“Frank, do you really believe that?” cried Bob.
“I certainly do,” answered the other, who knew it could not be otherwise.
“He dropped the gold ballast to save his life; but, Frank, do you think a man like Jared Scott would ever want to lose track of such a prize?” Bob went on.
“Make your mind easy on that score,” broke in Reddy, who had been listening to this talk. “Jared always had an eye to the main chance; an’ even if his life was hanging by a thread, he’d never throw a bag of the real stuff overboard, but what he’d mark the spot where it fell!”
Bob Archer’s excitement grew stronger than ever. He caught hold of his chum by the arm, and Frank could see how the Kentucky boy was trembling.
“Frank, what about that packet he gave you?” he demanded.
“Oh! I’ve got it safe still; and here it is,” replied the other, as he ran one hand inside his jacket, and produced the envelope into which Jared Scott had slipped the paper on which he had written something, at the time he was leaving them to seek the services of a doctor down the river.
“Frank, we saved his life, he said!” Bob continued.
“Perhaps we did; and again he might have got out of that pickle without any help from us. It was a toss-up,” Frank replied, smiling at his chum’s eagerness.
“But just then he was feeling mighty grateful to us, Frank. I saw how he started, and looked at you, when he heard your name. And I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if what he wrote down on that paper turned out to be directions, telling us where to locate the three stolen bags of gold!”