"Rowley," said he, "we must attend to business, before it be too late. I know I shan't live through another night, and must make up my reckoning to-day. I've got about one hundred and eighty ounces; and it's all yours, my boy. I don't know that I have a relation in the world; and there is no one to whom I care to leave anything but yourself. I can die happy now, because I know that the little I leave will belong to you. Had this happened before our meeting in Sonora, my greatest sorrow at going aloft would have been, to think some stranger would spend what I have worked hard to make, while my little Rowley might be rolling hungry round the world." At Stormy's request, the landlord of the lodging was called in; and commanded to produce the bag of gold which the sailor had placed in his keeping. At this the man, apparently an honest fellow, went out of the room; and soon returned with the treasure, which, in the presence of the landlord and a miner who had come in, its owner formally presented to me. It was a bequest rather than a present--the act of a dying man. "Take it, Rowley," said he, "and put it with your own. It was got in an honest manner, and let it be spent in a sensible one. Go to Liverpool, marry the girl you told me of; and have a home and family in your old age. I fancy, after all, that must be the way to be happy: for being without home and friends I know isn't. Ah! it was that as made me live the wretched roaming life, I've done." The exertion of talking had made Stormy worse. I saw that he began to breathe with difficulty; and seemed to suffer a great deal of pain. So great was his agony, that it was almost equal agony for me to stand by his side; and I stole out, leaving him with the surgeon--who had meanwhile arrived--and the miner before mentioned. I stole out _upon an errand_. Volume Two, Chapter VII. MY COMRADE AVENGED. Perhaps ere this my errand may have been conjectured. If not I shall disclose it. I left the bedside of Stormy to seek Red Ned. I went direct to the tavern--knowing that the bully frequented the place, and that if not there, some one could probably tell me where he might be found. As I entered the bar-room, a tall, slender man, with red hair, was talking, in a loud voice, to a knot of others collected in front of the bar. "Let him dare tell me that it was murder," said the red-haired man, "and I'll serve him in the same way I did the other. Murder indeed! Why, there was a dozen men by, who can prove that I listened for ten minutes to the man insulting and abusing me in the most beastly manner. Could flesh and blood stand it any longer? What is a man worth who'll not protect his character? Whoever says I acted unfair is a liar; and had better keep his cheek to himself." As soon as I heard the speaker's voice, and had a fair look at him, I recognised him as an old acquaintance.