door and entered. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes
became accustomed to the darkness, he detected a form huddled upon the
floor, almost at his feet.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm dying!" was the reply. "Fer God's sake, help me!"

"Who are you, anyway? and what has happened?"

"I'm Bill Botreau, an' the slashers have fixed me. Tom's dead. That's
him jist over there."

Drawing a small candle from his pocket, Dane stepped over to the
fire-place, and lighted it at one of the live coals which still
remained. He was thus enabled to see more clearly, and the sight which
met his eyes gave him a severe shock. Everything in the room was
smashed to pieces, table, benches, and bunks. It was evident that a
great fight had taken place, and the victors had departed leaving their
two victims upon the floor.

Dane paid no heed to the dead man in a corner of the room, but turned
his attention to the wounded one near the door. He could not see his
face, and as he looked he gave a sudden start, for lying before him was
one of the three men who had attacked him at Portland Point.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked.

"Here," and the man placed his hand to his left side. "One of them
devils jabbed me with his knife. Oh!" His hand dropped, and his face