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 Lee Rundle chewed much tobacco on the return trip. I was busy driving, because I was in a hurry.

As shortly as could be after our empty return Goodloe Banks and I forgathered in the back room of Snyder’s saloon to play dominoes and fish for information. I told Goodloe about my expedition after the buried treasure.

“If I could have found that three hundred thousand dollars,” I said to him, “I could have scoured and sifted the surface of the earth to find May Martha Mangum.”

“She is meant for higher things,” said Goodloe. “I shall find her myself. But, tell me how you went about discovering the spot where this unearthed increment was imprudently buried.”

I told him in the smallest detail. I showed him the draughtsman’s sketch with the distances marked plainly upon it.

After glancing over it in a masterly way, he leaned back in his chair and bestowed upon me an explosion of sardonic, superior, collegiate laughter.

“Well, you are a fool, Jim,” he said, when he could speak.

“It’s your play,” said I, patiently, fingering my double-six. Rh