In the afternoon they come upon several more mines, but no miners; they march on till evening, and already they can make out the sea below; marching through a wilderness of deserted mines, and never a sound.  ’Tis all beyond understanding, but nothing for it; they must camp and sleep out again that night.  They talk the matter over:  Can the work have stopped?  Should they turn and go back again?  “Not a bit of it,” says Andresen.

Next morning a man walks into their camp—­a pale, haggard man who looks at them frowningly, piercingly.  “That you, Andresen?” says the man.  It is Aronsen, Aronsen the trader.  He does not say “No” to a cup of hot coffee and something to eat with the caravan, and settles down at once.  “I saw the smoke of your fire, and came up to see what it was,” says he.  “I said to myself, ’Sure enough, they’re coming to their senses, and starting work again.’  And ’twas only you, after all!  Where you making for, then?”

“Here.”

“What’s that you’ve got with you?”

“Goods.”

“Goods?” cries Aronsen.  “Coming up here with goods for sale?  Who’s to buy them?  There’s never a soul.  They left last Saturday gone.”

“Left?  Who left?”

“All the lot.  Not a soul on the place now.  And I’ve goods enough myself, anyway.  A whole store packed full.  I’ll sell you anything you like.”

Oh, Trader Aronsen in difficulties again!  The mine has shut down.

They ply him with coffee till he grows calmer, and asks what it all means.

Aronsen shakes his head despairingly. “’Tis beyond understanding, there’s no words for it,” says he.  All had been going so well, and he had been selling goods, and money pouring in; the village round all flourishing, and using the finest meal, and a new schoolhouse, and hanging lamps and town-made boots, and all!  Then suddenly their lordships up at the mine take it into their heads that the thing isn’t paying, and close down.  Not paying?  But it paid them before?  Wasn’t there clean copper there and plain to see at every blasting?  ’Twas rank cheating, no less.  “And never a thought of what it means to a man like me.  Ay, I doubt it’s as they say; ’tis that Geissler’s at the bottom of it all, same as before.  No sooner he’d come up than the work stopped; ’twas as if he’d smelt it out somehow.”

“Geissler, is he here, then?”

“Is he not?  Ought to be shot, he ought!  Comes up one day by the steamer and says to the engineer:  ’Well, how’s things going?’—­’All right, as far as I can see,’ says the engineer.  But Geissler he just stands there, and asks again:  ’Ho, all right, is it?’—­’Ay, as far as I know,’ says the engineer.  But as true as I’m here, no sooner the post comes up from that same boat Geissler had come by, than there’s letter and telegram both to the engineer that the work wasn’t paying, and he’s to shut down at once.”

The members of the expedition look at one another, but the leader, Andresen himself, has not lost courage yet.