"If anybody can find it, you can, 'Phonse."
"Aw, somebody's picked it up 'fore this, Billy. Nobody could help seeing it on this black ground. Gold shines, you know."
"Maybe," suggested Billy, "maybe she didn't lose it; perhaps she lost it where we were digging for beads. Surely, this morning we hunted over every inch of this trail, and you know Betty."
'Phonse nodded his black head. "She'd find it if it was here. Don't you want to go swimmun, Billy?"
"Too cold, 'Phonse; we'd freeze."
"We can make a bonfire on the beach, see?" 'Phonse showed Billy a handful of matches. "Swiped 'em," he commented. "We'll go down on the sand under the bank and start a fire beside of the tramp's raft. Nobody'll see us there, you know, and we can go swimmun and get dressed where it's warm."
"All right, sir," assented Billy, "only don't run, 'Phonse, whatever you do."
Beyond the fort was an old raft of planks, upon which years before tramps crossed the straits in a storm. It was a favourite resort among the boys. Billy instantly began gathering driftwood for a bonfire.
"Guess the Indians had a fire in this same place yesterday, 'Phonse," he said, "because just see the new-looking ashes. Wonder if they started it with flint or by rubbing two sticks together. Do you know?"
"No, I don't. Hustle up, Billy, and don't stop to talk."