nk of
brandy.

"What were you saying? The thing couldn't have been a diamond 'cause a
diamond can't shine till it's cut? I know that. But I believe this one
is cut--split by some convulsion of Nature, polished, so to say, on one
side. And there are `stones' there, for we found two or three more, but
of no size.

"This last time--never mind it, I'm getting weaker. I'd better tell you
how to get there while I can. Ride a full day due north beyond the
great river where you cross it from here--thirty miles maybe--two
kloofs--one long poort. [A poort is a pass or defile as distinct from a
kloof, which is a mere terminable ravine.] Take the long poort, and
follow it to the end. There are--two mountains--turret-headed--and a
smaller one. Straight from--the smaller one--facing the setting sun--
within--day's ride--and--beware--the _schelm_ Bushmen. How dark--it
is--good night, friend. Don't forget--The Valley of the Eye--you're a
rich man--"

Thus closed the record of the dying adventurer. Commencing with all the
verve of a darling topic, it ended in disjointed, fragmentary sentences,
as the flickering life-spark burned fainter and fainter. Yet there was
something pathetic in the generosity of this man, a mere rough
adventurer, gasping forth in the stupor of approaching death the history
of, and clue to, his alluring, if somewhat dangerous, secret--his last
breaths husbanded and strained, that he might benefit one who was a
perfect stranger to himself, but under whose roof he had found a
refuge--a place wherein he might die in peace, tended by kindly and
sympathetic hands.

To the two men, there in their lonely camp, it was as a voice from the
dead speaking to them. Even Maurice Sellon, hard, reckless, selfish as
he was, felt something of this among the varied emotions evolved by the
almost miraculous reappearance of the lost document.

Overhead, in the dark vault, myriads of stars twinkled and burned, one
every now and again falling in a silent, ghostly streak. The creatures
of the night, now fairly abroad, sent forth their wild voices far and
near, and ever and anon the horses picketed close at hand would prick up
their ears and snort, as they snuffed inquiringly the cool breaths of
the darkness.

"And you think that near enough, eh, Fanning?"

"I do. This time we shall find it--that is, if we are given half a
show. We may have to fight, and we may have to run--in which case we
must try again anoth