“Twenty,” said Goodloe, making two crosses on the table with his chalk.
“Why am I a fool?” I asked. “Buried treasure has been found before in many places.”
“Because,” said he, “in calculating the point on the river where your line would strike you neglected to allow for the variation. The variation there would be nine degrees west. Let me have your pencil.”
Goodloe Banks figured rapidly on the back of an envelope.
“The distance, from north to south, of the line run from the Spanish mission,” said he, “is exactly twenty-two miles. It was run by a pocket-compass, according to your story. Allowing for the variation, the point on the Alamito River where you should have searched for your treasure is exactly six miles and nine hundred and forty-five varas farther west than the place you hit upon. Oh, what a-fool you are, Jim!”
“What is this variation that you speak of?” I asked. “I thought figures never lied.”
“The variation of the magnetic compass,” said Goodloe, “from the true meridian.”
He smiled in his superior way; and then I saw
