"Swear!" again he cried.

As I gazed, his eyeballs assumed a greenish tint, and his brow darkened
into a scowl. "As your confederate," I answered, "never as your slave."

"Be it so!" was his only reply.

The body was lying upon its back, with the face upwards. The vultures
had despoiled the countenance of every vestige of flesh, and left the
sockets of the eyes empty. Snow and ice and rain had done their work
effectually upon the exposed surfaces of his clothing, and the eagles
had feasted upon the entrails. But underneath, the thick beaver cloth
had served to protect the flesh, and there were some decaying shreds
left of what had once been the terrible but accomplished Gregory
Summerfield. A glance told us all these things. But they did not
interest me so much as another spectacle, that almost froze my blood. In
the skeleton gripe of the right hand, interlaced within the clenched
bones, gleamed the wide-mouthed vial which was the object of our mutual
visit. Graham fell upon his knees, and attempted to withdraw the prize
from the grasp of its dead possessor. But the bones were firm, and when
he finally succeeded in securing the bottle, by a sudden wrench, I heard
the skeleton fingers snap like pipe-stems.

"Hold this a moment, whilst I search the pockets," he commanded.

I did as directed.

He then turned over the corpse, and thrusting his hand into the inner
breast-pocket, dragged out a roll of MSS., matted closely together and