“Stop that!” shouted the judge, springing to his feet. The Cornishman stood quite unmoved.
There was silence directly, and the dark man went on. “Gentlemen,” he cried, “we have made this a court of justice, and you chose me the other day, being an English barrister, to act as judge.”
“Yes, yes,” came in a fierce shout, which crushed down some murmurs of opposition. “Go on, judge—go on.”
“I will, gentlemen, till you bring forward another man to take my place. Once more, we are here on British ground.”
“No, no,” came from the minority; “American.”
“British, gentlemen; and as subjects of her Majesty the Empress-Queen we stand by law and order.”
“Hear, hear!” was shouted.
“We will have no rowdyism, no crimes against our little society, while we toil for our gold.”
“Hear, hear!”
“We have already bound ourselves to carry on our home-made laws here, so that every man can bring in his winnings and place them with the landlord, or leave them in his hut or tent, knowing that they are safe; and we are agreed that the man who robs one of us of his gold shall suffer for his crime, the same as if he had committed a murder.”
“That’s right, judge—that’s right!” was roared.
“Very well, then,” said the judge. “I have one word to say to those who have raised their voices several times to-night. Let me tell them that if they are not satisfied with our ideas of fair play, they had better pack their sledges and go right away.”
“Likely!” shouted a man at the back; “and what about our claims we have staked out?”
“Let them be valued by a jury of six a-side, and I’ll give the casting vote if it’s a tie. We’ll club together and buy, you shall have good honest value, and then you can go farther afield. There’s plenty for everybody, and the country’s open. If you don’t agree to that and elect to stay, you must side with us and keep the law. Now then, who says he’ll go?”
“None of us, jedge,” came in a slow drawl. “You’re right, and whether this is Murrican or Canady land, we all back you up.”
There was a deafening shout at this, and as soon as silence came again the dark man said firmly, “Now, gentlemen, to settle the business on hand. We’re not going to make the Yukon gold region a close borough.”
“That’s right, jedge,” said an American.
“Every honest man is welcome here, but we want it known that for the rowdy thief and law-breaker there will be a short shrift and the rope.”
There was another roar, and as it subsided the man with the red beard shouted, “That’s right, pardners, right as right; and what me and my mates here want is justice and protection from them as robbed us, and tried to shoot us down. There they are, three o’ the gang, and you’ve got ’em fast. Now what do you say?”
The two young men stood rigid and silent, expectant of the fateful words which might bring their careers to a close. They knew that wild appeals for mercy and loud protestation would be of no avail, but would be looked upon as arrant cowardice; and as the moments went on, heavy and leaden winged, a strange feeling of rebellion against the cruelty of fate raised a sense of anger, and stubborn determination began to grow.
It was too horrible to dwell upon, this prospect of the most ignominious death: an adverse judgment based on the vote of a crowd of rugged, determined men fighting for their own safety and the protection of the gold they were dragging from where it had lain since the creation of the world; but still it seemed to be their fate, and in both the growing feeling was the same—a sense of rage and hatred against the remorseless scoundrels who, to make their own position safe in the gold region, were ready to sacrifice the lives of their victims.
“If we could only be face to face with them alone,” they felt, “with the chance to fight against them for our lives! The cowards! The dogs!”
Their musings were brought to an end by the voice of the head man of the trio, who broke in upon the whispering together of the judge and several of the men who had closed round him. “Well, pardners,” he cried; “what’s it to be after all you’ve said? Are we to have fair play, or are we to go where we can get it?”
“Wait a bit, sir, and you and your friends shall have fair play; never fear.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” shouted one of the Americans at the back. “Jedge don’t want to hang the wrong men.”
“No, sir,” said the dark gold-seeker sternly; “we don’t want to hang the wrong men, and there is a growing opinion here that you and your companions have not made out your charge.”
“What!” roared Redbeard, as the Cornishman gave his young companions a nod; “not made out our case? Hear that, mates? Well, I am blessed!”
“You charge them with robbery and attempted murder.”
“Yes; didn’t my mate show you his leg?” cried Redbeard indignantly.
“Oh, yes; and the prisoners, who defend themselves by charging you with attacking them, reply by displaying their wounds.”
“Well, wouldn’t you shoot if you was attacked? So where’s your justice?”
“I will show you that I want to give you fair play,” said the judge. “There is enough in this case to mean the sternest sentence, and it will be awarded to the guilty parties.”
There was a murmur of approval at this, and the judge said sternly, “Separate those three men, and separate the prisoners; keep them apart, so that they cannot communicate with one another.”
There was a quick movement, and a couple of armed men placed themselves right and left of Dallas and Abel.
“Hullo!” said the Cornishman, “am I a prisoner, too? All right; I’m in good company.”
