BARTLETT--By the last reckonin’ o’ the Triton’s. It’s writ on a page I tore from the log-book. And from there we headed due north in the boat, unless the compass lied--four days--a hundred and fifty miles, I reckon. [_Exultantly._] Oh, all hell’d not stop me from findin’ this place again when I know the gold’s here. Let us once get home and I’ll fit out a small schooner the four of us can sail, and we’ll come back here to dig it up. It won’t be long, I swear to ye! HORNE--[_Straightening up._] This deep enough, sir? BARTLETT--It looks to be. JIMMY--[_Who has straightened up and is looking off left--suddenly points excitedly._] He look, Captain! Cook fella, he look here! Boy he look, too! They look plenty too much, Captain! [_All four stand staring off at_ BUTLER _and the boy, whose presence on the island they have forgotten in their mad excitement_.] CATES--[_In stupid dismay._] They’ll know where it’s hid, sir! HORNE--They’ll tell ’em on the schooner! CATES--[_Wildly._] We’ve got to do for ’em, Captain! Gimme your knife, Jimmy--your knife---- [_He stumbles toward the Islander, who pushes him aside brusquely, looking questioningly toward the Captain._] BARTLETT--[_Who has been standing motionless, as if stunned by this forgotten complication--slowly._] There they be watchin’ us, the sneakin’ dogs! Sit down, an’ they won’t see. [_They all squat in the sand._] I was forgettin’ they was here. [_Striking his knee with clenched fist._] We’ve got to do somethin’ damn quick! That schooner’ll be up soon where they kin sight her--and they’ll wave and yell then--and she’ll see ’em! HORNE--And good-bye to the gold for us! JIMMY--[_Eagerly._] You say fella word, Captain, me kill um quick. They no make plenty cry for schooner! They keep damn still plenty too much! BARTLETT--[_Looking at the Islander with mad cunning but replying only to_ HORNE.] Aye, it’s good-bye to the gold, Horne. That scum of a cook--he’s made a mock o’ us--sayin’ it wasn’t gold when he knew it was--he’ll tell ’em--he’ll get joy o’ tellin’ ’em! HORNE--And that scrub of a boy--he’s no better. He’ll be in with him neck and crop. CATES--[_Hoarsely._] Knife ’em--and be done with it--I say! BARTLETT--Or, if they don’t tell the schooner’s skipper it’ll only be because they’re plannin’ to come back themselves--before we kin--and dig it up. That cook--there’s somethin’ queer in his mind--somethin’ he was hidin’--pretendin’ not to believe. What d’ye think, Horne? HORNE--I think--time’s gettin’ short--and talkin’ won’t do no good. [_Insinuatingly._] They’d do for us soon enough if _they_ was able. BARTLETT--Aye, murder was plain in his eyes when he looked at me. HORNE--[_Lowering his voice to a whisper._] Tell Jimmy--Captain Bartlett--is what I say! BARTLETT--It’s agin the law, Silas Horne! HORNE--The law don’t reach to this island. BARTLETT--[_Monotonously._] It’s against the law a captain’s sworn to keep wherever he sails. They ain’t refused duty--nor mutinied.