awful
desolation, perhaps for a week, with him and a Chinaman. Perhaps he
would have to give evidence on the lunatic's dead body, and even be
accused of causing his death. All these thoughts flashed through his
mind as he ran to the well-head. From the noise he made the man was
evidently not dead yet, and, looking down, he saw his eyes glaring up as
he splashed in the water.

"What's up with him?" roared Hugh to the Chinaman.

"Him, dlink, dlink--all-a-time dlink, him catchee hollows."

They had started to lower the bucket, when suddenly the yells ceased,
a loud bubbling was heard, and looking down they saw only a dim, round
object above the water. Without an instant's delay Hugh put his foot in
the bucket and signed to the Chinee to lower him. Swiftly and silently
he descended the well, jumped out of the bucket, and grabbed the
floating body of the drunkard with one hand, holding on to the rope with
the other. The man had collapsed, and was as limp as a rag. Hugh made
the rope fast under his armpits, and gave the old mining cry, "On top
there, haul away."

Heavily the windlass creaked. Mightily the Chinee strained. The
unconscious figure was drawn out of the water and up the shaft, inch by
inch. The weight of a man in wet clothes is considerably more than that
of a bucket of water, and it seemed a certainty that either the old
windlass would break or the Chinaman's arms give out. Slowly, slowly,
the limp wet figure ascended the shaft, while Hugh supported himself in
the water, by gripping the logs at the side of the well, praying that
the tackle would hold. The creaking of the windlass ceased, and the
ascending body stopped--evidently the Chinee was pausing to get his
breath.

"Go on!" screamed Hugh. "Keep at it, John! Don't let it beat you! Wind
away!"

Faintly came the gasped reply, "No can! No more can do!"

He lowered himself in the water as far as he could, to deaden the blow
in case of the fellow falling back on him, and screamed encouragement,
threats, and promises up the well. Suddenly from above came a new voice
altogether, a white man's voice.

"Right oh, boss! We've got him."

The windlass recommenced its creaking, and the figure at the end of the
rope continued its slow, upward journey. Hugh saw the body hauled slowly
to the top and grabbed by a strong hand; then it disappeared, and the
sunlight once more streamed, uninterrupted, down the shaft. The bucket
came down again, and Hugh clutched it a