ing extra
dry tonight, and I don't want to be tempted by knowing I have the key
to the medicine-chest in my pocket. Whenever I pass that confounded
box, I think of the two quarts of booze inside, and my tongue swells.
Just keep the keys till tomorrow, will you? Ruth kept them for me when
I had my last big thirst, a few weeks ago--remember? But I would
rather you kept them this time. I don't want her to know I'm having a
hard time. She makes such a fuss over me, stuffs me with pills, and
makes me drink that vile sassafras tea."

Martin dropped the bunch of keys into his trousers pocket. He regarded
Little Billy with sympathy. For the past few days, the hunchback had
again been engaged in a bout with his ancient enemy. Little Billy was
fighting manfully, but the strain was telling, aging his mobile face,
making rare his sunny smile and whimsical banter. Martin keenly felt
the other's suffering, for he had learned to love the little cripple.

"Cheer up, Billy!" he said. "A better day coming."

"Oh, sure! Don't worry about me," responded Little Billy. "Turn in
and get your sleep. I'm for the bunk, too--but I guess I'll read a bit
before I turn the lamp down. Lord, don't I wish I owned a saloon!
Well, tomorrow we'll find the ambergris, and I'll have money enough to
drink myself peacefully to death--providing that devil, Carew, hasn't
been before us to this cheerful spot. Good night."

Clambering into his bunk, the little man composed himself to a pretense
of reading.

Martin decided he would not trouble Little Billy with a recital of
MacLean's outburst. The poor fellow's mind was feverish enough without
being bothered with the old Scotchman's wild, nonsensical raving.
Martin knew the hunchback would consider gravely, and be disturbed, if
he spoke. Little Billy apparently had some faith in Sails' mystical
foresight.

In truth, Martin himself, was impressed and oppressed by the Scot's
obscure hints of evil to come--they fitted so well with the wild and
gloomy face of the volcano and the depressing fog. Martin was half
ashamed of his dread of something he could not name; but he turned in
standing, removing only his shoes and loosening his belt, before
crawling into his bunk and drawing the blankets over him.

A strange hand grasping his shoulder brought Martin out of deep sleep
to instant consciousness. The light still burned in the room, and his
opening eyes first rested on the tin clock hanging on t