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them in behind the sand dune where Tom no longer could see what

they were doing.
The negro still sat by the chest where the two had left him, and

so bright was the moonlight that from where he lay Tom could see
the glint of it twinkling in the whites of his eyeballs.

Presently from behind the hill there came, for the third time,
the sharp rapping sound of the mallet driving still another peg,

and then after a while the two pirates emerged from behind the
sloping whiteness into the space of moonlight again.

They came direct to where the chest lay, and the white man and
the black man lifting it once more, they walked away across the

level of open sand, and so on behind the edge of the hill and out
of Tom's sight.

III
Tom Chist could no longer see what the pirates were doing,

neither did he dare to cross over the open space of sand that now
lay between them and him. He lay there speculating as to what

they were about, and meantime the storm cloud was rising higher
and higher above the horizon, with louder and louder mutterings

of thunder following each dull flash from out the cloudy,
cavernous depths. In the silence he could hear an occasional

click as of some iron implement, and he opined that the pirates
were burying the chest, though just where they were at work he

could neither see nor tell.
Still he lay there watching and listening, and by and by a puff

of warm air blew across the sand, and a thumping tumble of louder
thunder leaped from out the belly of the storm cloud, which every

minute was coming nearer and nearer. Still Tom Chist lay
watching.

Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, the three figures reappeared from
behind the sand hill, the pirate captain leading the way, and the

negro and white man following close behind him. They had gone
about halfway across the white, sandy level between the hill and

the hummock behind which Tom Chist lay, when the white man
stopped and bent over as though to tie his shoe.

This brought the negro a few steps in front of his companion.
That which then followed happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly,

so swiftly, that Tom Chist had hardly time to realize what it all
meant before it was over. As the negro passed him the white man

arose suddenly and silently erect, and Tom Chist saw the white
moonlight glint upon the blade of a great dirk knife which he now

held in his hand. He took one, two silent, catlike steps behind
the unsuspecting negro. Then there was a sweeping flash of the

blade in the pallid light, and a blow, the thump of which Tom
could distinctly hear even from where he lay stretched out upon

the sand. There was an instant echoing yell from the black man,
who ran stumbling forward, who stopped, who regained his footing,

and then stood for an instant as though rooted to the spot.
Tom had distinctly seen the knife enter his back, and even

thought that he had seen the glint of the point as it came out
from the breast.

Meantime the pirate captain had stopped, and now stood with his
hand resting upon his cane looking impassively on.

Then the black man started to run. The white man stood for a
while glaring after him; then he, too, started after his victim

upon the run. The black man was not very far from Tom when he
staggered and fell. He tried to rise, then fell forward again,

and lay at length. At that instant the first edge of the cloud
cut across the moon, and there was a sudden darkness; but in the

silence Tom heard the sound of another blow and a groan, and then
presently a voice calling to the pirate captain that it was all

over.
He saw the dim form of the captain crossing the level sand, and

then, as the moon sailed out from behind the cloud, he saw the
white man standing over a black figure that lay motionless upon

the sand.
Then Tom Chist scrambled up and ran away, plunging down into the

hollow of sand that lay in the shadows below. Over the next rise
he ran, and down again into the next black hollow, and so on over

the sliding, shifting ground, panting and gasping. It seemed to
him that he could hear footsteps following, and in the terror

that possessed him he almost expected every instant to feel the
cold knife blade slide between his own ribs in such a thrust from

behind as he had seen given to the poor black man.
So he ran on like one in a nightmare. His feet grew heavy like

lead, he panted and gasped, his breath came hot and dry in his
throat. But still he ran and ran until at last he found himself

in front of old Matt Abrahamson's cabin, gasping, panting, and
sobbing for breath, his knees relaxed and his thighs trembling

with weakness.
As he opened the door and dashed into the darkened cabin (for

both Matt and Molly were long ago asleep in bed) there was a
flash of light, and even as he slammed to the door behind him

there was an instant peal of thunder, heavy as though a great
weight had been dropped upon the roof of the sky, so that the

doors and windows of the cabin rattled.
IV

Then Tom Chist crept to bed, trembling, shuddering, bathed in
sweat, his heart beating like a trip hammer, and his brain dizzy

from that long, terror-inspired race through the soft sand in
which he had striven to outstrip he knew not what pursuing

horror.
For a long, long time he lay awake, trembling and chattering with

nervous chills, and when he did fall asleep it was only to drop
into monstrous dreams in which he once again saw ever enacted,

with various grotesque variations, the tragic drama which his
waking eyes had beheld the night before.

Then came the dawning of the broad, wet daylight, and before the
rising of the sun Tom was up and out of doors to find the young

day dripping with the rain of overnight.
His first act was to climb the nearest sand hill and to gaze out

toward the offing where the pirate ship had been the day before.
It was no longer there.

