"Four days at the most," he said, "if it is easy digging. But now let us go at it right and dig it well fashion. We must make a windlass." Even before dark--and it grows dark very suddenly in the African forest--a rough winch had been constructed from the trunk of a tree; with the aid of the iron bolts it was strongly held together, and handles were placed on each end, so they could be worked the way a bucket is lowered and raised in a mine shaft. By noon the next day all this was completed and the digging fairly commenced. When they had gone down some ten feet or more, and it became difficult to throw up the spadefuls of the black rich earth, the windlass was placed in position, a basket constructed with the aid of twigs and vines, and the two negroes were set to work hauling the earth to the surface as the white men below filled the improvised carrier. Malcolm's back ached from the constant bending and lifting, but his father labored as might a fireman in a burning house, and Gifford, stripped to the waist and dripping with perspiration like a stoker, delved with the strength of two men. Twenty feet, twenty-five feet, thirty feet were reached, and the only encouraging thing about it was that there were signs that the earth had been disturbed before them. At noon of the third day they had all gone to the surface except Sandy McFee, when the latter gave utterance to a shout from the shaft, "Here's something," he called; "look out!" A shining object thrown from his hand sailed up from out the shaft. It was another gin bottle. (Alas! the mark of on-sweeping civilization.) It struck against the handle of the windlass and shivered into a hundred sparkling bits. One of them fell at Malcolm's feet. "Look out, McFee, you idiot!" cried Gifford, springing up. "You came near braining us." "I have struck a layer of tree trunks," came the answer from below. "The treasure must be underneath." But Malcolm was sitting there gazing at something that he held between his thumb and forefinger. "What's the matter, lad?" asked Gifford, turning. Malcolm handed the shining thing up to him. "Diamonds!" exclaimed the older man, with a gasp; "the bottle was filled with 'em!" Most of its contents had fallen back into the shaft. Gifford slipped the stone into his mouth and made a spring for the rope. He slid down it sailor fashion, and one of the blacks followed him. Malcolm hastened to the edge. There they were, on their hands and knees, searching the loose earth, beneath which showed clearly the heavy beams that protected the rest of King Obani's treasure. They were picking things up, objects to right and left, as children do scattered sugar-plums.