"It was lookin' right down at me when I looked up and I saw its

face plain as I see yours. It had big round eyes that looked all

cold and dead, and its cheeks were sunken in deep, and I could see

its yellow teeth behind thin, tight-drawn lips--like a man who had

been dead a long while, sir," he added, turning toward Bradley.

"Yes!" James had not spoken since the apparition had passed over them,

and now it was scarce speech which he uttered--rather a series of

articulate gasps. "Yes--dead--a--long--while. It--means something.

It--come--for some--one. For one--of

us. One--of us is goin'--

to die. I'm goin' to die!" he ended in a wail.

"Come! Come!" snapped Bradley. "Won't do. Won't do at all.

Get to work, all of you. Waste of time. Can't waste time."

His authoritative tones brought them all up standing, and

presently each was occupied with his own duties; but each worked

in silence and there was no singing and no bantering such as had

marked the making of previous camps. Not until they had eaten

and to each had been issued the little ration of smoking tobacco

allowed after each evening meal did any sign of a relaxation of

taut nerves appear. It was Brady who showed the first signs of

returning good spirits. He commenced humming "It's a Long Way to

Tipperary" and presently to voice the words, but he was well into

his third song before anyone joined him, and even then there

seemed a dismal note in even the gayest of tunes.

A huge fire blazed in the opening of their rocky shelter that the

prowling carnivora might be kept at bay; and always one man stood

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