Bartlett—Come down. [The Islander slides down. Bartlett exclaims exultantly.] Didn’t I tell ye? In the nick o’ time. When she makes in close we’ll go down to the reef and yell and wave at her. They’ll see! The luck’s with us today! [His eyes fall on the treasure and he starts.] But now—what’s to do with this chest—the gold?
Horne—[Quickly.] You ain’t going to tell them on the schooner about it?
Cates—They’d claim to share with us.
Horne—More like they’d steal it and knife us in the bargain. I know the kind on them schooners.
Bartlett—[Scornfully.] D’ye think I’m cracked? No, we’ll bury it here.
Cates—[Regretfully.] Leave it behind for anyone to find?
Bartlett—We’ll bury it deep, where hell itself won’t find it—and we’ll make a map o’ this island. [He takes a sheet of paper and a stub of pencil from his pocket—pointing to the foot of the tree.] Dig a hole here—you, Horne and Jimmy—and dig it deep. [The two head down and commence to hollow out the sand with their hands. Bartlett draws on the paper.] There’s the lagoon—and the reef—and here’s this tree—the only one on the island—’twould be hard to miss. [To Cates, who is peering over his shoulder.] And here where the tree is, d’ye see, Cates, I’ll make a cross where the gold is hid.
Horne—[Over his shoulder, without ceasing his work.] How d’ye know the lay o’ this island—to find it again?
Bartlett—By the last reckonin’ o’ the Triton’s. It’s writ on a page I tore from the log-book. And from there we headed due north in the boat, unless the compass lied—four days—a hundred and fifty miles, I reckon. [Exultantly.] Oh, all hell’d not stop me from findin’ this place again when I know the gold’s here. Let us once get home and I’ll fit out a small schooner the four of us can sail, and we’ll come back here to dig it up. It won’t be long, I swear to ye!
Horne—[Straightening up.] This deep enough, sir?