mine of gold. Harlan, who had spent an inattentive year at a school of
mines before he was requested to leave, began to take an interest in the
situation.

Shane returned that night long after the others, without having found
another sign. Nor was he any more successful, when day after day he
continued to patrol the beaches, though his faith in the sands of Kon
Klayu remained unshaken.

Ellen and he were returning one afternoon, from Skeleton Rib where they
had gone to look for pay-sand. He had recovered the use of his sprained
wrist and had brought along the shotgun. Opposite the little lake in
this vicinity they turned in from the beach. A drizzling rain had begun
to fall. The dead yellow grass lay flat on the ground. The bare brown
branches of the alders were hung with globules of water which fell,
wetting Ellen as she brushed through them. Out on the lake she caught
glimpses of a flock of belated mallards, but since there was now no
upstanding vegetation it was difficult for the hunters to hide their
approach. Crouching low behind an alder Ellen watched Shane creep up
within shooting range. Since the gun was an old thing held together by
copper wire, and went off at the slightest jar it was impossible to carry
it loaded. Shane paused, inserted the shells, raised the piece and took
careful aim. There came a loud report, a whirr of wings, and the next
instant Shane fell backward, one hand flung upward to his head.

Ellen sprang to where he lay motionless, blood streaming down one side of
his face. Even in her anguish she noted that the gun barrels had burst
from the force of overloaded shells. Swiftly she plunged her
handkerchief into the water and uttering incoherent entreaties and
endearing names, began to bathe his face which already was beginning to
swell.

For what seemed a long time Shane did not move. Frantically she tore a
strip from her lawn chemise and bound up his head to stop the flow of
blood. Then with all her strength she sought to raise him from the
grass. His head fell limply back exposing his bare brown throat to the
falling rain.

"Shane . . . Shane . . . O, help me, dear! Please!" Cold fear gripped
her and made her voice tremble. She struggled once more to raise his
heavy body. She was unable to lift him. Calling him, imploring him, she
tried again and again, until at last he sat up slowly, groaning and
putting both hands to the bloody bandage about his head.

"Come,