ore keep his eyes from it than stop the beating of
his heart. Try as he would, they wandered back to that one point as
inevitably as the needle to the pole.

"Do it 'urt you?" Jim Cardegee thundered suddenly, looking up from the
spreading of his blankets and encountering the rapt gaze of the other.
"It strikes me as 'ow it 'ud be the proper thing for you to draw your
jib, douse the glim, an' turn in, seein' as 'ow it worrits you. Jes' lay
to that, you swab, or so 'elp me I'll take a pull on your
peak-purchases!"

Kent was so nervous that it took three puffs to blow out the slush-lamp,
and he crawled into his blankets without even removing his moccasins. The
sailor was soon snoring lustily from his hard bed on the floor, but Kent
lay staring up into the blackness, one hand on the shotgun, resolved not
to close his eyes the whole night. He had not had an opportunity to
secrete his five pounds of gold, and it lay in the ammunition box at the
head of his bunk. But, try as he would, he at last dozed off with the
weight of his dust heavy on his soul. Had he not inadvertently fallen
asleep with his mind in such condition, the somnambulic demon would not
have been invoked, nor would Jim Cardegee have gone mining next day with
a dish-pan.

The fire fought a losing battle, and at last died away, while the frost
penetrated the mossy chinks between the logs and chilled the inner
atmosphere. The dogs outside ceased their howling, and, curled up in the
snow, dreamed of salmon-stocked heavens where dog-drivers and kindred
task-masters were not. Within, the sailor lay like a log, while his host
tossed restlessly about, the victim of strange fantasies. As midnight
drew near he suddenly threw off the blankets and got up. It was
remarkable that he could do what he then did without ever striking a
light. Perhaps it was because of the darkness that he kept his eyes
shut, and perhaps it was for fear he would see the terrible gash on the
cheek of his visitor; but, be this as it may, it is a fact that,
unseeing, he opened his ammunition box, put a heavy charge into the
muzzle of the shotgun without spilling a particle, rammed it down with
double wads, and then put everything away and got back into bed.

Just as daylight laid its steel-gray fingers on the parchment window,
Jacob Kent awoke. Turning on his elbow, he raised the lid and peered
into the ammunition box. Whatever he saw, or whatever he did not see,
exercised a very p