It followed a glance over the shoulder in my direction, and immediately preceded the return of Santos to his camp-stool.
"Yes, it is always better to bury treasure," said he once more; but his tone was altered; it was more contemplative; and many smoke-rings came from the shrunk lips before another word; but through them all, his dark eyes, dull with age, were fixed upon me.
"You are a treasure!" he exclaimed at last, softly enough, but quickly and emphatically for him, and with a sudden and most diabolical smile.
"So you are going to bury me ?" I had suspected it when first I saw the spade; then not; but since the visit to the hole I had made up my mind to it.
"Bury you?
No, not alive," said Santos, in his playfully reproving tone.

"It would be necessary to deeg so dip!" he added through his few remaining teeth.
"Well," I said, "you'll swing for it.

That's something." Santos smiled again, benignantly enough this time: in contemplation also: as an artist smiles upon his work.

I was his! "You live town," said he; "no one knows where you go.

You come down here; no one knows who you are.