side is made of," answered Harry
producing the article. "It looks like leather of a peculiar kind and on
it are black marks. If it were not for one thing, I'd have passed it up
entirely. Over in the corner are the words--'Biloxi Bayou.' Then the
rest was as clear as mud."

"Let's take a look at it," requested Arnold. "We all want to see what
it's like. If it was left by a Spaniard, it's no use to us, for we can't
read Spanish and when Harry says he read it, I can't believe he knows
what he's talking about. He can't read Spanish."

"I can read this all right," protested Harry, "and so can you. It's very
simple. Here's a mark and there's a mark and that's all."

He now spread the chart open above the binnacle so that the boys all
might look at it. As he had said, it was a piece of soft Spanish leather
left white by the dyer but now yellowed and darkened somewhat with age.
In rather uneven lines were traced roughly the location of certain
objects intended obviously to be trees. Certain of these were ranged in
line like the range lights used by mariners when entering or leaving a
harbor. At a spot where two lines of ranges crossed, which was evidently
near the water's edge, was a rough sketch of a box. Evidently no words
were needed.

"I see it all as plain as day," declared Arnold. "This old chap selected
a spot at the intersection of two ranges using big trees--maybe live
oaks--then he dug a hole and buried the chest. It is right where the
tide comes up so no one would think of looking there for it! He was a
wise old chap."

"Then we'll have to go there when the tide's out."

"No, I don't think so. I have another idea," Jack put in, "but it's so
foolish that we better forget it. Anyhow, I believe the fellow tried to
say that the box was buried just at the high water mark."

"All right, let it go at that," returned Harry. "If the box is there and
the trees are there, that's all we want. We can get it."

"If Wyckoff and his gang don't get there first."

"What I want to know," Charley spoke up, "is what makes this line and
the others, too, so uneven. They are soaked right into the leather and
looks as if the ink hadn't run evenly."

"Frank," queried Jack, "what do you make of it?"

"I'd hate to say right out," Frank answered, "but it looks to me like
the old Don had run out of ink and used a little red ink from the arm of
one of his trusty followers. A little hot water would set it and turn it
black so it would