They rounded the table quickly, Pitch holding the flashlight close to the wall. Half obliterated with age, but still faintly visible, was the outline of a scroll, in the center of which they made out the figure of a lion standing upon his hind legs and holding a small bird clutched between his paws.

“A coat of arms,” Pitch said huskily.

The lettering beneath the crest was in Spanish and only the top two lines could be made out:

1669 AÑOS
AQUI EL CAPITAN RA …

His voice still heavy with emotion, Pitch translated: “In the year 1669. Here Captain …” He turned to Steve. “That’s the year the Spaniards were driven from Antago by the pirates,” he said quickly. “Steve! This proves I’m right! This is a fort to which the Spaniards fled after leaving Antago!”

In his excitement Pitch had directed the flashlight’s beam from the wall to the opposite side of the room, and there they saw another great split in the wall, leading to a chamber beyond. “Look, Steve!” Pitch shouted. “Another room!”

Pitch ran around the table toward the doorway. He was nearing the center of the room when suddenly there was the sharp clanking of metal against stone. Steve caught a glimpse of the shovel as Pitch’s foot sent it wildly across the room. Then Pitch fell, and the flashlight went out to the sound of splintering glass. Stumbling against the table in the darkness, Steve groped his way forward, trying to find Pitch.

LOST!

7

In the darkness, Steve could make out the dim square of light beneath the ventilation shaft. Pitch’s legs were within this patch of light, but the rest of his body was enveloped in the darkness of the chamber.

As Steve reached him, Pitch was drawing one leg up to a kneeling position.

“Pitch! Are you all right?”

There was a groan more of disgust than agony as Pitch said, “Got the wind knocked out of me. But the flashlight, Steve! Where is it? Is it broken?”

They found it by groping in the dark, running their frantic hands across the cold, smooth stone. They took one look at it in the dim light of the shaft and knew immediately that it was hopeless to think it would ever work again. The end had been driven hard against the stone; there was no lens, no bulb, nothing but a battered, twisted piece of metal.

“Maybe it’ll work, Pitch. We’ve got other bulbs. We can try.”

Shaking his head, Pitch muttered, “Sure we’ve got more bulbs. More batteries, too. But not another flashlight. We haven’t a chance.”

Steve was making his way toward where they’d left the packs when he heard Pitch mutter angrily, almost to himself, “What a numbskull I am! What a stupid fool not to have brought another flashlight along!”