“Let’s see.” Jack took the buckle and examined it. It was nearly three inches long and almost as wide and was a heavy, clumsy contraption. Opening his knife, he scraped it a little. Then he shook his head. “Brass,” he said.

“Is it?” Hal was disappointed and his face fell. “Well, I never saw a brass buckle like that before. What do you suppose it was for?”

“It might have come off a harness,” mused Jack. “Only—no I don’t believe it did. Looks more like a buckle you’d wear. I guess it’s pretty old. Let’s take it home and clean it up and see what it looks like. Maybe it was Old Verny’s.”

Just then Bee came climbing up the slope and they showed it to him.

“Great!” he exclaimed as he took it and looked at it. “An old buckle, unmistakably Spanish!”

“Unmistakably your grandmother!” jeered Hal. “How do you know it’s Spanish?”

“It must be. It isn’t American, is it?”

“No, I suppose not. But it might be Chinese or Egyptian or Italian or—”

“Well, it looks Spanish to me,” persisted Bee. “I shall keep it and polish it up.”

“You’ll keep it! Say, who found that thing, I’d like to know?”

“Whatever is found,” replied Bee, dropping the trophy in his pocket, “belongs to the Company, my young friend.”

“What Company?”

“The Treasure Hunters’ Company, Limited,” replied Bee. “That’s us. When we get through we will make an even distribution of everything we have found—”

“Gee, we’ll be rich!” Hal jeered. “What are you going to do with your share, Jack?”

“I guess I’ll put an addition on the house,” replied Jack gravely, “or—no, I know what I’ll do; I’ll put a gasoline engine into the Crystal Spring!”

“I shall invest my share in United States bonds,” said Hal importantly. “Nothing like owning a few bonds. Then, when you’re old and decrepit—”

“Shut up,” said Bee good-naturedly, pushing his way between them and seating himself on the rock. “Now look here, fellow members of the Company. I’ve been over the place and here’s a rough map of it. Of course I haven’t got distances absolutely correct, but they’re near enough. They are—er—relatively correct.”

“Think of that!” murmured Hal.

“Now,” continued Bee, “it’s evident that when it comes to digging for the treasure we may—er—eliminate practically three-fourths of the island.”

“Why?” asked Jack, studying the rough map that Bee held.

“Because at that time there was a branch of the river running along somewhere about here. I’ve indicated it with broken lines, you see. Old Verny wouldn’t have been likely to have built his house right on the river, would he?”

“N—no, probably not. It’s pretty certain he built it somewhere around the south side of the hill, Bee. Around here we usually try to get protection from the north winds, you see.”

“My own idea exactly, Jack,” agreed Bee. “He certainly didn’t build it here at the northeast side because that’s all ledge there and he’d have blown away, I guess. He wouldn’t have put it at the back of the hill because he wouldn’t have had any view of the sea except over toward the north. He’d have kept away from the east side because, as Jack says, he’d have got the north winds more or less. That accounts for three sides, doesn’t it? Well, and it leaves us the south side. He would have been sheltered there and he would have been near the river where he must have kept his boat and where he probably had a landing. Do you think those posts down there are part of his pier, Jack?”

“I think so. It isn’t likely that anyone would have built a wharf here.”

“All right. We’re agreed then that the house or the cabin or whatever he lived in was on the south side of the island. Then the question arises: just where was it on the south side?”

“He’s a wonderful arguer, isn’t he, Jack? And, professor, what is the answer to the question which has arisen?”

“It isn’t answered definitely yet,” replied Bee, digging Hal with his elbow, “but if we bear in mind that the old rascal wanted shelter from the north, as he undoubtedly did, we can—er—reduce the probable territory to a small tract. He wouldn’t build very near the beach for fear of high tides, and he couldn’t have built up here on top because the trees are too close together. I’ve looked through this grove and there’s no evidence of any clearing. So, then—”

“Hold on a minute,” interrupted Jack. “You’re forgetting that these trees may have grown since Old Verny left. I dare say lots of them aren’t more than twenty or thirty years old.”

Bee frowned. “That’s so,” he acknowledged. “But wait a bit, Jack. If the trees weren’t here when Verny was he certainly wouldn’t have built on such a bleak spot as the top of the hill, would he?”

“No, I don’t think he would have. I guess it’s safe to say his cabin was somewhere on the slope of the hill, and probably on the south or southwesterly side.”

“Oh, who cares where it was?” demanded Hal, with a yawn. “It isn’t there now and nobody knows that he ever buried any treasure.”

“Now, suppose, then,” continued Bee, undisturbed, “that we divide the island longitudinally and latitudinally with lines in this fashion. The lines, you see, intersect pretty nearly in the middle of this bunch of trees. That has no importance. I merely mention it.”

“For the love of Mike, Bee, get to something that has got importance!” implored Hal. “My brain is reeling already!”

