They walked around nearer the river side of the hill and studied the slope there. There was nothing to indicate that at one time a house had stood on it. A few small boulders lay about, to be sure, but they had evidently never been used in building. To the left of Bee’s supposititious territory and just above the beach the small tree stood, misshapen and solitary. Aside from that the vegetation consisted of wild grass and briars and an occasional low bush of bay-berry or laurel. Bee frowned intently as he descended the hill, Jack following.
“What do you suppose his cabin was built of, Jack?”
“Wood, I suppose, since they burned it down. Probably of planks and stuff that he gathered along the shore. Perhaps he used timbers from the wrecks.”
“Wouldn’t he have had a foundation, though?”
“I don’t believe so. Anyway, there aren’t any stones in sight that look as though they’d been used that way. And, of course, burning the house wouldn’t have affected the foundation. Maybe they’ve got covered up, though.”
Bee shook his head silently as though disagreeing with that theory. Finally—
“What gets me, though,” he said, “is that there isn’t even a level place here. It doesn’t seem likely he’d have built on the slope without levelling off a bit.”
“I don’t know. The slope isn’t steep. He might have.”
“He must have. I’m certain the cabin stood somewhere around here. If I was going to dig I’d start pretty near where we’re standing.”
“But look here, Bee, we don’t know that; supposing, of course, he really did bury some money or something, he buried it near the house. He might have buried under a tree or—well, almost anywhere.”