e through dank and darksome channels to a trodden mud bank
and Barange village itself, tucked away there like a huddle of giant
hives in a back lot. This time we paused for no maneuvering. Even Jeckol
grabbed a boat hook and we pushed through, eager to strike on a definite
lead at last--

Though we might have saved our energy, for the wild had its surprise in
waiting. The village was silent, deserted, tenantless.

We landed at the square, to call it so, a rude clearing on which the few
houses faced, those sprawling, spacious communal dwellings--palaces
among huts--that sometimes amaze the explorer along the West Coast.
None opposed us. Nothing moved, not so much as a curl of smoke. An
insect hummed in the sun like a bullet, and I take no shame to say I
ducked. But that was all. And when the groveling Kakwe led us to a wide
platform that ran breast high across the front of the largest house we
stood with rifles propped and quickened pulses, staring stupidly at the
thing we had come this far to find....

Only a box, lying on the middle of the platform, under the shadow of the
lofty thatch--a small, brass-bound chest such as sailormen love and
ships carry everywhere! "Loot!" snorted Jeckol. "Well--?"

But Cap'n Bartlet had laid hold of another trove, a coil of ringed
rubber tubing, neatly disposed about the chest. "What's there?"

"A diver's air pipe," stated the cap'n.

"What about it?"

"It's been cut--top and bottom."

* * * * *

We crowded for a look, and I saw his tanned fist tremble ever so
slightly.

"A diver's pipe," he repeated. "A diver, d'you see? They had a diver,
and--according to your notions, Peters--" He drew a slow breath.
"What--what if that there diver _did_ happen to be overboard at the
minute the rush came?"

And then came the voice of Peters, cool and drawling: "Some one's left a
message on the box."

As we span around he turned it over atilt, so that all might see the
bold letters, scarred in lead, of that laconic legend--all but Bartlet,
who fumbled for his spectacles. "Writ with a Snider bullet, I take it,"
continued the trader. "One of them soft-nosed kind as supplied to
heathen parts for a blessin' of civilization."

"Read it, can't you?" begged the cap'n.

And this was the notice Jeckol read:

The Crew of the Schooner _Timothy S._ of Cooktown
that tried a cast with fortune and turned
a deuce. Barange Bay, Jan. 22, 19--

J. MULLHALL,