and I returned home dead-beat, with hardly a tired
word to exchange with each other.

We had now been at it for about a fortnight, and I loved the old chap
more every day for the grit and courage with which he supported our
terrible labours and kept up his spirits. We had long since passed out
of sight of each other, and much time was necessarily wasted by our
going to and from the place where we left off each day. Many a time I
hallooed to the old man to keep his heart up, and received back his
cheery halloo far and far away.

Once or twice we had made fancied discoveries which we called off the
other to see, and once or twice we had tried some blasting on rocks
that seemed to suggest mysterious tunnellings into the earth. But it had
all proved a vain thing and a weariness of the flesh. And the ghost of
John P. Tobias still kept his secret.

CHAPTER XI

_An Unfinished Game of Cards._

One evening, as I returned to the ship unusually worn-out and
disheartened, I asked Tom how the stores were holding out. He answered
cheerfully that they would last another week, and leave us enough to get
home.

"Well, shall we stick out the other week, or not, Tom? I don't want to
kill you, and I confess I'm nearly all in myself."

"May as well stick it out, sar, now we've gone so far. Then we'll have
done all we can, and there's a certain satisfaction in doing that, sar."

Good old Tom! and I believe that the wise old man had the thought
behind, that, perhaps, when there was evidently nothing more to be done,
I might get rid of the bee in my bonnet, and once more settle down to
the business of a reasonable being.

So next morning we went at it again; and the next, and the next again,
and then on the fourth day, when our week was drawing to its close,
something at last happened to change the grim monotony of our days.

It was shortly after the lunch hour. Tom and I, who were now working too
far apart to hear each other's halloes, had fired our revolvers once or
twice to show that all was right with us. But, for no reason I can give,
I suddenly got a feeling that all was not right with the old man, so I
fired my revolver, and gave him time for a reply. But there was no
answer. Again I fired. Still no answer. I was on the point of firing
again, when I heard something coming through the brush behind me. It was
Sailor racing toward me over the jagged rocks. Evidently there was
something wrong.

"Something wrong with ol