in a hole large enough so that a man could crawl through feet first.
He flashed the lantern into the chamber which opened beyond the wall. It was the treasure house!
His yell at sight of the piles of gold, long since burst from their hide sacks and spilled together, aroused Señor Lester, who was able to stagger to his feet and look. They saw, besides the great mountain of gold, white traceries on the floor which might once have been the moldered human bones of the imprisoned slaves. Yes, it was the storehouse of treasure!
Frantically then, forgetting his caution which had brought him and his companion farther than any other white man, Señor Jim wriggled into the hole he had made. He would have got through, too—only there was a slight movement of the rock, just a subsidence of perhaps six inches.
It squeezed him at the waist! It held him horizontal and helpless, two feet from the rock floor!
Señor Lester cried out in weak terror, but Señor Jim did not lose his head.
"You'll have to break me out—quick!" he commanded. "It's slowly squeezing the insides out of me! Quick, the pick! Hit it right up above me—there!" He nodded with his head, both arms being pinioned so that he could not point.
Whimpering, whining, almost unable to lift the pick, the other tried to obey. But that was when the first hairy thing fell or leaped from above. It landed squarely on Señor Jim's upturned face. He screeched with horror—then with pain and realization that this was the end.
Almost before the sound had left his whitening lips, the others came, leaping, bounding, from the roof, along the walls, from the floor. The albino horde!
And from Señor Lester fled the last vestige of manhood. Jerking back on the rope which held him to his doomed companion, he sawed at it with his knife.
When it broke he fled, screaming himself to drown the awful, smothering sounds from the end of the passage. . . .
That is not quite all, Señor. I heard the ghastly tale, though not until I had slept safely many hours, there in the Room of Many Craters. The young Americano had taken at least seven or eight hours to fight his way back to me. There was no hope for the other.
I brought Señor Lester up into the blessed daylight, though because of his complete collapse we were a whole day and night on the way.
Until his father could come from the United States, I cared for the young man, who could not leave his bed. A part of his mind had gone, it seemed, and he raved about the death of his friend, saying the same things over and over. I was very glad to surrender Señor Lester to his saddened father, who took his boy home where good doctors could care for him.
It was almost a year later when a scarecrow came to my hut. It was Señor Lester, dressed now in rags, but with a sheaf of money with which he tried to bribe me to descend with him again into the old mine!
Valgame Dios! I would not have gone then for a million million dollars, Americano gold! The fear was too lately on me. So then he threw back his head, his voice shaking, and said:
"Then I must go alone! I can never rest till I bring up Jim's body! I—I was a coward! I am a coward!"
"Well, that is the truth," I admitted, "but there are many cowards. What difference can it make now?"
But he was resolute—in words. In ac-
