ightfall Simpson's Gully was reached, and little Trevor was
directed to the tent of Paul Bevan, who had arrived there only the day
before.

"It's a strange story, lad," said Paul, after the boy had run rapidly
over the chief points of the news he had to give, to which Betty, Fred,
and Flinders sat listening with eager interest.

"We must be off to search for him without delay," said Fred Westly,
rising.

"It's right ye are, sor," cried Flinders, springing up. "Off to-night
an' not a moment to lose."

"We'll talk it over first, boys," said Paul. "Come with me. I've a
friend in the camp as'll help us."

"Did you not bring the piece of bark?" asked Betty of the boy, as the
men went out.

"Oh! I forgot. Of course I did," cried Trevor, drawing it from his
breast-pocket. "The truth is I'm so knocked up that I scarce know what
I'm about."

"Lie down here on this deer-skin, poor boy, and rest while I read it."

Tolly Trevor flung himself on the rude but welcome couch, and almost
instantly fell asleep, while Betty Bevan, spreading the piece of
birch-bark on her knee, began to spell out the words and try to make
sense of Tom Brixton's last epistle.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

With considerable difficulty Betty Bevan succeeded in deciphering the
tremulous scrawl which Tom Brixton had written on the piece of
birch-bark. It ran somewhat as follows:--

"This is probably the last letter that I, Tom Brixton, shall ever write.
(I put down my name now, in case I never finish it.) O dearest mother!
what would I not now give to unsay all the hard things I have ever said
to you, and to undo all the evil I have done. But this cannot be.
`Twice bought!' It is strange how these words run in my mind. I was
condemned to death at the gold-fields--my comrades bought me off.
Fred--dear Fred--who has been true and faithful to the last--reminded me
that I had previously been bought with the blood of Jesus--that I have
been _twice bought_! I think he put it in this way to fix my obstinate
spirit on the idea, and he has succeeded. The thought has been burned
in upon my soul as with fire. I am very, _very_ weak--dying, I fear, in
the forest, and alone! How my mind seems to wander! I have slept since
writing the last sentence, and dreamed of food! Curious mixing of
ideas! I also dreamed of Betty Bevan. Ah, sweet girl! if this ever
meets your eye, believe that I loved you sincerely. It is well that I
should die, perhaps, for I