But they dared not take the chance of haste. Rival scouts might be waiting, hidden, to pounce on them. They listened, while their hearts beat heavily.
"I'm going forward," said Tim at last, and edged out. Soon they knew that neither the Eagles nor the Foxes had yet reached the goal.
Then began a frantic search. They wanted to find the treasure and away. Not a sound broke the stillness but bird calls and their own footsteps. Yet they knew that, from some place among the trees, scouts were stealing toward them. They went out in a wide circle, worked in, and found nothing.
"Mr. Wall wouldn't make this too hard," said Tim. "He's left some sign.
How could he hide it?"
"Among tree branches," said Don, "or in a tree hollow, or in the ground—"
"That's it," cried Tim. "Burying would leave a sign—freshly turned earth. Come on."
They searched again in nervous hurry, and kept looking over their shoulders as though trying to peer through the veil of trees. Don saw no earth that looked fresh, but he did see a suspicious mound near a tree. He put his feet on the spot. His heel sank softly.
"Tim!" he called.
Tim came running. "That's it. Why didn't we bring a trowel?" He dug at the earth with his ax. Don unslung his haversack, pulled out the frying-pan, and scooped with the pan handle.
The sweat rolled into their eyes. They worked feverishly. All at once
Tim's ax hit something softer and more yielding than the earth.