"Well, we are no worse off than we were before," he remarked with a
voice that he endeavored to render cheerful.

"That's the way to take a disappointment, lad," said the captain,
heartily. "A pound of meat is worth more to us now than a hundred
pounds of plumes, anyway. Now, Chris, quit your grieving an' see if
you can't rustle up some supper. I reckon we'll all feel better after
a warm bite."

"What shall I do with them, Charley?" asked Walter, who had remained
kneeling by the ruined treasure.

"Throw them away, they are valueless," exclaimed his chum somewhat
testily, for his disappointment was almost more than he could bear
cheerfully.

Walter lifted the leather box and disappeared in the darkness toward
the water. He did not throw it into the stream, however, but after a
moment's hesitation on the bank, descended to his canoe and, shoving
his burden far up under the stern deck, retraced his steps to the fire.

In spite of their attempts at cheerfulness, the gloom of their
disappointment hung heavy upon them, and it was rather a silent group
that gathered in the wigwam after supper. Chris and the captain soon
sought their beds and ere long their loud, regular breathing told that
they had found solace for the disappointment of the day. The two boys
felt too excited to sleep and sat long talking over their still
perilous situation.

Suddenly, as on the other two nights, began the now familiar tolling of
the mysterious bell.

The captain stirred uneasily in his sleep and Chris opened his eyes
drowsily but soon fell off to sleep again.

"Come outside, Walt, where we can talk without the chance of being
overheard," Charley whispered.

The two lads stole softly out of the wigwam and down to the water's
edge where they sat down on the grassy bank.

"Now listen closely," Charley commanded.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MORE MYSTERY.

The two boys remained quiet for several minutes listening to the bell's
deep toned tolling. At last Walter remarked, "It don't sound as though
it was very far away from us, not over two miles, I should say."

"Good," exclaimed Charley with satisfaction, "I was about to ask you
what you thought the distance was. Two miles is about what I had
estimated. We can't say very exactly, for sound is likely to travel
far in this still air. But let us make a liberal allowance for the
stillness. I think we are safe in saying that the sound comes from a
point not more than four mi