EN INSISTED WE head back toward Sewee and walk along the coastline.

“We can’t travel the inland paths at night,” he said. “Full moon or not, you can’t see anything down in that swamp.”

“FYI, those marshes are known as Alligator Alley,” Hi added.

“No thanks.” Shelton shouldered his pack. “The long way sounds just fine.”

We retraced our steps, then followed a deer track along the coastline. The moon now took up half the sky. The ocean was flat and smooth as glass, the air still and muggy. Every mosquito in the county was snacking on our sweat-slicked skin.

After a half hour, we swung back south and reached Boneyard Beach.

“I’ll just say it.” Hi gestured to the ghostly stretch before us. “This is the creepiest place in the world. So glad we came in the middle of the night.”

Hundreds of dead trees lay on the beach, all bleached morgue-white by exposure to sun and salt water. The nickname was perfect. Gnarled trunks. Twisted limbs. The sand was strewn with corroded seashells and the carapaces of long-dead crustaceans. The place looked like a Paleozoic graveyard.

“Spread out,” I said. “Look for a gigantic tree with branches spreading like Medusa’s hair.”

I crept through the Boneyard, stopping every few yards to check the hill across the lake. Finally, I locked onto target.

A petrified cedar, standing all alone.

The weathered old trunk was ten feet in diameter. Two yards above ground it divided into five limbs that snaked low across the sand. Every branch reached inland, as if running away from the sea.

The whole tree formed a lopsided V ten yards across at its widest point.

“The devil’s hand!” Ben exclaimed. “Of course!”

“Come again?” Hi said.

“The Sewee legend!” Ben pumped his fist. “Remember what my uncle told me? ‘When the night sky burned as daytime, a flaming brand mounted the field of bones, and staked the devil’s hand.’ This tree has to be it!”

Another piece clicked into place. “Anne Bonny had long red tresses, like flames. The story must describe the night she buried her treasure!”

“The Sewee wove the event into their oral history.” Ben squeezed my shoulder. “We dig here.”

“Okay, so this chunk of firewood is the devil’s hand.” Chance was sizing up the cedar. “Where do we stake it?”

Ben made a quick circuit, weaving through and clambering over the twisted, dead limbs.

“The branches all run inland,” he said when finished. “Three on the right, two on the left. There’s nothing noteworthy on the seaward side of the tree.”

I walked inside the V and put my back to the trunk. Nestled between the tree’s ancient arms, I felt sheltered and safe, protected from winds and tides.!!!If it were my treasure, I’d bury it here.

I drew a line in the wet sand. Crossed it with another.

“X marks the spot.”

“We’re digging in the wrong place!” Chance tossed his shovel from the hole and hopped out. “It’s a dead end.”

“Get back in here!” Ben snapped. “We’ve only gone a few feet.”

“And found zilch.” Chance stretched his arms wide. “It’s been over an hour!”

“I’m barely winded. Don’t be such a baby!”

The space between the branches had been converted to a makeshift excavation site. Buckets, shovels, and other implements lay scattered on the sand. Our electric lantern hung from a bough, lighting the inside of the deepening hole.

“This could be the wrong tree,” Chance grumbled. “But say it’s not. If we’re off by even a yard in any direction we’ll dig right past whatever’s down there. If anything’s down there.”

Hi and Shelton were leaning against the trunk, ropes in their hands, buckets at their feet. My role was more … supervisory.

“This is the right spot,” I said. “I’m positive.”

“Based on what?” Chance crossed his arms. “Convince me.”

“This tree has a substantial root system, but none stretch under this one spot. Also, from here there’s a direct line of sight to the watchtower.”

“That’s it?” Chance was incredulous. “That’s your brilliant reasoning? You can see a hundred dead trees from that tower!”

“The cross sighted on this tree, and we’re excavating the only reasonable location near it.”

Chance pointed at Hi and Shelton. “Why can’t they dig?”

