“But there ain’t nary a tree-sor thaar!”
“Don’t you be too cocksure o’ that,” returned Tom, looking about him well, to make certain of his direction. “Howsomdever, we ain’t got the time to search the place properly now, as it’ll be dark soon, and we ought to be aboard.”
“Durned if I likes givin’ it up like this.”
“Never mind, bo; there’ll be plenty of time for us to look the cave over to-morrer arternoon, and I’ll bring one o’ them port fires you spoke on to light up the place.”
“Guess thet’ll jest about do, Chips,” replied Hiram, turning round, as if about to go back within the entrance, loth to leave without finding the buccaneers’ hoard, repeating his previous exclamation: “I’m durned, though, if I likes givin’ it up like this!”
“Come along, my hearty!” cried Tom. “Come along, Charley. But, mind, neither on you be telling the hands what we’ve found out! There wouldn’t be a chance for us if the skipper or that drunken cur Flinders knowed on it.”
“Not me,” replied Hiram, following Tom along the curve of the shore towards a little group of trees, which I recognised now as immediately above the pool frequented by the doves. “I won’t tell nary a soul, an’ I reckon we ken both on us anser fur Cholly?”
“Certainly,” said I, replying to his implied question, as I came up behind the two, and we started off retracing our way at once to the ship, on the fo’c’s’le of which we could see several of the men already gathered together. “I’m sure I won’t tell anybody, for I have nobody to tell except you, Tom, and Hiram—you’re my only friends on board.”
“Wait till you get hold of the buccaneers’ gold, Charley,” said Tom dryly. “You’ll get plenty o’ chums then, for money makes friends!”
Nothing further was said by either of us, and we presently found ourselves once more on board, when I turned in at once, for we had walked a goodish distance, and I was tired out.