The wind sank to a low moaning, but, from far, far away it seemed to bring a sound that caused the men in the hole to start, stop digging and listen. It was a voice singing, and it seemed to be away on the distant cove: “Oh, my name was Capt. Kidd. When I sailed, when I sailed; And so wickedly I did, When I sailed, when I sailed.” It was the famous song of the famous pirate, and it caused those men to tremble in their boots. They felt like dropping pick and spade and taking to their heels, but one of the men who stood above savagely motioned for them to go on with the work. The wind rose to a shriek, full of mockery. The surf boomed in the distance. Slowly the sailors picked up the pick and spade and resumed their work, but they were trembling now. The sound of singing came nearer and nearer, as if Kidd himself were approaching the spot, singing at the top of his voice as he advanced. The men grew more and more nervous as the sound came nearer, but still the man above motioned for them to go on. At last, when the singer seemed close to that very spot, the song ceased. “Thunder!” muttered Browning. “Where is that fellow? Thought it must be another one of their gang coming.” “Nothing of the sort,” whispered Diamond. “Didn’t you see how scared the men digging were?” “Sure.” “They would not have been frightened if it had been one of their own crowd.” “That’s so. Who was it, then?” “Capt. Kidd’s spook,” suggested Harry. “You know it is said his ghost haunts the place where he buried his treasure.” “Rot!” grunted the big fellow. “Don’t take stock in spooks.” Then, of a sudden, when the wind had died once more to a low moaning, a wild burst of laughter was heard. That laugh was full of fiendish glee and mockery, and it seemed to come from some vague point in the very midst of the treasure-seekers. Then the men in the pit did drop their implements and scramble out in hot haste. But they were met with a revolver in the hand of one of the men above, and it drove them back to their digging. “Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!” Again the weird laughter sounded, and it seemed to the excited imagination of the diggers, to come from the pit they had made. But that revolver was menacing them, and they dared not leap to the surface and take to their heels, although it was certain they wished to do so. Again and again that laugh rang out. Then a deep, sepulchral voice was heard to say: “Fools, do ye think to rob me now that I am dead? You shall find I guard my blood-stained gold! Not a single piece shall you touch!” That was quite enough to frighten any sailor. Again the men in the pit dropped the pick and spade, but they seemed paralyzed with fear, and stood there, staring about with bulging eyes. “Avaunt!” cried the hollow voice. “Flee from my wrath, or ye shall feel the touch of my dead hands--the touch of doom! That touch means death!” A wild shriek broke from the lips of one of the diggers.