“Bullets,” came from Dick.
“Reckon that’s right,” grunted the captain; “some of those chaps may have had an old muzzle loader.”
“Sounds like rocks,” was Jack’s guess, “roll them out, Tom.”
Standing close to the firelight, Tom opened the bag and shook its contents into his open palm. Six octagonal objects rolled out.
The next instant there was a simultaneous gasp from every member of the party.
“Diamonds!” shouted Captain Sprowl, the first to recover his breath.
“Yes, and such diamonds as are rarely seen,” cried Mr. Chadwick. “Why, Tom, lad, you’ve found a fortune!”
“Supposin’ they’re fakes like those colored gems we got in Yucatan?” said the practical Tom, holding up one of the stones so that the firelight was reflected from it in a myriad prismatic tints. Its brilliance was fairly dazzling.
“If they’re fakes,” declared the captain solemnly, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.”
“Well?” said Jack.