“Now let’s tie him up!” Arnold suggested.  “I think it would be wise to sew him down to the sand.  He’s a slippery fellow.”

“Good idea!” laughed Frank.  “But tying is better all round.”

“What shall we tie him with?” asked Tom.  “I have nothing.”

“Why, come to think of it,” Harry put in, “how did you get ashore, anyway?  Last we knew of you, you were guarding the Fortuna.”

“While you lads were up the beach after that horseshoe crab,” explained Tom, “I sat on the roof of the cabin with the glasses.  I thought I saw a figure stealing along in the shelter of those pines to the eastward of this spot and after a while I made him out.  The glasses showed that it was our last visitor on board the Fortuna.  So I knew he’d bear watching, as they say, and I went below to get a gun for emergency.  When I came out again, he was real close, and I saw what he intended to do.  I simply started the engines, slipped the cable and ran the Fortuna high and dry on shore, tumbled over the bow and arrived in time to checkmate his little game.  I’m glad, too!”

“So are we!” heartily agreed the boys with one accord.

“But what are we to do with this chap?” queried Jack.  “It rather worries me.  He’s apt to be a white elephant on our hands.”

“It would serve him good and right,” began Arnold, “and be only justice, too, if we marooned him on this very island where he left Frank.  I think that’s the best way out of the whole thing.”

“Let’s set the chap down by the fire,” Tom suggested, “while we argue it out.  There’s still a little raw edge on the wind.”

Tom was right, and although the fog of the morning had gone, the air was still damp and the wind from the Gulf was heavy with moisture that chilled the boys when not in motion.  Accordingly, following the lad’s suggestion, they directed their steps toward one of the fires kindled earlier by Frank.  There they seated themselves while Tom with one automatic and Jack with another watched Wyckoff.

“Perhaps the prisoner at the bar may have a suggestion in the premises,” ventured Frank.  “We want to be square with you, Wyckoff, even if you have treated us exceedingly unkind.”

“I want you fellows to take your gear and go back north!” shouted Wyckoff in an angry tone.  “I’ll fix you yet for this!”

“We have a right to be here,” Jack put in, “so long as we don’t harm anyone.  We are merely tourists out for a pleasure trip.”

“You lie!” almost screamed Wyckoff.  “You’re after the Spanish Chest, but you shall never have it!  It belongs to me!”

In his excitement the prisoner almost forgot himself and shook his fist at Jack threateningly, rising to his feet meanwhile.

“Sit down!” Tom’s voice, although calm, carried a world of meaning to the excited man whose glance toward Tom took in the unwavering blue muzzle of the Weapon in his captor’s hand.

“Suppose for the sake of argument that we were after this mythical chest of treasure whose value has been without doubt multiplied many times in the retailing of its story,” Jack argued, “does that imply that we are committing a crime against you?  Have you any more claim on the chest that you mention than we have?”