“Your what?” asked Bee unkindly. “Now then, Jack, if we draw a line from where the latitudinal line and the edge of the grove meet on this side to where the longitudinal line meets the beach, and if we repeat the—er—operation on the other side, we have an isosceles triangle—”

“Help!” murmured Hal.

“Enclosing the territory within which it is probable that our old friend the wrecker had his cabin,” continued Bee, warming to his lecture. “It stands to reason, though, that he wouldn’t build very near the apex of the triangle—that is, near the beach—because he would be less protected there than farther up the slope. And we have already decided that he didn’t build on top of the hill. So, then, we have a very small territory left, hardly more than a hundred by, say, fifty. Get that, Hal?”

“I do not! What’s more, I refuse to listen to your ravings any longer. I’m sorry I brought you here. I—”

“Well, you see what I mean, don’t you, Jack?”

“Yes, and I guess your reasoning is all right, Bee. Only—”

“Only what?”

“Only it’s a fair guess that if we ever do find out where Old Verny had his cabin it’ll be somewhere we never thought of.”

“It can’t be,” replied Bee, “because I’ve thought of every place there is! Now come over here and let’s look about. If we know that he had his place somewhere within the territory—er—specified—”

“We don’t know it,” said Hal. “We’ve only got your word for it. And you talk so many words that no one knows what you’re saying. You fellows go and look, if you want to. I’m going to sleep.” And Hal slid down to the ground, put his shoulders against the rock, pulled his hat over his face and evinced every intention of carrying out his threat.

Bee observed him in pained disgust. “Honest, Hal, I’ve a good mind to leave you out of the Company. You don’t take any interest at all in things! Come on, Jack.”

They walked around nearer the river side of the hill and studied the slope there. There was nothing to indicate that at one time a house had stood on it. A few small boulders lay about, to be sure, but they had evidently never been used in building. To the left of Bee’s supposititious territory and just above the beach the small tree stood, misshapen and solitary. Aside from that the vegetation consisted of wild grass and briars and an occasional low bush of bay-berry or laurel. Bee frowned intently as he descended the hill, Jack following.

“What do you suppose his cabin was built of, Jack?”

“Wood, I suppose, since they burned it down. Probably of planks and stuff that he gathered along the shore. Perhaps he used timbers from the wrecks.”

“Wouldn’t he have had a foundation, though?”

“I don’t believe so. Anyway, there aren’t any stones in sight that look as though they’d been used that way. And, of course, burning the house wouldn’t have affected the foundation. Maybe they’ve got covered up, though.”

Bee shook his head silently as though disagreeing with that theory. Finally—

“What gets me, though,” he said, “is that there isn’t even a level place here. It doesn’t seem likely he’d have built on the slope without levelling off a bit.”

“I don’t know. The slope isn’t steep. He might have.”

“He must have. I’m certain the cabin stood somewhere around here. If I was going to dig I’d start pretty near where we’re standing.”

“But look here, Bee, we don’t know that; supposing, of course, he really did bury some money or something, he buried it near the house. He might have buried under a tree or—well, almost anywhere.”

“That’s true, but the story goes that the old chap saw the constables coming and hurriedly dug a hole and hid his wealth. Well, if that is so he wouldn’t have climbed to the top of the hill in plain sight of the officers; now would he? He’d probably have dug a hole behind the house or—That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Why, very likely he didn’t have any floor to his cabin and he just dug a hole in the dirt inside! How’s that?”

“Sounds likely enough,” Jack agreed. “But you don’t want to lose sight of the fact, Bee, that maybe there wasn’t anything buried, after all. If they didn’t see him do it, how did they know? And if they did see him do it they’d have dug it up. I wouldn’t bank too much on that yarn.”

“I know,” answered Bee untroubledly. “Still, it’s just as likely that there was treasure of some sort as that there wasn’t. If the old villain was piling ships up on the rocks here for twenty years or so, as the book I read said he did, he must have got something from them.”

“Well, if they were all schooners, and I guess they were, he wouldn’t find very rich pickings aside from the cargoes. Skippers don’t carry diamonds and gold around with them much.”

“They don’t now, maybe, but perhaps they used to. They traded around at different ports, didn’t they? Well, didn’t they have to have money with them to pay for things? Jack, I’m plumb sure there’s something buried on this island, and if I can find it I mean to. And, look here, you said awhile ago that he might have buried the stuff under a tree. Didn’t we decide that the trees weren’t there then?”

“I believe we did,” laughed Jack. “We don’t know that for certain, though. Maybe he buried it alongside a rock, Bee.”

Bee pondered that, his gaze sweeping the slope for likely boulders. “It wouldn’t be hard to dig beside the few rocks here,” he muttered, “and if everything else fails we’ll try that. Well, I suppose we’d better be getting back home. We can’t do any more here today, I guess!”

