olded. "Leave the old dog to find the trail. I be hanged if I take him
alive for Stede Bonnet. What say, Bill? Skin and stuff him for a
trophy----"

"First catch the slippery son o' Satan," tartly answered Bill. "He hides
away like a hare. You can track him, no doubt, Trimble, but the sun will
be down ere long. I'll not pass the night in this cursed puddle of a
place."

Just then Jack Cockrell roved far enough to find on the knoll a small
pit freshly dug, with a spade and pick beside it. Like excited children,
his two comrades ran to inspect the hole which Blackbeard's seamen had
dug ready for the treasure chest. Then they scattered to explore the
knoll in search of signs to indicate where previous hoards might have
been buried. Trimble Rogers scouted like a red Indian, eager to find
traces of upturned earth, or the leaf mould disturbed, or marks of an
axe on the pine trees as symbols of secret guidance. It was a futile
quest, possibly because the high spring tides, when swept by easterly
gales, had now and then crept back from the coast to cover the knoll and
obliterate man's handiwork.

Like a hunter bewitched, the gray buccaneer was absorbed in this rare
pastime until Bill Saxby exclaimed:

"Is there no wit in our addled pates? Quit this dashed folly! What of
the treasure chest that was spilled from the boat?"

"It won't take wings. Wait a bit," growled Trimble. "_Madre de Dios_,
but there must be more of it here. This truant Cap'n Teach knew the road
well. Did ye mark how he doubled for the knoll, like a fox to its hole?"

Jack Cockrell ended the argument when he spoke up, with a shamefaced
air:

"We are three heartless men! One of the seamen is drowned, rest his
soul, and we could not save the poor wretch. But the other fellow was
stabbed and lies in the grass near the stream. For all we know, there
may be life in him."

"Heartless? 'Tis monstrous of us," cried Bill Saxby. "This greed for
pirates' gold is like a poison."

They hastened to retrace their steps. The wounded seaman was breathing
his last when they reached his side. They could not have prolonged his
life had they remained with him. Jack Cockrell stroked his damp forehead
and murmured:

"Farewell to ye, Jesse Strawn. Any message before you slip your cable?"

There was a faint whisper of:

"Scuppered, lad! Take warnin' and avast this cruel piratin' or you'll
get it. A few words from the Bible 'ud ease me off."

To Jack's amazement, the ve