"Who are you?" demanded the stranger, whose face, shaded as it was by a big canvas helmet, it was difficult to see. "Miners from the Vaal," answered Hickey. "Who are you?" "I am a Frenchman--Francois Chalat. I am ze valet of an American gentleman. Our party not know ze road. We has wandered from what you call ze trail. Will you show ze way to us?" "Where's your party?" demanded Hickey. Francois pointed to a kopjie about three miles distant. "There! Behind zat hill." Just at that moment, Handsome came lumbering up almost on the run, anxious to know what it was all about. "Have you any whiskey?" was his first breathless ejaculation. "We're starving." The valet made no answer. He was too startled to speak. Drawing back a few steps, he stared blankly at the big fellow. For several minutes he stood as if struck dumb. Presently, when he found his speech, he asked in awed tones: "Who are you? What's your name?" "What business is it of yours?" snapped Handsome, with some show of irritation. "Have you any food or whiskey? We're starving." The valet made no answer, but just stared in astonished silence at the big six-footer who towered above him. For a moment he had thought it a trick that his master had played upon him. By walking quickly he had got there before him, and dressed up in these rags just to have fun with him. But that matted hair and that chin, with its weeks of growth of beard. He could not be deceived in that. No, this man was not his employer. Could it be possible, was it--his twin brother long since given up for dead? The same physique, the same features, the same eyes, the same thick, bushy hair with the single lock of white hair in the center of the forehead. There was no room for doubt. It was his employer's brother. It was just as well to make friends. Drawing a flask from his pocket and holding it out, he said: "Here, take a drink. You need it." Eagerly, Handsome snatched it out of his hand. "You bet we do." He took a deep gulp and handed it to Hickey, whose bleary eyes had watered at the very sight of the flask. Francois turned to Handsome. "Where is ze trail?" he asked. "Over yonder," growled the big fellow in surly tones and making a sweeping gesture with his arm which embraced every quarter of the compass. "Rather indefinite, I should say," smiled the valet. "Where you go? Are you on ze way to ze mines?" Handsome Jack took another pull at the flask. His good humor returning in proportion as he felt warmed up by the spirits, he said more amiably: "I guess not. My pal and I have enough of the cursed place--ain't we, Hickey?" The sailor man glanced dolefully at his limping foot, and nodded his head in acquiescence. "You show us the trail home. My boss is very rich man," interrupted Francois quickly. "He pay anything." Handsome pricked up his ears. "Oh, he's rich, is he?" The valet laughed as he replied: