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“Here! You’re a watchman, ain’t you! All right, though—nothing’s happened.”

“My! have I been asleep?”

“Oh, partly, partly. Nearly time for us to be moving, pard. What’ll we do with what little swag we’ve got left?”

“I don’t know—leave it here as we’ve always done, I reckon. No use to take it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in silver’s something to carry.”

“Well—all right—it won’t matter to come here once more.”

“No—but I’d say come in the night as we used to do—it’s better.”

“Yes: but look here; it may be a good while before I get the right chance at that job; accidents might happen; ’tain’t in such a very good place; we’ll just regularly bury it—and bury it deep.”

“Good idea,” said the comrade, who walked across the room, knelt down, raised one of the rearward hearth-stones and took out a bag that jingled pleasantly. He subtracted from it twenty or thirty dollars for himself and as much for Injun Joe, and passed the bag to the latter, who was on his knees in the corner, now, digging with his bowie-knife.

The boys forgot all their fears, all their miseries in an instant. With gloating eyes they watched every movement. Luck!—the splendor of it was beyond all imagination! Six hundred dollars was money enough to make half a dozen boys rich! Here was treasure-hunting under the happiest auspices—there would not be any bothersome uncertainty as to where to dig. They nudged each other every moment—eloquent nudges and easily understood, for they simply meant—“Oh, but ain’t you glad now we’re here!”

Joe’s knife struck upon something.

“Hello!” said he.

“What is it?” said his comrade.

“Half-rotten plank—no, it’s a box, I believe. Here—bear a hand and we’ll see what it’s here for. Never mind, I’ve broke a hole.”

He reached his hand in and drew it out—

“Man, it’s money!”

The two men examined the handful of coins. They were gold. The boys above were as excited as themselves, and as delighted.

Joe’s comrade said:

“We’ll make quick work of this. There’s an old rusty pick over amongst the weeds in the corner the other side of the fireplace—I saw it a minute ago.”

He ran and brought the boys’ pick and shovel. Injun Joe took the pick, looked it over critically, shook his head, muttered something to himself, and then began to use it. The box was soon unearthed. It was not very large; it was iron bound and had been very strong before the slow years had injured it. The men contemplated the treasure awhile in blissful silence.

“Pard, there’s thousands of dollars here,” said Injun Joe.

“’Twas always said that Murrel’s gang used to be around here one summer,” the stranger observed.

“I know it,” said Injun Joe; “and this looks like it, I should say.”

“Now you won’t need to do that job.”

The halfbreed frowned. Said he:

“You don’t know me. Least you don’t know all about that thing. ’Tain’t robbery altogether—it’s revenge!” and a wicked light flamed in his eyes. “I’ll need your help in it. When it’s finished—then Texas. Go home to your Nance and your kids, and stand by till you hear from me.”

“Well—if you say so; what’ll we do with this—bury it again?”

“Yes. [Ravishing delight overhead.] No! by the great Sachem, no! [Profound distress overhead.] I’d nearly forgot. That pick had fresh earth on it! [The boys were sick with terror in a moment.] What business has a pick and a shovel here? What business with fresh earth on them? Who brought them here—and where are they gone? Have you heard anybody?—seen anybody? What! bury it again and leave them to come and see the ground disturbed? Not exactly—not exactly. We’ll take it to my den.”

“Why, of course! Might have thought of that before. You mean Number One?”

“No—Number Two—under the cross. The other place is bad—too common.”

“All right. It’s nearly dark enough to start.”

Injun Joe got up and went about from window to window cautiously peeping out. Presently he said:

“Who could have brought those tools here? Do you reckon they can be upstairs?”

The boys’ breath forsook them. Injun Joe put his hand on his knife, halted a moment, undecided, and then turned toward the stairway. The boys thought of the closet, but their strength was gone. The steps came creaking up the stairs—the intolerable distress of the situation woke the stricken resolution of the lads—they were about to spring for the closet, when there was a crash of rotten timbers and Injun Joe landed on the ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway. He gathered himself up cursing, and his comrade said:

“Now what’s the use of all that? If it’s anybody, and they’re up there, let them stay there—who cares? If they want to jump down, now, and get into trouble, who objects? It will be dark in fifteen minutes—and then let them follow us if they want to. I’m willing. In my opinion, whoever hove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts or devils or something. I’ll bet they’re running yet.”

Joe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what daylight was left ought to be economized in getting things ready for leaving. Shortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the deepening twilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box.

Tom and Huck rose up, weak but vastly relieved, and stared after them through the chinks between the logs of the house. Follow? Not they. They were content to reach ground again without broken necks, and take the townward track over the hill. They did not talk much. They were too much absorbed in hating themselves—hating the ill luck that made them take the spade and the pick there. But for that, Injun Joe never would have suspected. He would have hidden the silver with the gold to wait there till his “revenge” was satisfied, and then he would have had the misfortune to find that money turn up missing. Bitter, bitter luck that the tools were ever brought there!