I had noticed how freshly the earth smelled, and wondered thereat. The pick was fresh too. One could swear that it had not left its owner’s grip five minutes. Without a doubt it had been used to remove the thin curtain of earth between the rival drives. Looking more closely, fresh knee and footprints were plentiful. What the deuce did it mean? Crawling along the new drive, which was much smaller than the Rainbow’s, I at length emerged into a shaft that struck me as familiar. The ‘Snake,’ or I was a Dutchman! I knew it by the ladders, for one thing; for another, by a piece of timber at the entrance to the opposite drive—the one in which we had made our three-ounce rise. I tried the rungs of the rude ladders. Not half so rotten as we had taken them to be. Also covered with fresh earth left by recent boots. Only fifty feet to the top, and up I went safely enough. Treloar was sitting smoking, with his back towards me as I approached. I startled him finely when I spoke. ‘This is the hole the old man wants,’ he remarked, after hearing my story. ‘He knew he couldn’t very well get down our rope and climb up it again. But he knew that one of the ‘Snake’ drives ran nearly into one of these. I suspect he must once have been employed in one or other of the claims. Either that, or he’s been fossicking here before. You know we’ve come across plenty of traces of such. Cunning old dodger! But what _can_ he be after? I tell you what. We’ll both go down and try another of the drives. We’ll leave _Kálee_ on top to watch. I’ll bet you she’ll sing out pretty soon.’ I said nothing, for I was beginning to have doubts respecting ‘Brummy’s’ veracity. This time I lowered Treloar first. Then, whilst he held the rope taut, I slipped comfortably down. We chose the opposite drive to the one I had explored, and moved in, Treloar leading. ‘Hello!’ said he presently, ‘someone’s been here before us. See, there’s been a good-sized pillar taken out. Why, here’s some of the dirt left yet! And—good God!’ he suddenly exclaimed, ‘what’s this?’ Pushing up alongside him, and holding my candle forward, I saw, lying at full length, a human skeleton. And yet it was not a complete skeleton. Here and there, rags and tatters of flesh, dry and hard as leather, stuck to the frame. A pair of heavy boots, with the ankle bones protruding, lay detached, and remnants of clothing were still visible. But the head was what fixed our gaze, the first horror of the thing over. The fore part of the skull had been smashed completely in. Near by lay a small driving-pick, thickly encrusted as with rust. ‘Neither rats, nor mice, nor snakes did that,’ whispered Treloar, pointing to the awful fracture. ‘Surely,’ I replied, with a shiver, ‘this can’t be the thing old Brummy’s searching for. No wonder he insisted on the place being haunted.’