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"Thar 's 'nough grub in thar ter last you an' Mike fer a week yit, an'
I 'll be back afore then, er else planted. _Adios_."
Brown sat up, his gun resting between his knees, and in silence watched
his partner scrambling down the steep trail. It was not easy for him
to converse, and he therefore never uttered a word unless the situation
demanded the sacrifice. He could swear, however, with considerable
fluency, but just now even that relief seemed inadequate. Finally, the
older man disappeared behind the scrub, and, except for those more
distant figures about the dump of the "Independence," the blond giant
remained apparently alone. But Stutter had long ago become habituated
to loneliness; the one condition likely to worry him was lack of
occupation. He scrambled to his feet and climbed the dump, until able
to lean far over and look down into the black mouth of the uncovered
shaft.
"Got yer b-b-bucket full, M-M-Mike?" he questioned, sending his deep,
sputtering voice far down into the depths below.


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