“I didn’t expect that you would help yourself so liberally,” I replied, laughing at his quiet humor.  “But come along, if you intend to reach the island before day, for it’s said that ghosts don’t walk during daylight.”

“Look first to your revolver, for mine is in a deplorable condition, and wouldn’t go if I should carry it.  The barrel is filled with mud, and the chambers with salt.”

“Remember, there is to be no running away this time,” I said, as I replaced my revolver in my belt, having found it in good order and condition.  I almost wished, as I spoke, that Brown would decline going, and find some valid excuse for declining.  But there was no hope for that.  He had drank too much, and was as full of pluck as an Irishman on a Fair day.

“No fear of me, my boy,” he cried, as we started towards the peninsula, walking rather slow, however.  “I am determined to see what kind of a devil is on the island, even if I tumble into the bog again.  You are sure,” he continued, “that the liquor is exhausted?”

“Every drop.”

“I am sorry for that, ’cos it is good to keep the stomach in order, when mixed with a little river water.  Although, to save trouble, I like it, as a general thing, with as little of the latter as possible, for fear of disorders and snakes.”

We were within five rods of the bridge, when we suddenly stopped, as though by mutual consent, and looked at each other for a few moments in silence.

“Well?” said my companion.

“Well,” I answered.

“Are you going to the island or not?” demanded Mr. Brown.

“That is for you to say,” I replied.

“The liquor is all gone?”

“Every drop,” I answered.

“I think,” said Mr. Brown, after a short pause, “that I would give a month’s pay, including bribes, if I had a gallon of good whiskey by my side.  A man who intends to combat the devil and his imps should have something besides powder and ball to fling at their heads.”

“If you had the liquor,” I replied, “neither of us would be in a condition, after a few drinks, to throw any thing at your ghosts.  I know of one man who would throw himself upon the ground and sleep until morning, and let Bill Swinton and money go to the devil, where they belong.”

“Pass on,” whispered Mr. Brown, making way for me to proceed, the bridge being too narrow for both of us to walk abreast.

“Excuse me,” I replied, “I think that I should follow on behind to prevent you from running away; or in case you again tumble into the bog, to lend a ready hand.  You go first.”

My friend hesitated for a moment, glanced eagerly towards the island, and seeing nothing objectionable, stepped foot upon the bridge and commenced the perilous journey.

I followed close at his heels, and when we reached the spot which was the scene of his experience in the bog, the slime and water had filled up the hole which his body made, and all looked hard and treacherous as ever.  Mr. Brown pointed to the spot with his hand as he passed, but he neither turned nor made remark, although I thought I saw his form tremble at the recollection of his danger.