The Indiana Jones films - the new one is about the search for a crystal skull - would play to empty theaters if, after all the narrow escapes from death, Indie had to go to court and argue over the ownership of the Holy Grail or the Lost Ark. But that's the fate of real-life treasure hunters.

The rules of treasure hunting and marine salvage can be as murky as the depths treasure lies in. Nations have legitimate claims to their heritage. Archeologists are right to decry the loss to history when ancient tombs or shipwrecks are looted. But sometimes the rule should simply be "finders keepers."

Last October, Odyssey Marine, a publicly-traded treasure salvage company, announced that it had recovered 17 tons of silver coins, a small quantity of gold coins and some artifacts in the Atlantic off the coast of Gibraltar. Odyssey code-named the ship the Black Swan and kept the exact location of the find and its nature secret.

For a time, the British thought the hoard came from one of their ships, the HMS Sussex. Now, it seems likely that the treasure came from a Spanish galleon, Nuestra Senora de las Mercedes, that was sunk by the British in 1804. The wreck was probably in international waters, but only its finders know for sure.

Spain has lain claim to the entire hoard and its American lawyer argues that the once-mighty nation retains ownership of its lost property essentially for eternity. He is silent on the rights of the people of what is now Peru, whose gold and silver it was in the first place. Spain has no moral claim to the treasure and not much of a legal one either. After all, its soldiers killed innumerable people to get the loot.

The arguments of archeologists are more persuasive. Archeology is hardly Odyssey's first order of business. The company has been frugal with its contributions to historical research, but it is no tomb raider. It spends some of the $2 million per day it takes to search for treasure to record and catalog its finds and displays a selection of them in museums.

Historians wax apoplectic when discussing Odyssey, but it's not like they, or the institutions they work for are going to spend what it takes to find most sunken treasure. Better in their view, to let it sit on the ocean floor. But the quest for buried or sunken treasure is hardwired in humans. The impulse can't be stifled. At best it can be controlled.

The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization has convinced more than 15 nations to sign a treaty banning the commercial exploitation of sunken treasure.

The signers are predominantly nations that have lost treasures. The hold-outs, among them the United States and Great Britain, are among the nations whose citizens have the resources and ability to find the loot.

Both sides have a point. A culture's history should be preserved and documented as perfectly as possible and made public. But losers can't be owners forever, especially if they've given up the search.

Compromise is called for. Ideally, a recovered treasure would be divided between the finder, the party that lost it, and, when appropriate, its original owner, in this case apparently, the Peruvians. The lion's share of the treasure, however, should always go to the person or people who invest time and money and risk their lives to recover it. In the case of the 17 tons of silver, to the extent we know the facts, the rules of possession greatly favor Odyssey Marine.