"No--but I'd say come in the night as we used to do--it's better."

     "Yes: but look here; it may be a good while before I get the right chance at that job; accidents might happen; 'tain't in such a very good place; we'll just regularly bury it--and bury it deep."

     "Good idea," said the comrade, who walked across the room, knelt down, raised one of the rearward hearth-stones and took out a bag that jingled pleasantly. He subtracted from it twenty or thirty dollars for himself and as much for Injun Joe, and passed the bag to the latter, who was on his knees in the corner, now, digging with his bowie-knife.

     The boys forgot all their fears, all their miseries in an instant. With gloating eyes they watched every movement. Luck!--the splendor of it was beyond all imagination! Six hundred dollars was money enough to make half a dozen boys rich! Here was treasure-hunting under the happiest auspices--there would not be any bothersome uncertainty as to where to dig. They nudged each other every moment--eloquent nudges and easily understood, for they simply meant--"Oh, but ain't you glad now we're here!"

     Joe's knife struck upon something.

     "Hello!" said he.

     "What is it?" said his comrade.