Bimbo followed, his white teeth showing in a grin of pride, at the same time nursing his scratched hand and emitting an occasional groan which he thought the situation demanded.
“Mighty lucky dat de mine done got dat Ramirez fo’ dis nigger got at him,” he ejaculated. “Ah had him mahked fo’ def, an’ Ah sho would huv messed him up pow’ful.”
“I’m sure you would,” returned Phil, keeping his face straight with difficulty. “If any of those fellows come back we’ll let you have the first hack at them.”
Bimbo’s face fell at this.
“Yassuh, yassuh,” he agreed, but with a marked loss of enthusiasm, “but af’er you, Marse Phil, af’er you an’ de udder gemmun. Dis nigger knows his place, yassuh.”
“And now, Bimbo,” remarked Phil, after he had completed his task, “if you still feel equal to it, it might be a good thing to turn to and rustle us some grub. I guess I speak for all of us when I say that we’re as hungry as wolves.”
There was a universal chorus of assent. Now that the strain was over they had time to think of their material wants, and they did full justice to the abundant meal that Bimbo soon put before them.
They were tired too, desperately tired, and all would have welcomed sleep. But there was too much to do just now to think of that. By the time they had finished their meal, daylight had come, and they set to work to remove the traces of the struggle.
The deep crater dug by the mine served as a burial place, and they placed in it the bodies of the attackers. Bimbo had ventured some feeble remonstrances at having them buried so near the cave and had hinted mysteriously at “ha’nts,” but his objections were overruled.
“That dynamite has surely stood us in good stead,” remarked Phil, as they smoothed out the ground after their task had been completed. “Without it we wouldn’t have got the treasure and perhaps we’d have lost our lives.”