Fresh as paint they were, in a manner o'
speaking, just as though they'd died yesterday; whereas by Bill's
account they must ha' lain there for more'n a year. And the faces on
'em white and shinin'--"
Here Captain Coffin shivered, and, glancing about him, poured out
another go of rum.
"You wouldn't blame me for wantin' it, Brooks--not if you'd seen 'em.
That was on the Keys, as they're called--half a dozen banks to
no'thard of the island, and maybe from half a mile to three-quarters
off the shore, which shoals thereabout--sand, all the lot of 'em, and
nothin' but sand; sand and sea-birds, and--what I told you. But the
bulk lies in the island itself, in two caches; and where the bigger
cache lies _he_ don't know, and nobody knows but only Dan Coffin."
Captain Coffin winked, touched his breast, and wagged his forefinger
at me impressively.
"That makes twice," he went on. "Twice that devil has got the better
of every one. But the third time's lucky, they say. He may be dead
afore this; he'll be getting an oldish man, anyway, and life on that
cursed island can't be good for his health. We won't go in a crowd
this time, neither; not a dozen, nor yet four of us, but only you an'
me, Brooks.
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