The brush on the top of the cliff overlapped the crevice, so that it was quite dark a few feet from the entrance. The walls were slippery with a thick, funguslike moss, from which cool water dripped.
"That gold will rust in here sure as a nigger's black," grumbled Buckrow, as he felt his way out. "I don't like this place at all."
"Best place on the island," whispered Thirkle. "Tell him it's the best place on the island, Reddy."
"It's the best place on the island, Bucky. I don't see as we could do better."
"I don't care what ye think of it; I say it'll rust in there," said
Buckrow.
"You had better go in backward this time," said Thirkle. "You may find it a little harder, Mr. Trenholm; but perhaps it will be more convenient."
"What's that?" demanded Buckrow. "Who go in first?"
"It will be easier if Mr. Trenholm goes in first," said Thirkle. "He'll have to go backward, but he'll find it easier to navigate."
"Oh, no, he won't!" said Buckrow. "I see your game, Thirkle. Ye want to come out behind Mr. Petrak and borrow a gun. We'll let you go in first, and the writin' chap can come out atween ye and Petrak. Don't come none of them games on me, Thirkle. I'm too old a fish."
We went in with the second lot of sacks in the same order, but I saw another exchange of signals between Thirkle and Petrak before we stooped for our burdens.