ast of the tucker. There's just enough flour for the day."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Bradby said. "There's sure to be plenty
of game about in a thickly-wooded country like this."

Cumshaw nodded and dropped on his knees beside the embers of the
evening's fire. In a few moments he was busy coaxing them into a blaze.
Bradby stood behind him, watching the sweep of his shoulders with
calculating eyes. Once his hand strayed almost unconsciously towards his
revolver, then, with a gesture, half of horror, half of dismay, at the
significance of his action, he twisted on his heel and strode to the
door. He turned then, blocking the light with his figure, so that his
face was just a black expressionless mask.

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," he suggested, "if I looked about for a
likely spot to bury that stuff."

"Go ahead," said Cumshaw coolly, as if it were the most natural
suggestion in the world.

Without further parley Bradby walked over to the spot he had marked
earlier in the morning. Bending down, he commenced to dig in the soft
soil with the point of his sheath-knife. The ground was easily enough
worked, and in less than half an hour he had excavated a hole of close
on to three feet in depth. He deepened it another six inches or so, and
then stood up with a smile of the utmost complacency on his face.

"Nice spot you've chosen," said a voice at his elbow. He started at the
sound. He had not heard Cumshaw approach, and the idea that his mate
could come and go in such absolute silence filled him with dismay.
Already the gold fever had seized hold of him and made him suspicious of
every untoward move. Perhaps he fancied that some similar plan to his
own was evolving in Cumshaw's brain.

"Yes, it is a nice spot," he answered. "It's easy enough to find once
you know where it is, but it isn't the kind of place a stranger would
blunder on."

Cumshaw eyed the hole in the ground, and then looked towards the hut, as
if taking his bearings. Bradby noticed him and interposed hastily, "I've
got the measurement of the place. Have you a piece of paper I can write
it down on?"

Cumshaw ran hastily through his pockets. "I haven't a bit," he declared.

"Neither have I," said Bradby. "However, we'll have to keep it in our
heads. It's just ten feet from here to the hut-door."

"It doesn't look it," Cumshaw said promptly.

"It doesn't," his mate agreed. "But distance is deceptive here. How's
the meal going?"

"Just about r