“Only gold or lead could weigh like this,” he said exultantly. Hooker was still looking at the dead Chinaman. He was puzzled. “He stole a march on his friends,” he said at last. “He came here alone, and some poisonous snake has killed him—I wonder how he found the place.” Evans stood with the ingot in his hands. What did a dead Chinaman signify? “We shall have to take this stuff to the mainland piecemeal, and bury it there for a while. How shall we get it to the canoe?” He took his jacket off and spread it on the ground, and flung two or three ingots into it. Presently he found that another little thorn had punctured his skin. “This is as much as we can carry,” said he. Then suddenly, with a queer rush of irritation, “What are you staring at?” Hooker turned to him. “I can’t stand—him.” He nodded towards the corpse. “It’s so like—” “Rubbish!” said Evans. “All Chinamen are alike.” Hooker looked into his face. “I’m going to bury _that_, anyhow, before I lend a hand with this stuff.” “Don’t be a fool, Hooker,” said Evans. “Let that mass of corruption bide.” Hooker hesitated, and then his eye went carefully over the brown soil about them. “It scares me somehow,” he said. “The thing is,” said Evans, “what to do with these ingots. Shall we re-bury them over here, or take them across the strait in the canoe?” Hooker thought. His puzzled gaze wandered among the tall tree-trunks, and up into the remote sunlit greenery overhead. He shivered again as his eye rested upon the blue figure of the Chinaman. He stared searchingly among the grey depths between the trees. “What’s come to you, Hooker?” said Evans. “Have you lost your wits?” “Let’s get the gold out of this place, anyhow,” said Hooker. He took the ends of the collar of the coat in his hands, and Evans took the opposite corners, and they lifted the mass. “Which way?” said Evans. “To the canoe?” “It’s queer,” said Evans, when they had advanced only a few steps, “but my arms ache still with that paddling.” “Curse it!” he said. “But they ache! I must rest.” They let the coat down. Evans’ face was white, and little drops of sweat stood out upon his forehead. “It’s stuffy, somehow, in this forest.” Then with an abrupt transition to unreasonable anger: “What is the good of waiting here all the day? Lend a hand, I say! You have done nothing but moon since we saw the dead Chinaman.” Hooker was looking steadfastly at his companion’s face. He helped raise the coat bearing the ingots, and they went forward perhaps a hundred yards in silence. Evans began to breathe heavily. “Can’t you speak?” he said. “What’s the matter with you?” said Hooker. Evans stumbled, and then with a sudden curse flung the coat from him. He stood for a moment staring at Hooker, and then with a groan clutched at his own throat. “Don’t come near me,” he said, and went and leant against a tree. Then in a steadier voice, “I’ll be better in a minute.”