Trail of Treasure

Trail of Treasure: A Romantic Adventure...

"Ahh, Charlotte, my dear." The strained voice of a middle aged man rang out proudly. "You are so very brave. You make me the proudest father in the entire world." The words left the man out of breath. Worse yet, he began to cough of a storm. The man, Hiraim Pemberton, loved a good folktale. Ever since he was a boy, he read all the tall tales and held them to heart. His love was so strong that he even considered them to be real. With all his heart, be believed the treasure was still hidden away just waiting to be found. Even on his deathbed, so to speak, his belief held firm. The old man found his days drastically numbered. He had cancer of the lung and refused treatment. Death would visit him in a number of weeks. The disease left him so frail and sickly that he could not embark on this journey himself. In his place he chose to send his one and only child, a young lady named Charlotte. She too, loved an adventure although she was raised and bred in high society.

"Of course father, dear. I just hope that I don't let you down." The young lady had lugged her own small suitcase down the front steps of her family mansion. "O'Malley's treasure will be ours at long last." She kissed her father's cheeks and hugged him goodbye. "I love you very much and I can't wait for the day I see you again." She spoke those words even though she knew it would not be in this lifetime.

"As do I, Charlie, as do I." The old man responded. With the clearing of his throat, he turned his attention to the group of rough and tough men gathered in the front drive. "Darling, I'd like to introduce you to your crew. They've sworn their lives to both you and I and it is there duty above all to bring you safely back to me."

With this, the patchwork collection of dirty men in raggedy clothes took a wavering step forward. Some looked burly and illiterate, while others looked hungry. The strong workers that Pemberton had removed from his employ for this adventure had apparently been bolstered by a number of idle hands.

Casting their glances about shiftily, the men eyed each other, seeming to wait for a cue. Finally, one of the men, slightly taller and more muscular than the rest, opened his mouth. At first, only a sputter came out. Then, as he spoke in a raspy voice, he gained courage.

"Er, I'm Shanky. I'll be the, uh, foreman, for this venture. I swear upon a mighty oath that I'll deliver us to that treasure. And, uh, Sir," he added, almost as an afterthought, glancing first to Charlotte, then to her father. "We'll be sure to take good care of her."

"Aye, aye," mutter the assortment of crew.

Another of the men, shorter and plumper, with a ruddy complexion and a bushy mustache, looked nervously at Shanky, then spoke. He had a higher-pitched, stuttering voice. "I'll, uh, I'll vouch for that," he said.

Shanky turns to the shorter man and, with a sharp cunning look in his eye, says, "Thank you, Portbrook."