“They’re holding the safety ropes.” Ben tossed a shovelful of dirt over his shoulder, forcing Chance to dance aside. “Sand holes are inherently dangerous. If the sides cave in, we need someone to pull us out.”

Chance snorted. “Tubby and Tiny here?”

Hi bristled. “We’re stronger than we look.”

“Keep yapping,” said Shelton. “We won’t bother with you.”

“Enough.” I pointed Chance back into the hole. “Dig.”

Another hour. Three more feet.

Hi and Shelton were slumped against the tree, taking a break from hauling buckets. Ben and Chance had slowed noticeably.

No one would meet my eye. I could sense a rebellion forming.

And they were right.

I should’ve called it off earlier, but couldn’t handle the disappointment. I’d been so sure.

Thunk.

“Was that your foot?” Ben’s voice sounded muffled down in the pit.

“No,” Chance said. “My blade hit something.”!!!Thunk thunk thunk.!!!Clank.

“What was that?”

Hi’s question roused Shelton from a light doze. “Wha happa?”

“Holy crap!” Chance sounded funny.

“Find the corners!” Ben ordered.

“Guys?” I stepped to the rim and peered down into the hole. Ben and Chance were on their knees, clawing with their bare hands.

“Get back from the edge!” Ben ordered.

“Spades!” Chance barked. “Now!”

“Okay, okay!”

Heart hammering, I grabbed two trowels and returned to the pit.

“Incoming!” I dropped the implements. “What did you find?”

No reply.

Sand and mud flew from the pit.

“It’s wood!” Ben yelled. “I think it’s a chest of some kind!”

“Rope!” Chance called. “We’ll have to haul it up!”

Shelton grabbed two lengths of nylon rope and chucked them into the hole. Moments later, the coils came flying back out.

“Keep one end up there, you idiot!”

“Sorry dude!” Shelton was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hi gave him a calm-down gesture with both hands.

I lowered one end of each rope. Ben and Chance worked quickly, exchanging words I couldn’t hear, hostilities forgotten.

“Ready,” Chance yelled. “Send down the escalator!”

Shelton, Hi, and I hefted a six-foot length of spiky driftwood we’d placed beside the pit.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Ready!” Jinx.

Working together, we maneuvered one end of the log into the hole. Ben and Chance seated the crude ladder, then cautiously climbed out.

Once both were safely topside, we withdrew the driftwood. The pit held.

“We found something!” Ben was trying to contain his excitement but failing. “Whatever’s down there is definitely manmade!”

“We tied lines to handles on both ends.” Chance had four ropes looped around his forearm. “We just need to pull it out!”

“Four corners,” Hi instructed. “If everyone hauls at once, the pit shouldn’t collapse.”

We raced into position, everyone bursting with frenzied energy.

“Turn your back to the hole, shoulder your rope, and walk slowly away.” Hi had belly-crawled to the pit’s edge. “If you move in unison, the load should stay balanced.”

“Ready?” Ben glanced from face to face. Everyone nodded.

“Step! Step! Step!” Hi called out the cadence.

I felt resistance at first, then it lessened. There was a soft grating like sandpaper moving on wood.

“Step! Step! Step!”

I inched forward, muscles straining.

Something snagged and my rope went taut.

“Put your backs into it!” Hi urged. “Just a few more feet!”

I leaned my shoulder forward, dug in my heels, and tugged with all my might.

I heard a clonk, then the shush of cascading sand.

“It’s up!” Hi called.

Ben tied his rope to a branch and raced to Hi’s side. A dirt-crusted chest hung suspended an inch above the hole.

“Hurry!” Shelton whined. “I can’t hold much longer.”

Ben grabbed for the nearest handle and steadied the box with two hands. Hi snagged the other side.

“Shelton and Tory, release on the count of three. Chance, hang tight. Ben and I will pull the chest toward us.”

“Uno! Dos! Tres!”

Shelton and I dropped our lines as Ben and Hi hauled backward.

The chest slid onto the sand between them.

Just like that, the treasure was ours.