Soon afterward Matt Abrahamson came out of the cabin and he
called to Tom to go get a bite to eat, for it was time for them

to be away fishing.
All that morning the recollection of the night before hung over

Tom Chist like a great cloud of boding trouble. It filled the
confined area of the little boat and spread over the entire wide

spaces of sky and sea that surrounded them. Not for a moment was
it lifted. Even when he was hauling in his wet and dripping line

with a struggling fish at the end of it a recurrent memory of
what he had seen would suddenly come upon him, and he would groan

in spirit at the recollection. He looked at Matt Abrahamson's
leathery face, at his lantern jaws cavernously and stolidly

chewing at a tobacco leaf, and it seemed monstrous to him that
the old man should be so unconscious of the black cloud that

wrapped them all about.
When the boat reached the shore again he leaped scrambling to the

beach, and as soon as his dinner was eaten he hurried away to
find the Dominie Jones.

He ran all the way from Abrahamson's hut to the parson's house,
hardly stopping once, and when he knocked at the door he was

panting and sobbing for breath.
The good man was sitting on the back-kitchen doorstep smoking his

long pipe of tobacco out into the sunlight, while his wife within
was rattling about among the pans and dishes in preparation of

their supper, of which a strong, porky smell already filled the
air.

Then Tom Chist told his story, panting, hurrying, tumbling one
word over another in his haste, and Parson Jones listened,

breaking every now and then into an ejaculation of wonder. The
light in his pipe went out and the bowl turned cold.

"And I don't see why they should have killed the poor black man,"
said Tom, as he finished his narrative.

"Why, that is very easy enough to understand," said the good
reverend man. "'Twas a treasure box they buried!"

In his agitation Mr. Jones had risen from his seat and was now
stumping up and down, puffing at his empty tobacco pipe as though

it were still alight.
"A treasure box!" cried out Tom.

"Aye, a treasure box! And that was why they killed the poor
black man. He was the only one, d'ye see, besides they two who

knew the place where 'twas hid, and now that they've killed him
out of the way, there's nobody but themselves knows. The

villains--Tut, tut, look at that now!" In his excitement the
dominie had snapped the stem of his tobacco pipe in two.

"Why, then," said Tom, "if that is so, 'tis indeed a wicked,
bloody treasure, and fit to bring a curse upon anybody who finds

it!"
"'Tis more like to bring a curse upon the soul who buried it,"

said Parson Jones, "and it may be a blessing to him who finds it.
But tell me, Tom, do you think you could find the place again

where 'twas hid?"
"I can't tell that," said Tom, " 'twas all in among the sand

humps, d'ye see, and it was at night into the bargain. Maybe we
could find the marks of their feet in the sand," he added.

"'Tis not likely," said the reverend gentleman, "for the storm
last night would have washed all that away."

"I could find the place," said Tom, "where the boat was drawn up
on the beach."

"Why, then, that's something to start from, Tom," said his
friend. "If we can find that, then maybe we can find whither they

went from there."
"If I was certain it was a treasure box," cried out Tom Chist, "I

would rake over every foot of sand betwixt here and Henlopen to
find it."

"'Twould be like hunting for a pin in a haystack," said the Rev.
Hilary Jones.

As Tom walked away home, it seemed as though a ton's weight of
gloom had been rolled away from his soul. The next day he and

Parson Jones were to go treasure-hunting together; it seemed to
Tom as though he could hardly wait for the time to come.

V
The next afternoon Parson Jones and Tom Chist started off

together upon the expedition that made Tom's fortune forever. Tom
carried a spade over his shoulder and the reverend gentleman

walked along beside him with his cane.
As they jogged along up the beach they talked together about the

only thing they could talk about--the treasure box. "And how big
did you say 'twas?" quoth the good gentleman.

"About so long," said Tom Chist, measuring off upon the spade,
"and about so wide, and this deep."

"And what if it should be full of money, Tom?" said the reverend
gentleman, swinging his cane around and around in wide circles in

the excitement of the thought, as he strode along briskly.
"Suppose it should be full of money, what then?"

"By Moses!" said Tom Chist, hurrying to keep up with his friend,
"I'd buy a ship for myself, I would, and I'd trade to Injyy and

to Chiny to my own boot, I would. Suppose the chist was all full
of money, sir, and suppose we should find it; would there be

enough in it, d'ye suppose, to buy a ship?"
"To be sure there would be enough, Tom, enough and to spare, and

a good big lump over."
"And if I find it 'tis mine to keep, is it, and no mistake?"

"Why, to be sure it would be yours!" cried out the parson, in a
loud voice. "To be sure it would be yours!" He knew nothing of

the law, but the doubt of the question began at once to ferment
in his brain, and he strode along in silence for a while. "Whose

else would it be but yours if you find it?" he burst out. "Can
you tell me that?"



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