a
passage down the middle. At the end of this passage a square piece had
been cut out of the canvas, and it was through the resulting aperture
that plates were passed to and from the kitchen. Bowman it was who
presided over the cooking while Stopforth did the waiting.

We took our seats at one of the tables and called for breakfast.
Stopforth stood for a few seconds and regarded Mulcahy with a somber
eye. Then he strolled slowly down the passage and called through the
aperture:

"Bill."

"Hullo?"

"Breakfast for ten; here's this son of a back."

My partner was enormously pleased at this compliment to his prowess;
for months afterwards he used to chuckle at the remembrance of it.

After Mulcahy moved up to "The Reef" he kept more than ever to himself,
discouraging advances even from me. This, we afterwards found, was due
to his having struck rich gold from the very first, and to his desire
to keep the circumstance from being known. He worked his cradle at a
small spring about a hundred and fifty yards away. To this spring he
had scarped a footpath along the mountain side, and over this footpath
he harrowed his stuff. He seemed seldom or never to sleep. It was his
custom to knock off work comparatively early in the afternoon. Until
about nine o'clock he would stroll about. Then he would recommence
work, and we would often hear the barrow going all night long. Most of
the daytime he spent cradling at the spring.

Occasionally, in the evening, this strange being would come and stand
near our tent. Wolff, who hated him, strongly objected to this; he
thought the man came to listen to our conversation. My theory, which I
fully believe to have been the right one, was that the lonely creature
sometimes felt an irresistible longing for human companionship.

The belief currently held regarding Mulcahy was to the effect that he
had been a noted "road agent" that is to say, a highway robber in
California. One incident, of which I was a witness, might be taken to
indicate that at least he had something very heavy on his conscience.

One evening Wolff and I were watching the approach of a very violent
thunderstorm. Just as it broke, and while we were in the act of
fastening the tent-door, Mulcahy appeared and, to my surprise, asked if
he might come in. Wolff gave no answer, but I replied in the
affirmative. Mulcahy entered, and the three of us sat down, Wolff and I
on one bunk and the visitor on the other. The table was be