have the poles back by this time tomorrow.”

  The heavyset man signed the slip, paid him, and gave him a generous twenty-dollar tip. “Thanks a lot, kid. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Cowboy stepped back into the shack and the two boys watched the men drive away. “You made a killing, mate. And on top of that, they’re coming back tomorrow.”

  Tag split the tip with his friend. “There’s something wrong with those guys. They didn’t know the first thing about fishing.”

  “Who cares? They’re probably just tourists who want to brag to their friends back home. Besides, they pay good.”

  Tag shrugged. “You have a point there. What do you say we close up shop and go into town and get that tank of mine fixed?”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The road into town was crowded with slow-moving taxi-cabs, mopeds, bicycles, and colorfully dressed pedestrians. The native Bermudians were either related to or knew everyone in the village. They waved and smiled at the boys.

  A tall, muscular policeman dressed in military-style shorts, which exposed a long, puckered scar on his right leg, stood in the center of the street directing traffic. He stopped the oncoming cars and motioned for the boys to cross. “How’s your mama, Tag?”

  “She’s fine, Thomas.”

  The officer raised one eyebrow and slowly limped across the street with them. “Some saying maybe she works too hard down at that tourist café.”

  Tag smiled at the man, who had been one of his father’s closest friends. “Some would probably know. See you around, Thomas.”

  Thomas winked at Cowboy. “You try and keep this no-account white boy out of trouble, hear?”

  “It’ll be hard, but I’ll try.” Cowboy ran to catch up with Tag. “Want me to carry your tank?”

  “No thanks, I’ve got it. Come on, we better hustle if we’re gonna catch Gamell before he closes.”

  Tag led the way to the other side of town and up a steep road to a small, run-down shop with a sign above the door that said DIVING.

  A small silver bell tinkled as they burst through the screen door. An old man with wrinkled grayish black skin and streaks of white in his hair looked up and smiled, showing that he was missing two front teeth. “Tag, boy. What do you know?”

  “I need you to look at my tank if you have time, Gamell.”

  The elderly man put on his glasses and examined the tank in silence. He tapped the gauge. “Here’s your problem. I’ll have it fixed in no time.” He took it apart and began replacing fittings. “You boys going down this evening?”

  Tag nodded. “Thought we’d take another look at Tiger Head reef.”

  Gamell shook his head. “Just like your daddy. Always searching for the big treasure.”

  “It’s out there, Gamell, and I’m gonna be the one to bring it in.”

  Gamell studied the boy with sharp eyes. “I was hoping you would eventually give it up. But I can see you won’t ever quit until you find it.” The old man blew air through the gap between his teeth. “Maybe it’s time I showed you something.” He shuffled out of the room and returned in a few moments with a polished wooden case. He took a rolled-up piece of paper out of it. Gently he slid a faded red ribbon off the document and slowly spread the paper out on the counter.

  The boys crowded in for a closer look. It was a list written in Spanish.

  “What does it say, Gamell?” Tag asked eagerly.

  “It happens to be a ship’s manifest. A ship called El Patrón.”

  “I don’t get it—” Cowboy started.

  Tag held up his hand to silence his friend. “Let Gamell finish.”

  The old man cleared his throat. “El Patrón was a galleon on its way back to Spain from a trade mission. It went down in a hurricane and most of the crew and passengers were lost. A few members of the crew escaped with this. This manifest is now more than three hundred years old. It lists the silver, gold and other cargo that was aboard El Patrón.” He took a second yellowed piece of paper out of the case. “This is another account of the cargo. The unregistered cargo, that is. It’s signed by an Admiral Bartolomé de Campos, who survived the shipwreck.”

  “Shipwreck?” Tag said the word almost reverently.

  “The one your daddy was looking for, Tag.”

  “You know where it is, Gamell?”

  “Not the exact location. All I have is the admiral’s account, which is not too specific. Here; it’s somewhere under this reef.” He pointed at a map taped to the counter. “That’s where your father thought it was.”

  The old man grew solemn and rolled up the paper. “I showed this manifest to your da
ddy and it was the cause of his death. Thomas lost his job as chief of police because of his hurt leg. I wouldn’t be showing it to you now except I know you’re hardheaded and not going to stop no matter what.”

  “My father was killed in a diving accident, Gamell. His regulator malfunctioned at the bottom of the ocean. Thomas tried to save him and lost part of his leg to a barracuda. It wasn’t your fault. No one could have done anything.”

  “It could be the treasure.” Gamell looked at Tag sadly. “The ones who practice bush, bad magic, call it cursed. No one else from the island would even think of looking for it.”

  “Bush.” Tag spit on the floor. “You believe in that voodoo junk?”

  Gamell studied the boy again. “Maybe. But who knows, Tag. Could be you’re just the one to break the spell.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Look who’s coming.” Cowboy pointed to a blue-and-white outboard headed toward them on the bay. “It’s those tourists who rented poles from you earlier.”

  Tag slowed their boat and waited for the two men to get closer. “Have any luck?” he yelled.

  The one called Spear glared at him. The bald man, who had signed his name on the rental agreement as George Davis, waved. “No luck at all, kid. We’re gonna call it a day.” He stared at Cowboy. “Don’t I know you?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Where are you two headed? Getting a little late for fishing, isn’t it? It’s almost dark.”

  “Going out to practice some night diving.”

  “Diving? For what?” the man asked.

  Tag shrugged. “Nothing in particular. Just diving.” Not wanting to tell them his plans, he gunned the motor and yelled over the noise, “See you around, Mr. Davis.”

  When they reached the spot near the end of the reef that Gamell had pinpointed on the map, Tag killed the engine and threw the anchor overboard. Excitement coursed through him as the gentle waves lapped at the side of the boat. He rubbed his hands together. “This is it, Cowboy. Tonight we’re gonna be rich!”