But there was a little resistance on the part of the accusing party.
“Look here,” growled Redbeard fiercely, “I want to know what this means.”
“The rope and the tree for you and your friends if you fire, sir,” cried the judge sternly.
“But—”
“Stand where you are,” cried the judge. “Six of you take those other two outside, quite apart, and mind, you are answerable to your sheriff for bringing them back.”
Redbeard growled as he stood beneath the great lamp, the two others which had been burning having been turned out so that a better view could be had from behind of each stage of the proceedings.
“Look here,” cried Redbeard fiercely, as his companions were led out, “why aren’t the prisoners to be sent out too? Is this fair play, pardners?”
“Yes,” said the judge; “they are the prisoners. I only want your witnesses to be out of court.”
There was a dead silence while the two men were led away, and a ray of hope began to shed light through the darkness of despair in the young men’s brains, as they read in all this a strange desire on the part of their amateur judge to do justice between the parties.
They glanced round through the smoke of the gloomy place, to see fierce eyes fixed upon them on all sides, while in front there was the judge and his supporters, and their red-bearded, savage-looking accuser beneath the lamp, which shone full upon him. The smoke now hung above them in a dense cloud.
“Is it a dream?” said Dallas to himself; and then he started, for the judge said sharply to the man before him:
“Now, sir, you and your two friends have come here to dig gold.”
“That’s right, captain.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Washington territory.”
“That will do. Bring in the next witness.”
There was a suppressed buzz of excitement, while Redbeard stood glaring beneath the lamp, and the next man was led in.
“Now, sir, you are not sworn,” said the judge, “but consider that you are on your oath. It is a matter perhaps of life or death. Answer my questions. You and your friends came here to find gold?”
“That’s so, jedge.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Me and my mates? Noo York.”
“That will do. Silence!” cried the judge. “The next man. Keep those two well apart.”
The third man was led in, and the same questions asked him, when to the second he responded sharply:
“Chicago.”
There was a roar at this, but the judge held up his hand. “Silence, gentlemen, please, while I deliver judgment’” and a deep silence fell, while the three men glared meaningly one at the other. “I have given this a perfectly fair hearing, and I say—”
Crash!
The shivering of a lamp-glass, a burst of flame like a flash of lightning, as the lamp was dashed from where it hung; and then for a few moments intense darkness, while there was a sudden roar and rush for the entrance.
The struggle was short, for the sides of the canvas building were frail; and as the flames ran swiftly up one side and the burning rags of the canvas roof began to fall upon the struggling crowd, a wave rushed against the opposite side, which gave way like so much paper, and the panting, half-stifled sufferers gained the cool fresh night air.
“Any one left within?” panted the judge; but the silence which followed was enough to indicate that all had escaped.
“Where are the other prisoners?”
“We are here—my cousin and I,” cried Abel, for they had made no attempt to escape.
“And the witnesses?” cried the judge. “I have the scoundrel who dashed down the lamp.”
“We have the other two here,” replied voices.
“Then, gentlemen,” said the judge, “I think we had better have another trial in the open air. What do you say to that as an attempt at wholesale murder? Come and help me here, some of you. I’ve got the big man down, but he’s as strong as a horse. I couldn’t have held him if I hadn’t thrown a biscuit-bag over his head.”
It was light for a few minutes while the canvas roof of the saloon burned; but as the woodwork was rapidly torn down and trampled out to save the so-called hotel, all was dark again, with a pungent smoke arising.
Two men were dragged into the circle which had formed round the judge, whose figure could be just made out as he kneeled between the shoulders of the man he had down; and Dallas and Abel stood close by, fascinated as it were, and feeling a thrill of horror as they thought of their enemies’ impending fate.
“It’s horrible, Dal,” whispered Abel. “I hate the brute, but I don’t want to see him hanged.”
“Then you’d better be off,” said a man who heard the remark, “for the beast will swing before many minutes are passed.”
“I don’t see why you two young fellows should care,” said another. “He was eager enough to get you hanged.”
“Have you made his wrists fast behind him?” said the judge out of the darkness.
“Yes; all right.”
“Let him get up, then. Here, landlord—squire—a lantern here.”
“Haven’t you had light enough, judge? What about my saloon?”
“All right, old fellow,” said a voice. “You hold plenty of our gold; we’ll club together to pay for a better one.”
“Thank ye, gentlemen. Hi! bring a lantern.”
At the same moment the prisoner rose to his feet, and the sack over his head was drawn off.
“I say, you know, I’ve come quietly,” he cried in a hoarse voice. “Here, put those pistols down. You haven’t served my two young chaps like that, have you?”
“Bob Tregelly?” cried Dallas and Abel in a breath.
“What’s left of him, my sons. They’ve ’most smothered me.”
