bluntly. Then, breaking his own rule of repression,
he asked:

"Did he come off the schooner with you?"

"Picked him up," was the straining answer. "Drifting."

The survivor looked around him, then into Barnett's face, and his mind
too, traversed the years.

"_North Dakota?_" he queried.

"No; I've changed my ship," said Barnett. "This is the _Wolverine_."

"Where's the _Laughing Lass_?"

Barnett shook his head.

"Tell me," begged Slade.

"Wait till you're stronger," admonished Trendon.

"Can't wait," said the weak voice. The eyes grew wild.

"Mr. Barnett, tell him the bare outline and make it short," said the
surgeon.

"We sighted the _Laughing Lass_ two days ago. She was in good shape,
but deserted. That is, we thought she was deserted."

The man nodded eagerly.

"I suppose you were aboard," said Barnett, and Trendon made a quick
gesture of impatience and rebuke.

"No," said Slade. "Left three--four--don't know how many nights ago."

The officers looked at each other. "Go on," said Trendon to his
companion.

"We put a crew aboard in command of an ensign," continued Barnett, "and
picked up the schooner the next night, deserted. You must know about it.
Where is Billy Edwards?"

"Never heard of him," whispered the other.

"Ives and McGuire, then. They were there after--Great God, man!" he
cried, his agitation breaking out, "Pull yourself together! Give us
something to go on."

"Mr. Barnett!" said the surgeon peremptorily.

But the suggestion was working in the sick man's brain. He turned to the
officers a face of horror.

"Your man, Edwards--the crew--they left her? In the night?"

"What does he mean?" cried Barnett.

"The light! You saw it?"

"Yes; we saw a strange light," answered Trendon soothingly. Slade half
rose. "Lost; all lost!" he cried, and fell back unconscious. Trendon
exploded into curses. "See what you've done to my patient," he fumed.
Barnett looked at him with contrite eyes.

"Better get out before he comes to," growled the surgeon. "Nice way to
treat a man half dead of exhaustion."

It was nearly an hour before Slade came back to the world again. The
doctor forbade him to attempt speech. But of one thing he would not be
denied. There was a struggle for utterance, then:

"The volcano?" he rasped out.

"Dead ahead," was the reply.

"Stand by!" grasped Slade. He strove to rise, to say something further,
but endurance had reached its limit. The man was utterly done.