As Tom had said, it was hard for them to realize that Phil’s strange story was actual fact. They had gone to sleep the night before so secure in their possession of the treasure. It seemed impossible that now not only it, but their own lives, as well, were menaced.
But Phil, who had discovered the danger and had no doubts whatever as to the reality of it, worked like a beaver, driving them on mercilessly whenever they stopped to take breath.
“We can rest all we want to, afterward,” he reminded them when they protested. “But now our job is to get these chests out of sight and be mighty quick about it. Hi there, Steve, heave to, my lad. You’re wasting time!”
They had chosen a spot for the burying of the chests quite a distance from the cave but not so far but what they could “keep an eye” upon the place.
When they had finished and pounded the disturbed earth down hard over the great hole that contained such riches they scattered stones and twigs over it with apparent carelessness so that when the task was completed to their satisfaction, there was nothing to distinguish the spot from the surrounding scenery.
“There,” said Phil, drawing a great breath of relief. “Now I guess we can take time for some breakfast. I’m about famished.”
As the boys found themselves in the same sad fix they returned to the cave, relieved Bimbo of guard duty—a revolver had been thrust into the darky’s hands but it is doubtful if he would have had the courage to use it in case of necessity—and commanded him to “rustle some grub.”
This Bimbo did willingly, glad to escape to the comparative safety of the cave’s interior.
“Poor Bimbo,” observed Dick, as he examined his revolver to make sure it was ready for action. “Something tells me he isn’t enjoying himself the way he should.”
Steve grinned, but the grin quickly changed to a more serious expression.