f any could they would be
devoured by the serpents which abound there. This country is inhabited
by pygmies and giants. The giants, who are by far the largest men to be
seen in this strait, are ruled by the pygmies."

"And who is the author of this fairy tale?" I asked.

"One to whom I take my hat off," answered Hartog. "Marco Polo, the
first and greatest navigator in the world's history. Where he could go
we can follow."

"And where does he place the Ruby Mountains?" I inquired.

"That is what troubles me," replied Hartog. "Marco Polo knew the Great
South Land, but not so thoroughly as we are beginning to know it now.
From this chart I place the Ruby Mountains on the north-west coast of
the continent of New Holland."

"Whose chart is it?" I inquired.

"Marco Polo's own," said Hartog. "It was given to me by a man I once
befriended, together with the parchment you have just read. How he came
by it I need not say. The man is dead, and I trust his sins are
forgiven him. But I know he would not lie to me, not willingly."

"It seems a wild goose chase," I said, although my doubts were rapidly
dissolving under the witchery of Hartog's sanguine temperament.

"So did our last voyage," answered Hartog. "Yet every word that was
written upon the paper that guided us was true. And why should we
presume that men would give so much labour to preparing these charts
and manuscripts in order to perpetuate lies?"

I could not but admit this. The ability to make these drawings, and to
inscribe these manuscripts, I knew was confined to a very few, who were
mostly men of truth and honour. Such accounts as were available of the
wonderful voyages of Marco Polo I had read with avidity, and I saw no
reason to doubt the assertions of this brave and learned man.

"What do you propose, then?" I asked Hartog, although in my own mind, I
knew the old sea-dog was impatient to be off on a new treasure-hunt.

"What else can I do, Peter?" replied Hartog, "than take ship for this
place? I could never rest content, nor would you either, with the
thought of these Ruby Mountains still unexplored."

"You have settled the matter, then, so far as I am concerned," I said,
with a laugh.

"And why not, partner?" answered Hartog. "We own a fine ship that was
surely never intended only to make a maiden voyage. We could visit this
place, and be back in twelve months--two years at most. What is to keep
us, then, from our pleasure trip?"

Before Hartog