There was a certain plausibleness in this reasoning which curbed Courtenay’s wrath, though it in no way diminished the disgust which filled his soul. What quality was there lacking in the Latin races which rendered them so untrustworthy? His crew had mutinied, de Poincilit was ready to consign his companions in misfortune to a most frightful death on the barren island, and here was Suarez hugging to his breast a ghastly secret which chance alone had brought to light. He strove hard to repress the contempt which rose in his gorge, as it was essential that the broken-spirited miner should not be frightened out of his new-born candor. “Ask him to ascertain if the Indians believe the white men are still living?” he said. A fresh series of grunts and clicks elicited the fact that the smoke-column seen the previous day on Guanaco Hill had not been created by the tribe. Suarez begged the señor captain to remember that he had spoken truly when he declared that its meaning was unknown to him. Probably, from what he now learnt, the girl who threw in her lot with the sailors had built a fire there. Courtenay turned on his heel and quitted the cabin. The smell of the Indians was loathsome, the mere sight of Suarez offensive. For this discovery had overcast the happiness of his wooing as a thunder-cloud darkens and blots the smiling life out of a fair valley. There rushed in on him a hundred chilling thoughts, each gloomier than its forerunner. Ravens croaked within him; misshapen imps whispered evil omens; his spirit sat in gloom. Christobal, well knowing how the demons of doubt and despair were afflicting Courtenay, followed him to the upper deck. Boyle was in the chart-house and Tollemache. Each man noted the captain’s troubled face; from him they glanced towards the doctor; but the Spaniard had undergone his purgatory some hours earlier; his thin features were now quite expressionless. Courtenay obtained a telescope. With the tact which never failed him, even in such a desperate crisis as this, he handed the doctor his binoculars. Then, both men looked at the summit of Guanaco Hill. Though it was high noon, and the landscape was shimmering in the heat-mist created by the unusual power and brilliance of the sun, they distinctly saw a thin pillar of smoke rising above the trees. Courtenay closed his telescope. He made to approach Boyle, evidently for the purpose of giving some order, when Christobal said quietly: “Wait! I have something to say to you. You ought to remain on the ship. Let _me_ go!” “You?” “Yes, I. After all, it is only a matter of taking command. One man cannot go alone. He could not even pull the life-boat so far. Hence, what you can do I can do, and I have no objection to dying in that way.” “Why should either of us die?”