girl almost shrieked, but no crumbling wood or rusted iron, and certainly no gleaming gold, rewarded their staring eyes.
An hour flew by, and Sally straightened to her full height to relieve her aching back.
Her clenched hand flew to her mouth. Last night's memories were still too fresh, so, hesitating to warn Ben, she crossed over to the Capitan.
"There they are again," she whispered.
Sure enough, those graceless vagabonds were sauntering along the beach, irregularly, as a pack of scavenging dogs prowling through city streets. They were five, as on the night before, only the Pink Swede had taken the place of the incapacitated Pete.
When they reached the neck of the cape, they threw themselves on the beach, regarding the workers, Sally even at that distance was sure, with malicious and threatening leers. She couldn't hear what they were saying, for they were out of earshot, though not of gunshot, as Captain Brent made certain, glancing at the rifle lying on the mound, now on a level with Benson's head.
For a resting spell, sorely needed, Ben threw down his pick and shovel, and, climbing out of the trench, sat on the mound. He saw them, too, and was for starting for them at once. But there was "that darn promise." He stopped short, and, sitting down again, surveyed the crew.
"Never mind, son," said Benson, "there ain't no law to prevent them cuckoos from a-settin' there sunnin' themselves, even if you are the Pshaw of this here island—that is so long as they don't lay any eggs in our nests. But come to
