‘Not that poor valueless shell,’ answered my friend, who was now kneeling, ‘but this! and this! and this!’ holding up, as he spoke, three fine nuggets, whose dull gleam had caught his eye in the heap of loose drift on which the skeleton partially lay. ‘Never!’ I exclaimed. ‘He never would have had the pluck to face back again if _that_ is some of his work.’ ‘If it is,’ said Treloar, quickly springing to his feet, thereby bumping the roof with his head, ‘we shall soon hear of it. Back, man! Back for your life! Hark! By G—d! there’s _Kálee_ now. Good dog, hold him!’ as if it were possible for her to hear at that depth. Pushing and scrambling along, we got to the entrance of the drive, where the muffled sounds resolved themselves in a furious hullaballoo of barks and curses. Then, as we paused for a moment, swish, swish, down came the windlass rope, falling all of a heap. Just as we were on the point of pushing out, what feeble light there was at the bottom changed into total darkness, and, with a terrific smash, a heavy mass fell at our feet. Then silence, broken only by low groans and hoarse fierce growls. With trembling hands we relit our candles, and saw more distinctly. Upon the rope coils lay ‘Brummy,’ quite still. Squatted on his breast, the great hound watched him narrowly—so narrowly that her lolling red tongue nearly touched the face of the prostrate man. Blood oozed slowly from his mouth and ears. With reluctance the dog obeyed her master’s call, and, apparently uninjured, crouched in a corner, panting loudly, while we examined Brummy. ‘_Habet!_’ said Treloar, as we turned him over. ‘Back’s broken! See here’ (producing a loaded revolver from a hip-pocket), ‘the old man meant business. It’s only guessing, mind. But he probably thought we should attempt to escape up the Snake Shaft, and would have shot us off the ladders like magpies. Well done, Goddess _Kálee_. You’ve proved yourself worthy of your name for once, anyhow.’ With a good deal of trouble we got the rope through the drive into the Snake Shaft and on to our windlass again. It had been cut clean off with a tomahawk. We hove the man and the dog up. We let the other thing alone for a while. But the one we had thought dead was still alive, with a little life. As the cool air blew on his face he opened his eyes. It was all he could do. Black, beady eyes, once sharp and piercing, now fast dulling with the death-film. And he lay there and watched me, staring fixedly. It was a bright sunshiny day, the birds were singing cheerily about us, and the wash of the sea was very faint. From the expression on his face I thought he was listening to it. Presently Treloar returned from the camp with some brandy, and poured a spoonful between the clenched teeth. The spirit revived him a little, and he spoke. He said,— ‘Curse you!’ More brandy, and he spoke again. ‘Is he there yet?’ ‘He’s there yet,’ answered Treloar. ‘How long ago was it?’ ‘Ten year.’ ‘What did you kill him for?’