THE TREASURE IN THE FOREST

The canoe drifted quietly toward the island, where a wide bay opened beneath a blazing sky. A narrow gap in the white reef marked the mouth of a small river, its path visible by the darker green of thick forest spilling down the hillside. Beyond it, mountains rose like frozen waves. The sea was calm, almost unnaturally so.

Evans rested his paddle as Hooker studied a yellowed, fragile map spread across his knee. The paper was creased and torn, its pencil markings barely visible, but the outline of the bay and reef could still be traced.

“Here’s the reef,” Evans said, pointing. “And that’s the river. The star must be where it crosses.”

Hooker nodded. “The dotted line runs from the reef opening to a clump of palm trees. We’ll land there and follow it inland.”

Evans frowned at strange marks on the map. “Looks like a house plan. And that writing?”

“Chinese,” Hooker replied. “Like its owner.”

They fell silent, exhausted. The long night voyage without supplies had drained them. Evans tried to think of gold ingots buried somewhere ahead, but his thoughts returned obsessively to fresh water. His lips burned with thirst. As the canoe neared the reef, the sound of water washing against coral lulled him into sleep.

He dreamed of the night they overheard three Chinese sailors speaking around a fire. One of them, Chang-hi, had told of a Spanish galleon wrecked centuries earlier, its treasure buried for a later return that never came. Chang-hi had stumbled upon the gold by chance, reburied it alone, and guarded the secret fiercely. In the dream, Chang-hi grew monstrous, grinning horribly, blocking Evans from heaps of gold that transformed into a furnace burning his mouth.

“Evans! Wake up!”

Hooker’s voice startled him awake. They were inside the lagoon now. Palm trees and bushes lined up exactly as the map showed.

They paddled to the river mouth. Evans nearly drank seawater in desperation before they reached fresh water upstream. Hooker tested it cautiously, then nodded, and both drank greedily. Evans leaned too far, sucking water directly from the river until Hooker pulled him back.

Once refreshed, they paddled back to shore, landed near the bushes, and dragged the canoe up the sand. Evans took an L-shaped digging tool, and Hooker carried the paddle as they pushed into the jungle, following the straight line from reef to forest.

The heat faded as shadows closed around them. Enormous trees rose like pillars beneath a green canopy. Strange flowers hung in the dimness, and fungi mottled the forest floor. Evans shivered.

They heard rushing water and soon reached the river again. Floating leaves and pale flowers drifted on a quiet pool before rapids churned downstream.

“We should be near it,” Hooker said. “He mentioned a heap of stones.”

They moved slowly along the bank. Suddenly Evans stopped.

“What’s that?”

Ahead lay a blue-clad figure. As they approached, they saw a Chinaman lying face-down, a spade nearby, and a shallow hole beside a scattered pile of stones.

“Someone came before us,” Hooker whispered.

Evans erupted in angry swearing, while Hooker bent closer to the body. The swollen limbs and darkened neck told the story plainly.

Hooker turned to the hole and cried out. Half-buried within lay dull yellow bars. Gold.

“It’s still here!” he shouted.

Evans rushed forward, clearing dirt away with his bare hands. He lifted an ingot, grinning despite a small thorn pricking his skin.

“Only gold weighs like this,” he said.

Hooker stared uneasily at the dead man. “He came alone,” he said. “Maybe a snake—”

Evans shrugged. “What does it matter?”

They loaded several ingots into Evans’s jacket to carry. Hooker flinched as he glanced back at the corpse.

“I can’t stand him,” he muttered. “Let me bury him first.”

“Nonsense,” Evans snapped. “Let him rot.”

They lifted the bundle and walked deeper into the forest. Soon Evans slowed, breathing heavily. Sweat covered his face.

“My arms ache,” he complained. “It’s suffocating here.”

Suddenly he dropped the bundle and clutched his throat. “Don’t touch me,” he gasped, leaning against a tree. His body slid downward, twisting in pain, limbs jerking violently.

Hooker rushed to him. “Evans!”

“Put the gold back,” Evans whispered.

As Hooker handled the ingots, he felt a sharp prick in his thumb. A long, slender thorn stuck in his skin.

Evans gave one last cry and collapsed, motionless.

Hooker froze. His eyes darted from the thorn to the dead Chinaman and back again. Then understanding struck him like ice.

The strange marks on the map. Chang-hi’s insistence on safety. That grin.

The thorns were poisoned—like those used by jungle tribes in blowpipes.

“God help me,” Hooker whispered.

He sucked desperately at his thumb, but soon a deep ache spread through his arms and shoulders. His fingers stiffened. He knew it was useless.

He sat beside the pile of gold, staring at Evans’s twisted body as silence swallowed the forest. Above, a faint breeze stirred the leaves, and white petals drifted slowly down through the green gloom.

Chang-hi’s grin lingered in his mind as the poison crept toward his heart.