In the belief that there might be others somewhere around, Mickey spent an hour or two longer in an exploration of the cave, with the single purpose of looking for bodies. They approached the ravine in which Fred had dropped his gun. The Irishman leaped across, torch in hand, and prosecuted his search along that side; but they were compelled to give over after a time and conclude that only a single individual had preceded them in the cave. “Where he came from must iver remain a mystery,” said Mickey. “He hasn't been the kind of chaps you find in this part of the world; but whoever he was, it must have been his luck to drop through the skylight, just as we did. He must have found the wood here and kindled a fire. Then he wint tramping round, looking for some place to find his way out, and kept it up till he made up his mind it was no use Then he acted like a gintleman who prefarred to be shot to starving, and, finding nobody around to 'tend to the business, done it himself.” “Can't we bury him, Mickey?” “He's buried already.” The Irishman meant nothing especial in his reply, but there was a deep significance about it which sent a shudder through his hearer from head to foot. Yes, the stranger was buried, and in the same grave with him were Mickey O'Rooney and Fred Munson. The speaker saw the effect his words had produced, and attempted to remove their sting. “It looks very much to me as if the man had n't done anything but thramp, thramp, without thrying any way of getting out, and then had keeled over and give up.” “What could he do, Mickey?” “Could n't he have jumped into the stream, and made a dive? He stood a chance of coming up outside, and if he had n't, he would have been as well off as he is now.” “Is that what _you_ mean to do?” “I will, before I'd give up as he did; but it's meself that thinks there's some other way of finding our way. Bring me gun along, and come with me!” Mickey carried the torch, because he wished to use it himself. He led the way back to where the stream disappeared from view, and there he made another careful examination, his purpose being different from what it had been in the first place. He stooped over and peered at the dark walls, noting the width of the stream and the contour of the bank, as well as the level of the land on the right. Evidently he had some scheme which he was considering. He said nothing, but spent fully a half hour in his self-imposed task, during which Fred stood in the background, trying to make out what he was driving at. He saw that Mickey was so intently occupied that he was scarcely conscious of the presence of any one else, and he did not attempt to disturb him. Suddenly the Celt roused himself from his abstraction, and, turning to the expectant lad, abruptly asked: “Do you know, me laddy, that it is dinner-time?” “I feel as though it was, but we have no means of judging the time, being as neither of us carries a watch.”