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the tin mines of Cornwall, England, on the ghost shift, knocking warnings to the miners to let them alone. When they make the rat-tat-tat, it's time for the Cousins to pick up their tools and pull for the top. Come along, come along, old son! Let's get out of this bloody cave."

    “‘"It's neither ghosts nor spirits," said I. "You're not going to give up, are you, till we've looked for that cache of bullion?"

    “‘At mention of the bullion he forgot his terror, and we pushed on down the drift. As we went down, the noises grew louder and louder, and the air became heavy with sulphuric and other gaseous odors. When we had gone down about a thousand feet, we came to a side drift, with its mouth almost closed from a fall of rock.

    “‘A short distance down this drift we stumbled over a pile of skeletons, at least a dozen lying close together. Had the victims died of bad air or of starvation? Searching about, we found nothing but broken Indian crockery. Pictographs on the wall may have been the story of their death. In this drift we neither saw the flashes nor heard the moans, but the poisonous air soon made us drowsy.

    “‘Going-back to the pool, we examined the ollas standing around it. All had lately been filled with sotol. The fresh marks on the wall near-by may have been made for visiting Indians. We tasted the soto, which is a good deal like mescal, though it is much stronger. It was something like Scotch whisky with a strong, smoky flavor added to it.

    “‘Outside we found everything as we had left it. Cousin Jack helped me carry some boulders into the cave, which we piled up, so I could examine the hand prints on the roof. The marks seemed to have been burned in with a branding iron, or impressed there at a time when the sandstone in the roof of the cave was