d, but was impeded by Aunt Jane, who clung to me
tottering. So I led her to a seat and deposited her, with the
sympathetic assistance of Slinker.

"Now, now, old girl, cheer up!" he admonished her. "Between you
and me, old Washtubs ain't worth crying over. Sooner or later he'd
of give you the slip, no matter how tight a rein you kep' on him."

As Slinker turned away after this effort at consolation he came
face to face with Miss Higglesby-Browne. I suppose in the stress
of surprising and capturing the camp he had not been struck with
her peculiarities. Just now, between the indignity of her captive
state and the insubordination of Aunt Jane, Miss Browne's aspect
was considerably grimmer than usual. Slinker favored her with a
stare, followed by a prolonged whistle.

"Say," he remarked to me in a confidential undertone, though
pitched quite loud enough for Miss Browne's ears, "is it real?
Would it have bendable j'ints, now, same as you and me?"

Miss Browne whirled upon him.

"'Old your tongue, you 'orrid brute!" she shrieked.

So, in the twinkling of an eye, Miss Higglesby-Browne, fallen
forever from her high estate, was strewn in metaphorical fragments
at our feet. I turned away, feeling it time to draw the veil of
charity upon the scene. Not so Slinker. He looked about him
carefully on the ground.

"Lady drop anything?" he inquired solicitously.

What might have transpired, had Miss Higglesby-Browne had time to
gather breath, I dare not think, but just then there came from the
woods the sound of footsteps and voices, and the three pirates and
Mr. Tubbs entered the clearing. A thrill ran through the camp.
Captors and captives forgot all else but the great, the burning
question--had the treasure been discovered? And I am sure that no
one was so thrilled as I, although in my mind the question took
another form.

For now I was going to know what had been waiting for me there in
the cave, when I stood yesterday at its black entrance, afraid to
go in.

XVII

FROM DEAD HANDS

At the head of the file, Captain Tony advanced through the
clearing, and what with his flowing black beard, his portly form,
and a certain dramatic swagger which he possessed, he looked so
entirely Italian and operatic that you expected to hear him at any
moment burst out in a sonorous basso. With a sweeping gesture he
flung down upon the table two brown canvas bags, which opened and
discharged from gaping mouths a flo