“A trifle unconventional!” commented Croyden. “However, your idea isn’t half bad; they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to us.”
“Exactly! They won’t hesitate—and, what’s more, they have the nerve to take the chance. That is the difference between us and them.”
They waited until they could no longer hear the horse’s hoof-falls nor the rumble of the wheels. Then they started forward, keeping off the road and taking a course that afforded the protection of the trees and undergrowth. Presently, they caught sight of the two men—out in the open, their heads together, poring over a paper, presumably the Parmenter letter.
“It is not as easy finding the treasure, as it was to pick my pocket!” chuckled Croyden. “There’s the letter—and there are the men who stole it. And we are helpless to interfere, and they 138 know it. It’s about as aggravating as——” He stopped, for want of a suitable comparison.
Macloud only nodded in acquiescence.
The men finished with the letter. Hook-nose went on to the Point, and stood looking at the ruins of the light-house out in the Bay; the other turned and viewed the trees that were nearest.
“Much comfort you’ll get from either,” muttered Croyden.
Hook-nose returned, and the two held a prolonged conversation, each of them gesticulating, now toward the water, and again toward the timber. Finally, one went down to the extreme point and stepped off two hundred and fifty paces inland. He marked this point with a stone.
Bald-head pointed to the trees, a hundred yards away, and shook his head. More talk followed. Then they produced a compass, and ran the additional distance to the North-east.
“Dig! damn you, dig!” exclaimed Macloud. “The treasure’s not there.”