Mickey, who supposed that the whole thing was an accident, as in his own
case.

But it was not long before he heard the voice of Fred Munson, calling from
above, and, as each word was distinctly heard, there was no room for any
misunderstanding of the situation. The Irishman was literally dumfounded.

"Be the powers! if it isn't the most wonderful thing that ever happened,
as Mrs. Murphy remarked when Tim came home sober one night. That laddy, in
hunting around, has struck upon some hole that leads out, and he's forgot,
or else it was so hard to find his way back to me, he has gone round to
that place, and now hollers down at me.

"Begorrah," added Mickey, a moment later, "it must be that he shoved that
spalpeen overboard, and there isn't anybody left up there in the way of
Apaches but one, and he ain't an Apache, but a gintleman named Fred
Moonson. Here's to his health, and if this thing gets any more delightful,
I'll have to give a whoop and yell, and strike up the Tipperary jig."

The exultant fellow had hard work to keep his spirits under control when
he fairly understood the brilliant exploit that had been performed by his
young friend.

"It is almost aqual to my gineral coorse," he he added; "but I must try
and hold in till I can get the laddy by himself. Then I'll hammer him, out
of pure love, as ye may say."

Mickey managed to contain himself, but did not attempt to reply to the
direct call which was made upon him. That, in one sense, would have been
fatal, as it would have "uncovered" his position. The Irishman was