When all that it seemed possible to find had been collected, and our digging brought nothing more to light, we opened our two seals’ skins—­throwing away the blubber, which seemed of little worth to us now that we had possessed ourselves of all this wealth—­and lifting the treasure into them we made them into slings, one of which was carried by Tom Kinlay and Willie Hercus, the other by Robbie Rosson and myself.  We bore our burdens joyfully as far as the other side of Skaill Bay, just managing to escape the tide that was creeping up to the base of the cliffs.

The last rays of the sun were setting across the broad Atlantic when we reached the top of the headland, and in the gray twilight spreading over the sea we watched the fleet of whaling ships sailing to the westward.

Chapter VIII.  Dividing The Spoil.

Resting after the work of carrying our burden up the cliffs, we stood for a space upon the heights above Row Head to watch the sails of the fleet growing smaller as they approached the distant line of the horizon.  The leaden sea danced in the fresh breeze, and the sky gradually lost its golden tints and assumed the clear, cold hue of the northern twilight.  To the southward, across the moor, rose the dark mountains of Hoy Island, with the moon gleaming pale above them.  From the shore came the fresh smell of the seaweed and the plaintive crying of the gulls.

The evening was growing late, and there were still half a dozen miles of rough moorland between Ramna and Stromness.  Over the braes of Borwick we travelled at a steady pace.  We were light of heart, for we had had a successful expedition, as was proved not only by our dead falcon and the two seals’ skins, but, more than all, by the great wealth that those seals’ skins carried.

Many were our conjectures as to the meaning of that great horde of silver we had discovered hidden in the sands of Skaill Bay.

“I wonder how it all came there!” mused Robbie, and then he added, “D’ye ken what I think, lads?”

“What think you, then, Robbie?” I asked.

“Well,” said he, “I just think it must have been cast there by some shipwreck in the olden time.  D’ye mind, Hal, of the story of the wreck of yon Spanish ship on the Carrig-na-Spana?”

“What! the San Miguel?”

“Ay, maybe that was her name, I dinna ken.  Well, if you mind, she struck on the reef there, and the skipper dropped all his treasure chests overboard, in mortal fear that the Orkney wreckers would rob him of them.  I suppose he took his bearings, but for many a day the wreckers searched the waters, and never a thing did they find.  Well, years and years after that the old skipper’s son came to Orkney, and went straight to the spot where the treasure had been sunk and carried it all off to Spain.”