sted 'em! God damn 'em, I've outlasted 'em!" And his mirth broke
forth in a strangely shocking spasm.

Trendon lifted a hand and struck him so powerfully between the shoulder
blades that he all but plunged forward on his face.

"Quit it!" he ordered again. "Get hold of yourself!"

Darrow turned and gripped him. The surgeon winced with the pain of his
grasp. "I can't," gasped the maroon, between paroxysms. "I've been living
in hell. A black, shaking, shivering hell, for God knows how long.... What
do you know? Have you ever been buried alive?" And again the agony of
laughter shook him.

"This, then," muttered the doctor, and the hypodermic needle shot home.

During the return Darrow lay like a log in the bottom of the gig. The
opiate had done its work. Consciousness was mercifully dead within him.

VII

THE SURVIVORS

Rest and good food quickly brought Percy Darrow back to his normal poise.
One inspection satisfied Dr. Trendon that all was well with him. He asked
to see the captain, and that gentleman came to Ives's room, which had been
assigned to the rescued man.

"I hope you've been able to make yourself comfortable," said the
commander, courteously.

"It would be strange indeed if I could not," returned Darrow, smiling.
"You forget that you have set a savage down in the midst of luxury."

"Make yourself free of Ives's things," invited Captain Parkinson. "Poor
fellow; he will not use them again, I fear."

"One of your men lost?" asked Darrow. "Ah, the young officer whose body I
found on the beach, perhaps?"

"No; but we have to thank you for that burial," said the captain.

Darrow made a swift gesture. "Oh, if thanks are going," he cried, and
paused in hopelessness of adequate expression.

"This has been a bitter cruise for us," continued the captain. He sighed
and was silent for a moment. "There is much to tell and to be told," he
resumed.

"Much," agreed the other, gravely.

"You will want to see Slade first, I presume," said the captain.

"One of your officers whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting?"

The captain stared. "Slade," he said. "Ralph Slade."

"Apparently there's a missing link. Or--I fear I was not wholly myself
yesterday for a time. Possibly something occurred that I did not quite
take in."

"Perhaps we'd better wait," said Captain Parkinson, with obvious
misgiving. "You're not quite rested. You will feel more like--"

"If you don't mind," said Darrow compose