More brandy; and then, as his eyes brightened, he laughed, actually laughed up at us, saying, in a strong voice,— ‘Why, you fool, for the big lump, o’ coorse! A ’underd an’ eighty ounces! Too big to share, I reckon. I’d a-smashed a dozen men for it in them days, let alone a poor softy like Jim.’ ‘There must be thirty or forty ounces down there,’ I remarked. ‘Why didn’t you take that too?’ ‘Never you mind,’ he said. ‘I come back for it now. And if it hadn’t been for that theer infernal dorg I’d ha’ had it.’ ‘And how about us?’ asked Treloar, as, obeying the look in his eyes, he gave him another drink. [Illustration: Upon the rope coils lay “Brummy,” quite still. (Page 87)] The dying man smiled significantly, but said nothing. There was a long pause, during which Brummy shut his eyes, and breathed stertorously, whilst _Kálee_, drawing herself noiselessly along on her belly, came closer, and looked into his face, but with no anger in her gaze now. ‘There’s one thing I can’t understand,’ said Treloar, in a low voice, ‘and that is how he contrived to get up this shaft again with the gold.’ Quietly as he spoke, Brummy heard him, and muttered— ‘Would ye like to know?’ ‘No, no!’ exclaimed Treloar earnestly. ‘We have wasted far too much precious time already in vain talk. Can we do anything to make your mind easier? You know you can’t last much longer. In God’s name try and prepare yourself to meet Him.’ Very slowly came the reply, in short gasps,— ‘I’m easy enough. If I could choke the pair o’ ye by winkin’ I’d do it. I’m gittin’ cold a’ready. But I’m cursin’ ye to mysen all the time. If I kin git back I’ll häänt ye.’ Another long silence, and then he murmured,— ‘Take that dorg away, Jim, or I’ll put the pick into yer! There, you got it now, ole man! Ah, would yer?’ Then the flickering light in the eyes failed altogether, and, I take it, a very defiant, murderous old soul went forth to meet its Maker. _Kálee_, smelling at the body, sat upon her haunches and wailed loudly and dismally after the manner of her kind, answered from the flat by Eclipse, marvelling at the disturbance of his friend, with sonorous bellowings. This was the requiem of him as he passed to join the other shades of Yamnibar. Slain by a dog and the cunning of his own hand. As for the gold that ‘Jim’ had lain by so quietly, and watched so patiently through the years, we never got any of it. The three nuggets figured in the police-court inquiry, with other things, under the title of ‘Exhibit A.’ That was the last glimpse we had of them. Departmental red tape enwrapped them so closely that no amount of solicitation could render them visible again—to us. Easier would it be to draw leviathan from the waters with a bit of twine and a crooked pin than to draw ‘treasure trove’ from the coffers of a treasury—colonial or otherwise. To this day they are possibly accumulating dust, pigeon-holed with the depositions in the case. But I doubt it, I doubt it.