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Jack removed a little dirt with his bare hands. “Wish I had a shovel or a spade!” he complained.

“Maybe that fellow has a pet buried here,” Ken suggested.

Jack straightened up, knocking dirt from his hands. “You would shatter the illusion!” he accused. “I was figuring on bringing up a box of gold. Enough to take us to Colombia!”

“Whatever is planted here is down deep,” Ken said. “We can’t bring it up without some tools.”

“Let’s trot home then and get ’em.”

“It’s late, Jack. Anyway, why not cut the other fellows in on the fun?”

“The Explorers?”

“Sure, why keep a good thing like this to ourselves? War in particular would get a big boot out of digging up something—even if it proves to be only a dead cat!”

“Okay,” Jack agreed reluctantly, “but maybe whatever is buried won’t be here by tomorrow. We’re taking a chance.”

“Not a very big one. We know that bird comes at night ever so often. It strikes me, he doesn’t come to dig anything up, but only to make certain it’s still here.”

“Could be,” Jack agreed. “A treasure, maybe! Or loot from a robbery!”