at rest.

Passing down to a lower ridge by a circuitous path well known to them
both, they reached the bottom of the crevasse.

"He is dead--murdered!"

"Hah!"

"And here, by all the powers of evil!" exclaimed the brigand, "here is
the confession of the murderer."

"A confession!" exclaimed the brigand.

"Yes. Take it," said the other, lifting the paper from the blood-
stained breast of the slain Ymeniz, "take it and read for yourself."

"Nay, you know I am no scholar; do you read it out to me."

In a sonorous voice the brigand read the following document--

"I, Jack Harkaway, proclaim war to the knife against the murderers of
my boys. The villains Hunston and Toro will tell you all that I never
threatened in vain. One of your number shall die daily until I have
exterminated you root and branch. No amount of precaution upon your
part can avert your doom. You claimed a ransom of five hundred pounds
for my son. I have paid the sum demanded, and you have played me false;
therefore, you die. To the last man you shall perish. You shall learn
to look forward to your fate in fear and trembling; and day by day the
survivors, anticipating their turn, shall learn to curse the hour that