Sellers, panting, his face all mottled, and followed by Cleary, had gained the deck.
“Boys, what is it?” cried Sellers.
“Gold!” cried Satan. “Go careful, for the hull deck’s sprung. Get on your hands and knees. Gold bars an’ di’monds—we’re all rich men!”
The pair of scoundrels, crawling like crabs, stuck their heads over the break.
“Oh, hell!” said Sellers.
“Slaver,” said Satan.
Cleary spat. He was the first to laugh.
“This is putting it over on Cark, ain’t it?” said Cleary. “How many dollars d’you think it’s cost our firm to blow the lid off this damned scrofagus, to say nothin’ of the time? And he packed me off to Pensacola to get me out of the way! Oh, send for him to have a look!”
“No use sendin’, he’s comin’,” said Satan, pointing to where the gig of the Juan was approaching the beach.
Carquinez crossed the rock bridge and advanced along the deck, clutching his old coat together and making birdlike noises. When he reached the break, crouching like the others, he looked over.