“Don’t be sarcastic,” Croyden retorted. “I’m not responsible for the Bay, nor the Point, nor Parmenter, nor anything else connected with the fool quest, please remember.”
“Except the present measurements and the theory on which they’re based,” Macloud replied. “And as the former seem to be accurate, and the latter more than reasonable, we’d best act on them.”
“At least, I am satisfied that the treasure lies either in the Bay, or close on shore; if so, we have relieved ourselves from digging up the entire Point.”
“You have given us a mighty plausible start,” said Macloud.
“Land or water?” Croyden laughed. “Hello, 159 whom have we here?” as a buggy emerged from among the timber, circled around, and halted before the tents.
“It is Hook-nose back again,” said Macloud. “Come to pay a social call, I suppose! Anything about for them to steal?”
“Nothing but the shooting-irons.”
“They’re safe—I put them under the blankets.”
“What the devil do they want?”
“Come to treat with us—to share the treasure.”