As we sat on a rock waiting for our companions, Selta went sniffing about on her own account and rooting into the far corners of the old cave. She at length found her way to the dead hen harrier, as it lay on a slab of flagstone. Hercus called her off as she put her nose too closely to the bird. But Selta was following her instincts; for, in turning the bird with her nose, she disturbed a small rat which was coolly making its meal there. I ran to examine the damage done to the hawk (for I was anxious to give the bird uninjured to Mr. Drever), while Willie followed the dog into the crevice where she had chased the rat. I found the harrier was not much damaged; a few feathers were bitten out and a little of the skin was broken, that was all. I put my harpoon and stick through the string that secured the bird's legs and slung it over my shoulder, gathered up our sealskin, and went to hurry up Tom and Robbie, for the tide was rising and we had a long journey before us. Tom had just cut the last of the skin from the seal's head, and when he had folded it up, the three of us began our walk towards the further shore of the bay, expecting Hercus to follow with the dog. "Hello! what can be keeping Hercus so long?" asked Robbie, when we had walked some distance. I told him about the rat that the dog was after, and looked back for Willie. Not seeing him, we concluded he had gone round by the top of the cliffs, and we continued our way a few yards further. Then we heard Hercus calling after us in an excited way. "Come back, lads, come back!" he shouted; and I looked at the sea line, fearing lest it was the rising tide that Hercus was warning us against. "I'm not going back," objected Tom. "We've got time to get to the other side long before the water's up. Besides, I'm hungry. I'm going home." "Tut, didn't we wait for you while you skinned your seal? Let's go back," I urged. "Maybe Hercus is hurt." "Come away back, Tom," added Rosson. So we all returned to where Willie Hercus still remained, and wondered what he could mean by calling us back. When we entered the chasm we were much surprised to find Hercus lying flat on the shingle, with his right arm deep in a hole he had dug, and the dog at his side, wagging her tail and uttering short barks of excitement. "Good sakes!" exclaimed Robbie Rosson. "What's wrong with the lad?" Much relieved we were to hear Hercus speak. I confess I had felt certain some harm had happened to him. "Come away," he said, in a tone which was far from being a cry of pain. "Come away, lads, and give us a hand here. There's better gear than rats in this hole, I'm thinking." And, so saying, he rose to his knees and held out to us a heavy and black piece of metal, which at first I took to be an iron bolt. "Well, what is it?" I asked, taking the thing in my hand and examining it. "What is it?" said Hercus. "Can you not see, lad? Why, it's silver!" Chapter VII. What The Shingle Revealed.