n the life of
a black nigger; and when you have keeled a great many Kaffirs, by the
lash, with the crocodiles, or what-not, then a white man or two makes
less deeference. I acknowledge there were too many on board that sheep;
but what was one to do? You have your Engleesh proverb about the dead
men and the stories; it was necessary to make clin swip. You see the
result."

He shrugged again towards the boxes; but this time, being reminded
of them (I supposed), he rose and went over to see how Harris was
progressing. The captain had never looked round; neither did he look at
Santos. "A leetle dipper," I heard the latter say, "and, perhaps, a few
eenches--" but I lost the last epithet. It followed a glance over the
shoulder in my direction, and immediately preceded the return of Santos
to his camp-stool.

"Yes, it is always better to bury treasure," said he once more; but his
tone was altered; it was more contemplative; and many smoke-rings came
from the shrunk lips before another word; but through them all, his dark
eyes, dull with age, were fixed upon me.

"You are a treasure!" he exclaimed at last, softly enough, but quickly
and emphatically for him, and with a sudden and most diabolical smile.

"So you are going to bury me?"

I had suspected it when first I saw the spade; then not; but since the
visit to the hole I had made up my mind to it.

"Bury you? No, not alive," said Santos, in his playfully reproving
tone. "It would be necessary to deeg so dip!" he added through his few
remaining teeth.

"Well," I said, "you'll swing for it. That's something."

Santos smiled again, benignantly enough this time: in contemplation
also: as an artist smiles upon his work. I was his!

"You live town," said he; "no one knows where you go. You come down
here; no one knows who you are. Your dear friend squire locks you up
for the night, but dreenks too much and goes to slip with the key in his
pocket; it is there when he wakes; but the preesoner, where is he? He is
gone, vanished, escaped in the night, and, like the base fabreec of your
own poet's veesion, he lives no trace--is it trace?--be'ind! A leetle
earth is so easily bitten down; a leetle more is so easily carried up
into the garden; and a beet of nice strong wire might so easily be
found in a cellar, and afterwards in the lock! No, Senhor Cole, I do not
expect to 'ang. My schims have seldom one seengle flaw. There was just
one in the Lady Jermyn; there was--Senhor Co