o all the talking;
but don't let go my hand, old man. Keep a tight grip of it. I'm
terrified lest you drift off again, and--and melt away."

"No fear, Shank. I'll not let go my hold of you, please God, till I
carry you back to old England."

"Ah! old England! I'll never see it again. I feel that. But tell
me,"--he started up again, with a return of the excited look--"is father
any better?"

"N-no, not exactly--but he is no worse. I'll tell you all about
everything if you will only lie down again and keep silent."

The invalid once more lay back, closed his eyes and listened, while his
friend related to him all that he knew about his family affairs, and the
kindness of old Jacob Crossley, who had not only befriended them when in
great distress, but had furnished the money to enable him, Charlie, to
visit these outlandish regions for the express purpose of rescuing Shank
from all his troubles and dangers.

At this point the invalid interrupted him with an anxious look.

"Have you the money with you?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Because," returned Shank, with something of a groan, "you are in a den
of thieves!"

"I know it, my boy," returned Charlie, with a smile, "and so, for better
security, I have given it in charge to our old chum, Ralph Ritson."

"What!" exclaimed Shank, starting up again with wide open eyes; "you
have met Ralph, then?"

"I have. He conducted me here."

"And you have intrusted your money to _him_?"

"Yes--all of it; every cent!"

"Are you aware," continued Shank, in a solemn tone, "that Ralph Ritson
is Buck Tom--the noted chief of the outlaws?"

"I know it."

"And you trust him?"

"I do. I have perfect confidence that he is quite incapable of
betraying an old friend."

For some time Shank looked at his companion in surprise; then an absent
look came into his eyes, and a variety of expressions passed over his
wan visage. At last he spoke.

"I don't know how it is, Charlie, but somehow I think you are right.
It's an old complaint of mine, you know, to come round to your way of
thinking, whether I admit it or not. In days of old I usually refused
to admit it, but believed in you all the same! If any man had told me
this morning--ay, even half an hour since--that he had placed money in
the hands of Buck Tom for safe keeping, knowing who and what he is, I
would have counted him an incurable fool; but now, somehow, I do believe
that you were qui