“Well, now we’ll go have a look at that Spanish gold,” said the captain, as they started on the return trip. “And I want to have a look at that ship moored in the sand for so long! They say some of those old-timers were pretty good sailors, but I don’t think much of a skipper who runs his windjammer under the ground!”
CHAPTER XXIII
THE DRAGON’S LAST STROKE
The sun had barely raised above the horizon on the following day before the ranch echoed to the preparations for the treasure hunt. The boys had slept poorly, looking forward eagerly to the time when they should be in close contact with the long buried ship in the desert sands. With hurry and bustle and good-natured shouts they prepared to set out.
Now that their minds had been relieved of all anxiety concerning Sackett and his gang their spirits soared as only those of the young adventurous can. They had spent a jolly evening around the fireplace on the previous day, talking, planning and laughing over some of Captain Blow’s humorous stories. It was late before they sought their beds, and the professor had been compelled to curb some of their animal vigor.
Jim had stood at the foot of his bed, surrounded by Ned, Don and Terry. Captain Blow and Professor Scott were preparing for bed in another room at the time. There had been some pillow throwing and now Jim was acting a part.
“This is the way Terry kicked the gun out of the overseer’s hand,” he said. He was in his pajamas at the time and the other boys were also ready for bed. Jim loosed a vigorous kick in front of him, but his enthusiasm proved his undoing. The force caused him to lose his balance, and amidst the shouts of delight of his companions he thumped to the floor, knocking the wind out of himself.
“That was some kick!” exclaimed Don, laughing. “No wonder the poor overseer lost his gun! If the kick had that much force I bet the gun sailed clear into the ocean!”
“I protest,” put in Terry, solemnly. “I never cut such a wild figure as that! Your imagination is running away with you, Jimmie, my boy!”
“Somebody else had better start running away!” puffed Jim, in huge disgust. “Just wait until I get up!”
Once up he bore down on the grinning Terry and bowled him onto the bed. Don reached for his foot, but received a hearty thrust in the stomach from the foot, which Jim declared he had tickled. Don then jumped on the wiggling chums and Ned stood laughing. But in a minute he too was drawn into hostilities. He attempted to pile pillows on the warring factions, who promptly turned upon him, and the four young men were soon engaged in a frantic tussle that overturned one bed and mussed them up royally.