“That gold will rust in here sure as a nigger’s black,” grumbled Buckrow, as he felt his way out.  “I don’t like this place at all.”

“Best place on the island,” whispered Thirkle.  “Tell him it’s the best place on the island, Reddy.”

“It’s the best place on the island, Bucky.  I don’t see as we could do better.”

“I don’t care what ye think of it; I say it’ll rust in there,” said Buckrow.

“You had better go in backward this time,” said Thirkle.  “You may find it a little harder, Mr. Trenholm; but perhaps it will be more convenient.”

“What’s that?” demanded Buckrow.  “Who go in first?”

“It will be easier if Mr. Trenholm goes in first,” said Thirkle.  “He’ll have to go backward, but he’ll find it easier to navigate.”

“Oh, no, he won’t!” said Buckrow.  “I see your game, Thirkle.  Ye want to come out behind Mr. Petrak and borrow a gun.  We’ll let you go in first, and the writin’ chap can come out atween ye and Petrak.  Don’t come none of them games on me, Thirkle.  I’m too old a fish.”

We went in with the second lot of sacks in the same order, but I saw another exchange of signals between Thirkle and Petrak before we stooped for our burdens.

Before we had gone ten feet inside the crevice Thirkle coughed, and Petrak, close behind him said:  “Gold don’t rust.”

“I say it do,” declared Buckrow.  “Six months’ time in here’ll have this stuff with whiskers on it like a Singapore tramp that hasn’t been docked in a dog’s age.”

“I say gold don’t rust,” persisted Petrak.  “How about it, Thirkle?  Does gold rust?  I say it don’t, and Bucky says it do.”

“You’re right, Reddy, but don’t quarrel now,” said Thirkle.  “It won’t rust because gold doesn’t rust.”

“I don’t give a tinker’s hang what Thirkle says!” cried Buckrow, throwing down his end of the sack.  “I’m here to say gold will rust if it’s kept wet, and that’s an end of it.  Gold do rust, Thirkle or no Thirkle, and I say it.”

“All right,” agreed Reddy.  “Lay on, Bucky, and let’s get this job over and done with!”

“White-livered little fool!” I heard Thirkle mutter.  “He doesn’t dare do it!”

I heard Petrak and Buckrow coming on, and we were soon at the end of the black hole.

“This is a fine place, lads,” said Thirkle.  “It will keep in here as well as if buried in white, dry sand.”

“Maybe it will and maybe it won’t,” growled Buckrow.  “I don’t call no wet hole like this fine, and never did, and I’m minded to bury the rest of it outside.”

“Never a bit of hurt in the water, Bucky,” said Petrak cheerily.  “We’ll put many of these shiners over the bar of the Flag and Anchor, Bucky, and have many a pipe over our drink.”

“Ye don’t catch me in no Flag and Anchor.  I’ll have my drop of liquor in the Flagship and you can go to the devil for yours, for all I mind.  What if this blasted hole closes up some day?  What then?  It’ll be a fine place then, no doubt.  Hey, Mr. Thirkle?  What then?”