"There's a little door, as sure as you live," he told her.
The girl was beside herself with excitement. "Yes? What else? What more do you see?"
"Nothing. It appears to be made of solid timbers, and has two huge hand-wrought locks."
"Locks! Then we HAVE found it." Rosa closed her eyes; she swayed momentarily. "Esteban was right. Locks, indeed! That means something to hide. Oh, if I could only help you."
"God! If I only had something—ANYTHING to work with!" muttered the American as he fell to with redoubled energy. He no longer tried to conserve his strength, for the treasure-seeker's lust beset him. Rosa looked on, wringing her hands and urging him to greater haste.
But the low, thick door was built of some hard, native wood: it was wet and tough and slippery. O'Reilly's blows made no impression upon it, nor upon the heavy hasps and staples with which it was secured in place. The latter were deeply rusted, to be sure, but they withstood his efforts, and he was finally forced to rest, baffled, enraged, half hysterical from weakness and fatigue.
Daylight was at hand once more, but he refused to give up, and worked on stubbornly, furiously, until Rosa, in an agony, besought him to desist.
Johnnie again collapsed on the grass and lay panting while the other two replaced the planks.
"Another hour and I'd have been into it," he declared, huskily.
"You will skill yourself," Jacket told him.