bowlders, which had detached themselves from the sides of the
depression to set up an independent existence at the bottom, had
dammed up the pathway, here and there, but their stony repose had
nothing in it of the stillness of death. There was a kind of death-
chamber hush in the valley, it is true, and a mysterious whisper
above: the wind was just fingering the tops of the trees--that was
all.

I had not thought of connecting Jo. Dunfer's drunken narrative with
what I now sought, and only when I came into a clear space and
stumbled over the level trunks of some small trees did I have the
revelation. This was the site of the abandoned "shack." The
discovery was verified by noting that some of the rotting stumps were
hacked all round, in a most unwoodmanlike way, while others were cut
straight across, and the butt ends of the corresponding trunks had
the blunt wedge-form given by the axe of a master.

The opening among the trees was not more than thirty paces across.
At one side was a little knoll--a natural hillock, bare of shrubbery
but covered with wild grass, and on this, standing out of the grass,
the headstone of a grave!

I do not remember that I felt anything like surprise at this
discovery. I viewed that lonely grave with something of the feeling
that Columbus must have had when he saw the hills and headlands of
the new world. Before approaching it I leisurely completed my survey
of the surroundings. I was even guilty of the affectation of winding
my watch at that unusual hour, and with needless care and
deliberation. Then I approached my mystery.