“Hallo!” said the judge at the same moment. “I took you in the dark for that red-bearded fellow.”
“I was going for him when you pulled that bag over my head,” growled the Cornishman.
“Here, who has got that fellow?” roared the judge.
“We’ve got his mates,” came out of the darkness, and two men were dragged forward, struggling hard to get free.
“Here, what game do you call this?” snarled one of them, as soon as he could speak.
“Yes,” said the other. “You fools: you’ve got the wrong men.”
“I’m blessed! Ha, ha, ha!” roared the big Cornishman.
“You’ve never let those other two escape, have you?” roared the judge angrily.
“Well, you’ve let the big un go, judge, and caught me,” said the Cornishman merrily. “But I say, my son, who’s the guilty party now?”
“Not much doubt about that. There, my lads, it’s of no use to go after them; they’ve done us this time, and got away; but I think we may keep the ropes ready for them when they come again.”
“Hear, hear!” was roared, and an ovation followed for the trio who had been suspected, every man present seeming as if he could not make enough of them, till they managed to slip away to their tent.
“I think a quiet pipe’ll do me good after all that business,” said Tregelly. “We’ve done about enough for one day. Rum sort o’ life, my sons. I shall be glad to get steadily to work as soon as we know where to begin.”
The canvas was fastened down soon after, and the occupants of the rough tent prepared for a good night’s rest; but it was a long time in coming to the cousins, whose nerves had been too much jarred for them to follow the example of their three companions. And they lay listening to the many sounds about, principal among which was the barking and fighting of the sledge-dogs; but at last they dropped into a troubled slumber, one in which it seemed to Dallas that he was lying upon his hard waterproof sheet in a nightmare-like dream, watching his enemy, the red-bearded man, who was crawling on hands and knees to the rough tent, with a knife between his teeth, and trying to force his way under the end of one of the sledges to get to him and pin him to the earth.
There he was, coming nearer and nearer, right into the tent place now, while his hot breath fanned the dreamer’s cheek, and his hands were resting upon his chest as if feeling for a vital spot to strike. With a tremendous effort, Dallas sprang up and struck at him, when there was a loud snarling yelp, and Abel cried in alarm, “What is it, Dal?”
“Dog,” said Tregelly, “smelling after grub. The poor brutes seem half starved. Hasn’t taken a bit out of either of you, has he? Good-night, my sons; I was dreaming I’d hit upon heaps of gold.”
Dallas sank back with a sigh of relief, and dropped off into a restful sleep, which lasted till morning, when they were aroused by a terrific sound of cracking as of rifles, mingled with a peculiar roar, and a strange rushing sound.
“What is it?” cried Abel, who was one of the first to spring up; “an earthquake?”
“Like enough, my son,” said Tregelly. “I’m ready for anything here. Sounds like the mountains playing at skittles.”
“She’s going at last,” cried a voice outside. “By jingo! it’s fine. Come and look.”
“It’s the ice breaking up,” cried Dallas excitedly.
“Then we will go and look,” said Tregelly, “though that chap wasn’t speaking to us.” And, no dressing being necessary, all hurried out, to find that the fettered Yukon was completely changed, the ice being all in motion, splitting up, grinding, and crushing, and with blocks being forced up one over the other till they toppled down with a roar, to help in breaking up those around.
The previous evening it would have been possible for a regiment to cross the river by climbing over and among the great blocks which were still frozen together, but now it would have been certain death for the most active man to attempt the first fifty yards.
Every one was out in the bright sunny morning watching the breaking up; and among the first they encountered were the judge, of the last night’s episode, and their friend the gold-finder, both of whom shook hands heartily, but made no allusion to the trial. “Good job for every one,” said the judge; “we shall soon be having boats up after this. We shall be clear here in a couple of days.”
“So soon?” said Dallas.
“Oh, yes,” replied his informant. “There’s a tremendous body of water let loose up above, and it runs under the ice, lifts it, and makes the ice break up; and once it is set in motion it is always grinding smaller, till, long before it reaches the sea, it has become powder, and then water again.”
“I say,” cried the miner, “there’s some one’s dog out yonder. He’s nipped by the legs, and it’s about all over with him, I should say.”
“Here, stop! What are you going to do?” cried the judge.
But Dallas did not hear him. He had been one of the first to see the perilous position of a great wolfish-looking hound some twenty yards from the shore, where it was struggling vainly, prisoned as it was, uttering a faint yelp every now and then, and gazing piteously at the spectators on the bank.
“The lad’s mad,” cried the judge, going closer to the ice.
