With a laugh he threw the pouch over the squaw’s head, pulled the bottom tightly around her neck, and tied the strings securely. “The same with thee, old son,” he said, and treated Reivers in the same summary manner. “You see, I do not wish to have to put you away,” he explained genially, “and that I would do if by chance thy eyes should see the way to Shanty Moir’s mine. One or two men have been unlucky enough to see it. They will never be able to tell the tale.” He skilfully searched the pair for hidden weapons, but Reivers had expected this and carried not so much as a knife. “All right. Keep in my steps, old son. Presently thou’ll get wet. Do not fear. Wilt not let ’ee come to harm. Neither thee nor tuh squaw. I have use for you both. Come now; I’ll go slow.” The buckskin pouch pierced only by the tiny air-holes, masked Reivers’ eyes in a fashion that precluded any possible chance of sight. He knew instinctively that Moir was turning. First the turn was to the left. Then back to the right. Then in a circle, and after that straight ahead. Presently the feel of a sharp rock underfoot told him that they had entered the Dead Lands. He stumbled purposely to one side of the trail and bumped squarely against a solid wall of stone. Next he tried it on the opposite side with the same result. Moir was leading the way through a narrow defile in the rocks. Suddenly there came to Reivers’ ears the sound of running water, the lazy murmur of a small brook. Almost at the same instant came the splash of Moir and his dogs going into the stream and Moir’s laughing: “Wilt get a little wet here, old son. But follow on.” Fumbling with his feet Reivers found the stream and stepped in. To his surprise the water was warm. Warm water? Where had he seen warm water recently in this country? His thoughts leaped back with a snap. There was only one open stream to be found thereabouts, and that was the brook that came from the warm springs by which he had camped on his way to Tillie’s. “Warm water!” laughed Moir. “Wilt find all snug in my camp. Aye, as snug as in a well-kept jail.” The stream was knee-deep, and by the pressure of the water against the back of his legs Reivers knew that they were going down-stream. Presently Moir spoke again. “Now, if you value the tops of your heads, do you duck as low as you can. Duck now, quick; and do you keep that position till I tell you to straighten up.” Reivers and Tillie ducked obediently. Suddenly the tiny light that had come through the air-holes of their masks was shut out. The darkness was complete. Reivers thrust his hand above his bowed head and came in contact with cold, clammy rock. No wonder it had taken MacGregor and Moir two years to find the mine, since the way to it lay by a subterranean river! The light reappeared, but it was not the sunny light that had come through the air-holes before they had entered the river tunnel. It was grey and dead, as the light in a room where the sunshine does not enter.