ts power; arms, utensils,
the grapnel of the _Paracuta_, all adhering to the sides of the
monster. There also were the iron relics of the _Halbrane's_ boat,
all her utensils, arms, and fittings, even to the nails and the iron
portions of the rudder.

There was no possibility of regaining possession of any of these
things. Even had they not adhered to the loadstone rock at too great
a height to be reached, they adhered to it too closely to be
detached. Hurliguerly was infuriated by the impossibility of
recovering his knife, which he recognized at fifty feet above his
head, and cried as he shook his clenched fist at the imperturbable
monster,--

"Thief of a sphinx!"

Of course the things which had belonged to the _Halbrane's_ boat
and the _Paracuta's_ were the only articles that adorned the mighty
sides of the lonely mystic form. Never had any ship reached such a
latitude of the Antarctic Sea. Hearne and his accomplices, Captain
Len Guy and his companions, were the first who had trodden this
point of the southern continent. And any vessel that might have
approached this colossal magnet must have incurred certain
destruction. Our schooner must have perished, even as its boat had
been dashed into a shapeless wreck.

West now reminded us that it was imprudent to prolong our stay upon
this Land of the Sphinx--a name to be retained. Time pressed, and a
few days' delay would have entailed our wintering at the foot of
the ice-barrier.

The order to return to the beach had just been given, when the voice
of the half-breed was again heard, as he cried out:

"There! There! There!"

We followed the sounds to the back of the monster's right paw, and
we found Dirk Peters on his knees, with his hands stretched out
before an almost naked corpse, which had been preserved intact by
the cold of these regions, and was as rigid as iron. The head was
bent, a white beard hung down to the waist, the nails of the feet
and hands were like claws.

How had this corpse been fixed to the side of the mound at six feet
above the ground?

Across the body, held in place by its cross-belt, we saw the twisted
barrel of' a musket, half-eaten by rust.

"Pym-my poor Pym!" groaned Dirk Peters.

He tried to rise, that he might approach and kiss the ossified
corpse. But his knees bent under him, a strangled sob seemed to rend
his throat, with a terrible spasm his faithful heart broke, and the
half-breed fell back--dead!

The story was easy to