"I know how many there ought to be!" he cried--"twenty-four. A brace of
pistols and a cutlass for every man. Here, pitch them and I'll catch."
There was nothing to prevent my handing them to him; but, boy-like, it
seemed pleasant thus to turn work into play, and I began to pitch one by
one the little heavy packages as I drew them out of the chest.
Bigley nearly let one fall, but he saved it, and laughingly placed it in
the row he was making, till, counting the while, he exclaimed--
"Twenty-three! Is that next one the last?"
"Yes," I said, as I pitched it to him and it was placed in the range
upon the table. "You were right."
"Is there anything else?"
"Oh, yes," I said; "the box isn't half empty."
I dived down and brought out next a long sword, more carefully wrapped,
and in superior paper to those which had been previously taken out.
Then followed a squarish case or box in paper, and for a few moments we
were undecided as to what it might be, concluding that it must be a
pistol-case with a brace of superior weapons inside.
Still the chest was far from empty, and on continuing the unpacking I
found that I was handing out short carbines, such as artillerymen or
horse-soldiers would use.
"Twelve!" cried Bigley, who was growing more and more excited. "What
next?"
The next thing was a small square box wrapped in something soft, and
occupying the bottom corner of the chest, while the rest of the space
was occupied by small boxes that were not wrapped in paper, but fastened
down with copper nails, and on each was painted the big figures--250.
I handed out eight of these little boxes, and they, being pretty heavy,
were placed close beside the wall of the office.
"That's all," I said, and, concluding that it was the proper thing to
do, we replaced the shavings and saw-dust in the chest, shut down the
lid, put the loose screws in a piece of paper, and tied them to one of
the clamps before pushing the chest aside and making all tidy.
This done, we hovered, as it were, about the table with longing eyes and
itching fingers, ending by looking at each other.
"I say," said Bigley; "didn't your father say that we were to unpack the
box?"
"Yes, and we've done it," I replied rather sulkily.
"Well, oughtn't we to take the things out of the paper, and lay the
paper all neatly and save the string?"
"Think so?" I said longingly.
Bigley hesitated, took up a packet, turned it over, balanced it in his
hand, laid it down again, and rearranged several of the others without
speaking, but he heaved a deep sigh.
"Think we ought to unpack them further?" I said.
"No," said Bigley unwillingly. "I don't think it would be right. Do
you?"
"No," I said with a sigh; "but I should like to have a look."
We two lads went on hovering about the table, peering at first one
packet and then at another, feeling them up and down, and quite
convincing ourselves that certain ones were a little more ornamental
than others. There was no doubt about it, we felt. They were swords,
pistols, and carbines.
"Here, I know," I exclaimed.
"Know what, Sep?"
"The boxes, 250."
"Well, what about 'em?"
"Cartridges," I said. "Two hundred and fifty in each."
"So they are," cried Bigley with his eyes dilating; and, however much we
may have been disappointed over the silver mine, the counting-house now
seemed to be a perfect treasure cave, such an armoury had it become.
"I say, they won't go off, will they?" cried Bigley.
"Pshaw! Not they. I say, wouldn't old Bob like to be here now?"
"Ah, wouldn't he?" said Bigley. "Why, it's like being in a real
robbers' cave."
"No," I said; "not robbers'," and I recalled the thoughts I had indulged
in earlier in the day.
"No; of course not," said Bigley thoughtfully; "it isn't like a robbers'
cave. I say, don't it look as if there were going to be a fight?"