With the next I was upon my knees, lifting the fallen head, and seeking eagerly to discern some lingering evidence of life in the inert, body.

There was none, not so much as the faint flutter of a pulse, or suggestion of a heart throb.

The man was already dead before he fell, dead before he struck the overturned table.

Nothing any human effort might do would help him now.

My eyes lifting from the white, ghastly face encountered those of McAfee, and, without the utterance of a word, I read the miner's verdict, and arose again to my feet.
"Judge Beaucaire is dead," I announced gravely.