ble of analyzing them; that would come later.

The lantern was brought. Courtenay stood on the lowermost rail, and
carefully paid out a rope to which the light was slung. He was far too
brave a man to take undue risks. He was ready to shoot instantly if
need be, and, by his instructions, Tollemache and Walker kept watch as
best they could in case other canoes were lying close to the ship.

Any doubt in this regard was dispelled in a singular manner. The
flickering rays of the lantern had barely revealed the primitive craft
lying alongside when a voice came from the depths, crying in broken
Spanish:

"Don't shoot, senors--spare me, for the love of heaven! I am a white
man from Argentina."

Christobal and Elsie alone understood the exact significance of the
words. Courtenay, of course, knew what language was being spoken, and
it was easy to guess the nature of the appeal. But the lantern showed
that the canoe was empty. In the center lay the Fuegian fire, its
embers covered with a small hide. The pole, fastened to a cross-piece
in the thwarts, was not a mast, but had evidently been shipped in order
to give speedy access to the deck by climbing.

Then Courtenay caught sight of two hands clinging to the stern of the
canoe. He swung the lantern in that direction, and an extraordinary,
and even an affrighting, object became visible. A caricature of a
human head was raised slightly above the level of the water. It was
crowned by a shock of coarse, black, knotted hair, tied back from the
brows by a fillet of white feathers. An intensely black face, crossed
by two bars of red and white pigment, reaching from ear to ear, and
covering eyelids, nose, and lips, was upturned to the watchers from the
deck. The colors were vivid enough, notwithstanding the sheets of rain
which blew in gusts against the ship's side, dimming the dull light of
a storm-proof lamp, to convey a most uncanny effect; nor did Courtenay
remove either his eyes or the revolver while he said to Christobal:

"Ask him who he is, and what he wants."

The answer was intelligible enough.

"I am a miner from Argentina. I have been among these Indians five
years. When their attack failed, I thought there was a chance of
escape. For pity's sake, senor, help me instantly, or I shall die from
the cold."

"Have the Indians gone?" asked Christobal.

"Yes. They thought to surprise you. When they come again it will be
by daylight, as they are afrai