Jibby Jones · Chapter 17 (2/2)

“If you knew all about the river, you would know all about all parts of it,” Jibby Jones said. “You would know about Arkansas and Mississippi and the things that happened there. You’d know that whenever there is a lone pine in the corner of a farm, it might be a M’rell tree. And you’d remember it whenever anybody talked about land pirate’s treasure. You’d know that people down there have hunted and hunted for John A. M’ell’s hidden money, and never found it. Of course, they didn’t find it. Why? Because it’s here. The minute I saw this tree, I knew this was where it was hidden.”

“Yes, but⁠—” Wampus began.

“How far is it from here to the river or to the slough, if there is a slough?”

“Of course there’s a slough,” I said. “There’s Riverbank Slough. It’s two or three miles from here.”

“Yes, but⁠—” Wampus said again.

“But what?” Jibby asked.

“But this isn’t the place; this can’t be the place,” Wampus said. “The map said Greenland.”

Jibby took off his hat and unpinned the map from inside the sweatband, where he always carried it. He spread it out on his hand.

“ ‘Land’ or ‘sand,’ ” he said. “It might be one or the other, the way it is scribbled. It’s ‘Greenland’ or it’s ‘green sand,’ just as you want to read it. And there wasn’t any treasure at Greenland. Look here⁠—where would the green sand be, according to this map?”

We leaned over the map and studied it a minute.

“Right there,” said Tad, putting his finger on the very spot where the X mark was.

“All right!” Jibby said. “Here’s your river, and here’s your slough, and here’s your creek, and here’s your crossroads. And these crisscross scribble marks stand for Riverbank. And here’s your signal pine, and your house, and your green sand right where the X mark is⁠—and marked ‘green sand’ plain enough for anybody. And what would John A. M’rell’s brother send as directions if he hid the money here, and John A. M’rell was a criminal and likely to be hunted when he was coming for his treasure?”

“What would he say?” Tad asked.

“He would say, ‘Come up the Mississippi River to Riverbank, Iowa. Only, you’d better not go there; they may be looking for you. So, when you come to the first slough below Riverbank, row up the slough until you come to a creek. You can sneak up that creek without much chance of anybody seeing you. So come along up the creek until you come to some green sand, about two or three miles back from the slough. And, when you come to the green sand, climb up the creek bank and you’ll see a brick house, and a signal pine I planted. That’s where I am.’ ”

“Gee!” I said, it was all so plain.

“How do you pronounce M-u-r-r-e-l-l?” Jibby Jones asked.

“Murl,” I said.

“Well, that old negro Mose pronounced it M’rell,” Jibby Jones said. “M’rell and Murl is all the same. One is the Southern way of saying it, and the other is the Northern way. And you say the name of this creek is Murl’s Run. That’s M’rell’s Run⁠—M-u-r-r-e-l-l’s Run. This is the place!”