But what I said does not
matter. He was not listening, and before I had done he drained and
set down the glass and gripped my arm again.
"I seen all that--ay, an' felt it!" He drew away and stretched out
both hands, crooking his fingers like talons. "Ay, an' I seen
_him!_"
"Him?" I echoed. "But you were talking of Death, sir."
"You may call him that. There's men lyin' around in the sand--
Did ever you hear, boy, of a poison that kills a man and keeps him
fresh as paint?"
"No, sir."
He nodded. "No, I reckon you never did. Fresh as paint it keeps
'em, and white as a figure-head. The first heap as ever I dug,
believin' it to be the treasure--my reckoning was out by a foot or
two--I came on one o' them. Three foot beneath the sand I came on
him, an' the gulls sheevoing all the while over my head. _They_
knew. And the sea and the dreadful loneliness around us all the
while. There was three of us, Brooks--I mention no names, you
understand--three of us, and _him_. Three to one. Yet he got the
better of us all--as he got the better of the first lot, and _they_
must ha' been a dozen. Four of them we uncovered afore we struck the
edge of the treasure--uncovered 'em and covered 'em up again pretty
quick, I can tell you.
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