“Say,” broke in Phil Abercrombie fired by a brilliant idea, “the railroad goes acrost the river up at the old quarry. I’ll bet the gang was on a train an’ they throwed the cask o’ treasure offen the train so’s to hide it so they wouldn’t be no evidence.”
“In that case,” remarked Connie, “they’d hardly burn the name on the barrel.”
“Mebbe it was their enimies ’at done that,” ventured the rebuffed Phil.
“Boys,” exclaimed Connie in a new tone. “I’m suspicious o’ this thing. This ain’t no buried treasure cast up by the waves. Some one put it where it was. It couldn’t ’a’ floated over the ford.”
“I don’t know about that,” exclaimed Art indignantly. “Who’d ’a’ put it there? Ain’t no one around here to get excited over it.”
“We’re here,” replied Connie with a smile as he kicked the cask over on its side.
“But who knowed we was comin’ here?” argued Art resentfully.
“For one,” went on Connie as he rolled the keg about, listening to something pounding within, “Nick Apthorp knew, ’cause I told him where we was comin’ and when we’d get here.”
“That settles it,” exclaimed Colly. “It’s a job. Let’s throw it back in the river.”
“Not on your life!” shouted Art. “I’ve heard o’ smart guys ’at wouldn’t pick up a pocket book with real money in it, ’cause it was first of April.”