rly into the sloping face of the stone. Below was the
half-intelligible symbol of the crossed bones.

There was something in the utter loneliness of the place that
caught my breath sharply. At once I had the feeling of a marauder.
Here slept the guardian of the treasure--and yet in defiance of him
I meant to have it. So, too, had Peter--and I didn't know yet what
he had managed to do to Peter--but I guessed from his journal that
Peter had been a slightly morbid person. He had let the wild
solitude of the island frighten him. He had indulged foolish
fancies about crucifixes. He had in fact let the defenses of his
will be undermined ever so little--and then of course there was no
telling what They could do to you.

With an impatient shiver I got up quickly from my knees. What
abominable nonsense I had been talking--was there a miasma about
that old grave that affected one? I whistled to Crusoe, who was
trotting busily about on mysterious intelligence conveyed to him by
his nose. He ran to me joyfully, and I stooped and patted his warm
vigorous body.

"Let Bill walk, Crusoe," I remarked, "let him! He needn't be a dog
in the manger about the treasure, anyhow."

Now came the moment which I had been trying not to think about. I
had to find the entrance to the cave, and then go into it or part
with my own esteem forever. I went and peered over the cliff. I
had an unacknowledged hope that the shelf of which Peter had
written had been rent off by some cataclysm and that I could not
possibly get down to the doorway in the rock. My hope was vain.
The ledge was there--not an inviting ledge, nor one on which the
unacrobatically inclined would have any impulse to saunter, but a
perfectly good ledge, on which I had not the slightest excuse for
declining to venture. Seventy feet below I saw a narrow strip of
sand, from which the tide was receding. It ran along under the
great precipice which rose on my right, forming the face of the
mountain on the south side. On that strip of sand the old
hiding-place of the-pirates opened. I thought I saw the
overhanging eaves of rock of which the diary had spoken.

There was truly nothing dangerous about the ledge. It was nearly
three feet wide, and had an easy downward trend. Yet you heard the
hungry roar of the surf below, and try as you would not to, caught
glimpses of the white swirl of it. I moved cautiously, keeping
close to the face of the cliff. Crusoe, to my ann