n. She said he had eaten no dinner, groaning
and carrying on awful, wanting her to shoot him with his pistol and end
it all. But he seemed to have pulled himself together by the time we
were ready, for he let himself down from the attic quite spry, and made
us all laugh by the remarks he passed. But one could see he just forced
himself to do it, and his face looked powerful haggard and flabby in the
lantern light, and he moved queer on his legs, like a push would have
sent him over.

I had a little two-wheeled truck that I used about the store to run bags
of shell about in, and copra, and on this we put the treasure, eight
bags of it, each one as heavy as could be lifted comfortably. Old Dibs
insisted on cutting one open and serving us out a double handful each,
not forgetting a share for Tom's wife as well as mine, and saying, "Take
it, and God bless you, my dear, kind friends!" We dropped it into my
tool chest, and threw the key on the floor of the bedroom, meaning to
divide up equal later on.

We rigged a sort of rope harness to the truck, giving Tom the handles to
steer by, while Old Dibs, Sarah, and me did tandem in front. The
boatswain's chair and the coil of Manila rope were lashed down on the
load, as well as the basket of provisions, Sarah carrying the demijohn
in her hand, Old Dibs the gin and "Under Two Flags," while I led the way
with the lantern.

My, but we must have made a queer sight as we plowed through the
darkness, Tom bearing down on the handles and fighting to keep the truck
on an even keel, Old Dibs grampussing along as wheeler, and Sarah and me
tugging like battery mules! Of course everybody knows that gold is
heavy, but when you run into the hundred thousands it becomes pig-iron
heavy, cannon heavy, house-and-lot-and-barn heavy! It nearly pulled the
hearts out of us to keep that truck moving, specially in the sand before
we struck a harder going.

I thought time and again it was going to prove the death of Old Dibs. He
was always laying down in his harness like a done-up Eskimo dog in the
pictures, and having to be fanned alive again. But when we'd propose to
cut him out, he'd say No, and stagger to his feet, showing a splendid
spirit and cart-horsing ahead till his poor old breath came in roars.

It was a thankful moment when we got to the tree, where me and Tom,
after a spell of rest, jumped in together with a will. It was no slouch
of a job to get that tackle in position, the block being