“I don’t believe your idea is right, Pop,” said Grant.
“Why not?”
“Petersen got this code from his father, didn’t he? Well, if his father and the men he was with buried that treasure on this island it seems strange that this old powder-horn and flint-lock pistol should be here. Such things as that were used a good many years before Petersen’s father was alive.”
“Who said his father was the one who buried the treasure?”
“I thought that was what some one said back there on the Josephine.”
“No, indeed. They said Petersen’s father had the code, but I never heard that he was one of those who were supposed to have buried the treasure.”
“At any rate,” put in George, “no matter who buried it, it doesn’t say that my theory is wrong. The pistol and the powder-horn may have been in the chest along with the treasure. Whoever found it thought they weren’t worth taking, so they were just thrown to one side.”
“Why was the chest locked again?” asked John.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” laughed Grant. “I give up.”
“Not at all,” exclaimed Fred. “Don’t say that. We can at least try to make out this code. That will give us something to do and I guess we are going to have plenty of time on our hands before we get away from here.” As he finished speaking he turned to scan the horizon, but nothing was in sight save the endless expanse of ocean. As far as appearances went they might have been alone in the world. The occasional note of a bird and the soft murmur of the waves as they caressed the beach below were the only sounds to be heard.