"This last winter we had several quarrels about the money, but I never meant to injure him until the day it happened. We were having splendid luck, when he proposed that we should climb the berg, as he feared being caught between the pack and the islands. We had to ascend on the opposite side, and when we got to the top, we saw the storm brewing to windward, and started to return.
"As we came along the ice-foot, I said, 'You're making money this trip fast. Isn't that better than giving up everything to that sullen girl and a half-breed boy?' Then he seemed sad, and said, 'George, you've made a rascal of me; but, thank God, I've made up my mind to be true to my old comrade at last.'
"'What do you mean?' said I.
"'I mean,' said he, turning to me, 'that I've sold out the shares I bought with that thirty thousand, and I've got their money safe here in this belt.'
"'But you don't mean to be such a fool as to give it up—do you?' said I; for I was angry to think that, instead of the four shares I had counted on all along, we should have but one in the division of the profits.
"And then I taunted him with a fatal quarrel long ago, and he—well, he taunted me with a crime that I thought no one knew. Says he,—
"'I'm not afraid of you. If the rope is ready for my neck, you could scarcely live out the time, between the sentence and the gallows, if the people of San Francisco once listened to your trial.'
"So one word brought on another, and at last he shook his gaff at me, and made one step; and my blood was on fire, and I fired the carbine. He never spoke.
"I don't believe I ever should have enjoyed the money, although at times I felt as if I could hug myself when I counted it over; and I laid out to go back to Baltimore, and go into business there. What am I to do with the share in the vessel, and his money in the bank?" he asked, suddenly.
Regnar rose, with his eyes red with weeping; but a sad smile wreathed his lips, as he asked,—