“It isn’t,” said Vince impetuously; “and look here, at all these footmarks!”
“Well, what’s to prevent them from being just the same after a hundred years?”
“The wind,” cried Vince. “If those marks were old the sand would have drifted in and covered them over quite smooth, same as the floor was in our cave before we walked about it. Mike, all these things are quite new, and haven’t been put here long.”
“Nonsense! who could have put them?”
“I don’t know; but here they are, and if we don’t look out some one will come and catch us. This is a smugglers’ cave.”
“But there are no smugglers here. Who ever heard of smugglers at the Crag!”
“I never did; but I’m sure these are smuggled goods.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mike. “It seems very queer. The cave can’t be so dangerous to come to, if boats can land cargoes. Old Daygo’s all wrong, then?”
“Of course he is; so are all the people. Every one has told us that the Black Scraw was a terrible place, and looked as if they thought it was haunted by all kinds of sea goblins. Let’s get away.”
“Think we’d better?”