When they announced that intention to Hal he declared that it was the first sensible thing he had heard Bee say all the afternoon. After they were back in the launch and were moving slowly down the little river, dodging the sand-bars that infested it, Bee was strangely silent. But as he kept his eyes on Nobody’s Island as long as it was in sight it wasn’t hard to guess the reason. He was still pondering the problem of Old Verny’s treasure. Hal, catching Jack’s eyes, nodded at Bee and tapped his own head significantly. Jack smiled. Once around The Clinker, with Nobody’s Island lost behind Toller’s Rock, Bee came back to earth, however.

“We’ll start Tuesday, fellows,” he announced suddenly.

“Start where?” asked Hal, above the thumping of the engine.

“Start for the island; start our search for the treasure.”

“Tuesday? Why Tuesday?”

“Because it’s the day after tomorrow,” replied Bee. “Can you be ready then, Jack?”

“I guess so. You really mean to do it, then?”

“I surely do. We can get everything we want tomorrow, I think; we’ll get up a list tonight, Hal; and we can load the stuff onto the Crystal Spring Tuesday forenoon and go over to the island right after lunch. Can you have the sloop at the town landing about ten o’clock Tuesday forenoon, Jack?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“All right. That’s settled. Now, Hal, let’s settle on a name for the launch, eh?”

“You needn’t trouble yourself,” answered Hal. “She’s already named.”

“She is? What is it?”

“Her name is Corsair,” replied Hal with dignity.

“Horse Hair? Why Horse Hair?” asked Bee bewilderedly.

“I didn’t say Horse Hair I said Corsair!”

“Oh, Coarse Hair! Well, what—”

“C-o-r-s-a-i-r, Corsair, you silly goat!”

“Oh! And again oh! Corsair, eh? Well, that might do. What do you think, Jack?”

“Sounds all right to me,” replied Jack when the name had been relayed to him.

“Still, I think we might find a better one,” said Bee. “Now, let’s see—”

“Look here,” exclaimed Hal warmly, “she’s my boat and if I want to name her Corsair I guess I can. And I do. And so she is!”

“Grammatically, Hal, your construction is weak. ‘I do and so she is’ lacks—er—clarity. If I were you—”

“She’s named Corsair!” insisted Hal doggedly.

“All right; don’t get peevish about it; only it seems to Jack and me—”

“I don’t care what it seems to you,” replied Hal, slathering oil on the engine with a lavish hand. “It’s settled. I’ve named her Corsair—”

“So you remarked before. I think it’s a perfectly lovely name, don’t you, Jack? So—so original, too! By the way, what is a corsair, Hal?”

“Look it up in a dictionary,” growled Hal. “You make me tired. Always butting in—” The rest was lost in the noise of the engine.

Bee smiled sweetly. “No offence, old Hal. Say, all joking aside, what is a corsair?”

“A corsair is a pirate,” replied Hal suspiciously. “It is also a pirate’s ship.”

“Oh, then we’re pirates, are we? That is, you are?”

“The name is Corsair,” averred Hal determinedly.

“All right, Mr. Pirate. And now, if you’ll just slather a few pints of that cylinder oil around the propeller casing you’ll have been pretty well over the boat with it. From the way you’re wasting it you must be some close relation to John D. Rockefeller.”

Hal set down the oil can with a grin. “You’re an awful idiot, Bee.”

“I are indeed. Hello, here we are at Mr. Herrick’s own private little cove! Jack, it’s you who should be the pirate instead of Hal. With a harbor of your own like this you could have a dandy time. You could sit on your doorsteps up there with a spy-glass and when you saw a likely looking merchantman approaching you could sally—no, dash forth and attack her. Then, after you’d swiped—I mean captured all the treasure and made the captain and crew walk the plank you could dash back again. Honestly, Jack, I think you made a big mistake in your choice of professions. Instead of being the driver of a nautical waterwagon you should be flying the Jolly Roger and slicing off people’s heads with a cutlass!”

“You’d have an easy time of it if you were a pirate,” said Hal with elaborate sarcasm. “You wouldn’t need to carry a cutlass. You could just board a ship and talk them to death!”

“Right you are, old Hal! If I was a pirate I’d lay about me with my trusty tongue and the scuppers would be filled with words! Ready with the bow line, there!”

“Half-speed, Hal!” called Jack from the bow. “Stop her!”

The Corsair floated into the cove and alongside the sloop. Jack climbed out and Bee took his place at the wheel.

“Tuesday at ten, Jack,” said Bee. “Don’t forget. If you have anything you think we’ll need put it aboard, like a good fellow. We may see you tomorrow, though. All right, Hal; back her up easy.”

When the launch had made the turn and was pointing her slim bow toward the mouth of the cove Bee made a trumpet of his hands and shouted back:

“O Jack!”

“Hello?”

“Her name is Coarse Hair! Hal says so!”

Jack laughed and waved his hand as the launch disappeared around the point.