“Well! that beats all the mean actions I ever beheld before!” said Joe, pausing and staring indignantly at Sneak.

“You’re a fool!” replied Sneak.

“What for? because I wouldn’t rob the dead?” retorted Joe.

“Do you call this robbing the dead?  Hain’t this traitor stoled this lump of gold from the Injins?” said Sneak, displaying a rough piece of the precious metal about the size of a crow’s egg.

“Is it gold?” asked Joe, with some anxiety.

“Sartainly it is,” answered Sneak, handing it to him to be examined; “and what good could come of burying it agin?  I’ll leave it to Mr. Boone to say if I ain’t right in taking it myself.”

“Oh, any thing worth this much ought to be taken,” said Joe, depositing the lump of gold in his pocket.

“See here, my chap,” said Sneak, rising up and casting a furious glance at him, “if you don’t mean to hand that out again, one or the t’other of us must be put in the ground with the traitorious Posin—­and if it is to be you, it’ll be a purty thing for it to be said that you brought a spade to bury yourself with.”

“Didn’t I find the body?” said Joe.

“But burn me if you found the gold,” said Sneak.

“Shall I decide the matter?” interposed Roughgrove.

“I’m willing,” said Sneak.

“And so am I,” replied Joe.

“Then give it to me, and I’ll cut it in two, and give a half to each of you,” said Roughgrove.

The decision was final; and seizing the spades, Joe, Sneak, and the oarsmen began to prepare a resting-place for the dead body.  Boone continued silent, with his eyes steadfastly gazing at the earth which the workmen began to throw up.

“Posin’s done ferrying now,” said Dan Rudder, one of the defunct’s old companions in the service of Roughgrove.

“No he ain’t,” said Sneak, throwing up a spadeful of flint stones.

“I’ll keep some of these for my musket,” said Joe.

“Why ain’t he?” demanded Dan.

“Because he’s got to cross the river—­the river—­what do they call it?—­the river Poles,” said Sneak.

“Styx, you dunce,” said Joe.

“Well, ’twas only a slip of the tongue—­what’s the difference between poles and sticks?”

“You never read any thing about it; you only heard somebody say so,” said Joe, pausing to listen to the hounds that ever and anon yelped in the vicinity.

“If I didn’t, I don’t believe the man that wrote that book ever crossed, or even had a squint at the river himself,” replied Sneak.

“Whereabouts is the river?” asked Dan.

“In the lower regions,” said Joe, striking his spade against a hard substance.

“What’s that you’re scraping the dirt off of?” asked Sneak.

“Oh, my goodness!” cried Joe, leaping out of the grave.

“Let it remain!” said Boone, in a commanding tone, looking in and discovering a skull; “I once buried a friend here—­he was shot down at my side by the Indians.”