After a sleepless and restless night the excited little party of treasure seekers repaired once more to the palm tree which marked the spot so long sought by them.

“Got your knife, Sam?” exclaimed Grant. “Let’s see how good a lumberman you are.”

“Ah’ll hab dat ol’ tree down in no time,” cried Sam confidently, and with his great heavy knife grasped firmly in his right hand he fiercely attacked the unsuspecting tree. The wood was soft and before long began to yield to Sam’s blows.

“That’ll just about finish up that knife,” remarked Grant to Fred.

“Suppose it does,” said Fred. “There’s another hoop from that old cask up at the cave and he can easily make another.”

“Isn’t a barrel of gold worth more than an old iron knife anyway?” said John. “I should say so if you asked me.”

“A barrel of gold wouldn’t have done you much good when that shark was after you though,” said Grant grimly. “I guess just at that time Sam’s old iron knife was worth more to you than anything in the world.”

“That’s true,” acknowledged John soberly. “I have no right to talk against that knife.”

“Come over here and give this tree a push,” shouted George who was bustling importantly around Sam. “You fellows seem to think this is a party or something. Come over here and do some work.”

No great amount of urging was required, however, and a moment later every one in the party was standing about the tree, pushing and pulling with all his might.

“She’s beginning to give!” exclaimed George. “Keep it up!”

“Let Sam get to work for a minute or so more,” suggested Grant. “About a dozen more good blows will finish the job.”

“Dat’s right,” agreed Sam readily. “Lemme at dat ol’ tree agin.”

As though it was his mortal enemy Sam attacked the unsuspecting palm tree and dealt it such fierce blows that it soon required only a slight exercise of strength to topple it over.

“There she is,” panted George when the tree lay prostrate. “She’s down and now the only thing that stands between us and the treasure is a few feet or yards of sand.”

“Let’s hope it’s feet,” said John.

“And that there are no rocks to go through either,” added Fred.

“You certainly can think of more hard luck than any one I ever saw, Fred,” exclaimed George, pretending to be very much discouraged with his friend. “Why do you always look on the dark side of things?”

“I don’t. I just believe in being sensible about it, that’s all.”

“It seems to me you’re always looking for trouble.”

“By the way,” said John, “you didn’t get those shark teeth, did you, Sam?”

“’Deed Ah didn’t,” exclaimed Sam, resting a moment from his exertions, for he had already commenced to dig. “Ah done clean forgot ’em.”

“Will that bring us hard luck?”

“Not at all,” said George. “Sam said that one would bring you good luck if you had it, but he didn’t say it would be hard luck without it.”

“I know that,” said John, “but I thought that perhaps if you had a chance to get one and didn’t do it you might give yourself bad luck.”

“You’re as bad as Fred,” exclaimed George disgustedly. “Why can’t you all be cheerful?”

“Why can’t you all go to work is what I’d like to know?” exclaimed Grant. “It seems to me that that is more important than luck.”

“You’re right, Grant,” said George readily. “There’s no such thing as luck.”

“There’s such a thing as work, though,” said Grant grimly. “Let’s all do some of it.”

They fell to work with a will and dug busily and steadily for a long time. A hole about four feet square was started and the boys were armed with almost everything one could think of in place of real tools. Sticks, flat pieces of rock, and hands almost more than anything else were employed.

“It’s a good thing for us we are digging in sand and not in clay,” remarked Fred after some time had elapsed.

“I should say it is!” agreed John. “As it is, we aren’t making a great deal of headway it seems to me.”

“Oh, yes, we are,” exclaimed Grant. “The hole is at least a couple of feet deep already.”

“I wish we could all get in there at once,” said George. “We could work much faster then.”

“Perhaps we won’t have to go much deeper,” said Grant hopefully.

“I think we shall though.”

“Suppose we take turns down there with the knife,” suggested Fred. “One of us can loosen up the sand with it and then a couple more can get in and throw it out.”

“That’s a good scheme,” exclaimed John. “Give me the knife, Sam.”

“Ah can do it mahself,” protested Sam.

“No, you can’t either,” laughed John. “You’ve done enough work for to-day anyway. Let me have it now and perhaps you can take another turn at it later.”

Reluctantly Sam gave up the knife and joined the others who stood and watched John down in the hole. When he had loosened a considerable amount of earth he climbed up and Fred and George took his place and threw the loose sand out of the pit. This operation was repeated many times with different ones doing the work. In this way the labor was lightened and the hole grew amazingly.

It was George’s turn with the knife and he was working tremendously. He hacked and carved the sand, exerting himself to the utmost. All at once the knife struck something hard that had a metallic ring to it.

“You’ve got it, Pop!” cried Grant excitedly. “You’ve got it sure!”

“Hurry up and dig around it,” exclaimed Fred. “Let me do it.”

“I can do it all right,” said George, and he fell to work with even more zeal than formerly.

Again and again his knife struck the metallic surface beneath him. His companions, grouped all around the pit, riveted their gaze on him and watched him with rapt attention. George dropped the knife and dug the sand away with his hands. The black top of an iron chest presented itself to the view of the fascinated onlookers.

“Can you move it, Pop?” cried Grant.

“I can’t find the edge of it.”

“Ah get ’im,” said Sam suddenly, and he dropped into the pit and began to work like a beaver. Their combined efforts soon cleared all the sand from the top of the chest, which appeared to be about eighteen inches square. On the top was a little handle with which to lift it.

“Lift it out, Sam!” cried John. “Lift it out!”

Sam exerted all his strength but could not budge the stocky little chest. It was either extremely heavy or stuck fast. Every one who was concerned in the matter was so interested in these operations that he was entirely unconscious of everything except what was going on in the pit right before their eyes.

“Dig it out a little more,” advised Grant. “You can lift it then.”

This proved to be true and a few moments later after a great pulling and tugging Sam succeeded in raising the heavy little chest from its place. Another great effort and he swung it up out of the pit where it was pounced upon by Fred, John and Grant. Sam and George followed almost instantly and an immediate inspection was made to see how it was to be opened.

“There’s no lock on–” began Grant eagerly, when he was strangely interrupted.

“Ahoy, there!” came a shout and in amazement every one turned to see whence came the hail. Its bow just grating on the beach, was a small boat manned by four sailors; a half-mile off shore a large steamer was riding at anchor. So engrossed had all the boys been in digging the pit that they had not once noticed nor suspected its approach.

“Well,” gasped John, “what do you think of that?”

“It means we get home all right anyway,” exclaimed Fred. “Where do you suppose it came from?”

“I don’t even care,” said George. “How about the treasure, Grant?”

“The chest is empty,” replied Grant gazing ruefully into the barren depths of the stout little iron box.

THE END

The Outdoor Chums
SERIES

By CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN

The Outdoor Chums
On the Lake
In the Forest
On the Gulf
After Big Game
On A House Boat
In the Big Woods
At Cabin Point

For lovers of the great outdoors (and what boy is not?) this “Outdoor Chums” series will be a rare treat. After you have read the first book and followed the fortunes of the “Chums,” you will realize the pleasure the other seven volumes have in store for you.

These rollicking lads know field, forest, mountain, sea and stream–and the books contain much valuable information on woodcraft and the living of an outdoor life.

The Goldsmith Publishing Co.

NEW YORK, N. Y.