ses of snake-like roots of the fig tree, a
species of banyan.

Within the circle of this light two figures sat at a table--one with his
hat tilted slightly, and one leaning sideways in his chair in a careless
sort of attitude. They seemed to be playing cards, and they were
strangely white--for they were skeletons.

I stood hushed, while Tom's teeth rattled at my side. The fantastic awe
of the thing was beyond telling. And, then, not without a qualm or two,
which I should be a liar to deny, I went and stood nearer to them.
Nearly all their clothes had fallen away, hanging but in shreds here
and there. That the hat had so jauntily kept its place was one of those
grim touches Death, that terrible humorist, loves to add to his jests.
The cards, which had apparently just been dealt, had suffered scarcely
from decay--only a little dirt had sifted down upon them, as it had into
the rum glasses that stood too at each man's side. And, as I looked at
the skeleton jauntily facing me, I noticed that a bullet hole had been
made as clean as if by a drill in his forehead of bone--while, turning
to examine more closely his silent partner, I noticed a rusty sailor's
knife hanging from the ribs where the lungs had been. Then I looked on
the floor and found the key to the whole story. For there, within a few
yards, stood a heavy sailor's chest, strongly bound around with iron.
Its lid was thrown back, and a few coins lay scattered at the bottom,
while a few lay about on the floor. I picked them up.

They were pieces of eight!

Meanwhile, Tom had stopped jabbering, and had come nearer, looking on in
awed silence. I showed him the pieces of eight.

"I guess these are all we'll see of one of John P. Tobias's treasure,
Tom," I said. "And it looks as if these poor fellows saw as little of it
as ourselves. Can't you imagine them with it there at their
feet--perhaps playing to divide it on a gamble; and, meanwhile, the
other fellows stealing in through some of these rabbit runs--one with a
knife, the other with a gun--and then: off with the loot and up with the
sails. Poor devils! It strikes me as a very pretty tragedy--doesn't it
you?"

Suddenly--perhaps with the vibration of our voices--the hat toppled off
the head of the fellow facing us, in the most weird and comical
fashion--and that was too much for Tom, and he screamed and made for the
exit hole. But I waited a minute to replace the hat on the rakish one's
head. As I was likely oft