But, mad or no, Dallas had, in his ignorance of the great danger of the act, run down, boldly leaped on the moving ice, and stepped from block to block till he reached the dog, which began to whine and bark loudly, as it made frantic efforts to free its hindquarters. In another minute it would have been drawn down farther, but for the coming of the young man, who, heedless of the rocking and gliding motion of the ice, strode the narrow opening between the two masses which held the dog, stooping down at the same moment, and seizing the poor brute by the rough hair about its neck.
For a few moments his effort seemed vain, and a roar of voices reached him, as the spectators shouted to him to come back.
Then the two pieces swayed slightly, and gradually drew apart, and the dog was at liberty, but apparently with one leg crushed, for it lay down, howling dismally after an effort to limp back to the land.
There was a great strap round its neck, and this was joined to another just behind its shoulders, and, seizing this, Dallas flung the poor animal on its side and dragged it after him as he began to step cautiously back from block to block, now sinking down, now rising, and now narrowly escaping being caught between the moving pieces; but he kept on, conscious, though, that the bank seemed rising upward; while the crushing and roar of the breaking ice prevented him from hearing the words of advice shouted by his friends.
He could not hear, but he could see Bel, who was forcing his way through the crowd to keep alongside, ready to help him when he came within reach, if ever he did, and it was from him that he afterwards learned that the advice shouted was to let the dog take his chance.
Twice over the set of the ice was off the shore, and matters looked bad for the young adventurer, but he stuck to the dog, and, just when the chance of reaching the shore seemed most hopeless, a couple of large flat floes rose up, and, making a dash, Dallas went boldly across them, reaching others that did not yield so much, and the next minute there was a cheer which he could hear, for he reached the shore with the dog, which looked up in his face and whined, and then limped off through the crowd.
“Life seems cheap your way, my fine fellow,” said the judge. “Five minutes ago I wouldn’t have given a grain of gold for yours. We don’t do that sort of thing out here for the sake of a vicious, thieving dog.”
“I could not stand by and see the poor brute die,” said Dallas quietly.
“So it seems,” said the judge. “Well, I congratulate you two young fellows on your escape last night. Those scoundrels have got away; and if they turn up again, lawyer though I am, I should advise you both to shoot on sight. If you are brought before me, I’ll promise you I will bring it in justifiable homicide.”
A couple of hours later they had parted from Tregelly and his companions, with a hearty shake of the hand and a promise to keep to their agreement about the gold.
“If we discover a good place.”
It was a long, weary tramp up by the higher waters of the huge Yukon River towards its sources in the neighbourhood of the Pelly Lakes, where sharp rapids and torrents were succeeded by small, shallow lakes; and wherever they halted, shovel and pan were set to work, and, as their guide Norton termed it, the granite and sand were tasted, and gold in exceedingly small quantities was found.
“It’s so ’most everywhere,” said Norton; “and I don’t say but what you might find a rich spot at any time; but if you take my advice you’ll come straight on with me to where a few of us are settled down. It’s regularly into the wilds. I don’t suppose even an Indian has been there before; but we chaps went up.”
“But there are Indians about, I suppose?” said Abel.
“Mebbe, but I haven’t seen any.”
The end of their journey was reached at last, high up the creek they had followed, and, save here and there in sheltered rifts, the snow was gone; the brief summer was at hand, and clothing the stones with flowers and verdure that were most refreshing after the wintry rigours through which they had forced their way.
“Nice and free and open, eh?” said Norton, smiling. “I may as well show you to the comrades up here, and then I’ll help you pick out a decent claim, and you can set to work. There’s only about a dozen of us here yet, and so you won’t be mobbed.”
“Very well,” said Dallas; “but we’ll try in that open space where the trees are so young.”
Norton nodded, and, armed with a shovel and pan, the young men stepped to a spot about fifty feet from the edge of the rushing stream, cleared away the green growth among the young pines, and Dallas tried to drive down his shovel through the loose, gravelly soil; but the tool did not penetrate four inches.
“Why, it’s stone underneath.”
“Ice,” said Norton, smiling. “It hasn’t had time to thaw down far yet; but you skin off some of the gravelly top, and try it.”
Dallas filled the pan, and they went together to a shallow place by the side of the creek, bent down, and, with the pan just beneath the surface, agitated and stirred it, the water washing away the thick muddy portion till nothing was left but sand and stones.
These latter were picked out and thrown away; more washing followed, more little stones were thrown out, and at last there was nothing but a deposit of sand at the bottom, in which gleamed brightly some specks and scales of bright yellow gold.
Norton finished his pipe, and then led the way farther up the stream, to stop at last by a rough pine-wood shed thatched with boughs.
“This is my mansion,” he said. “Leave the sledges here, and we’ll go and see the rest.”
The stream turned and twisted about here in a wonderful way, doubling back upon itself, and spreading about over a space of three or four miles along the winding valley where the tiny mining settlement had been pitched—only some six or seven huts among the dwarfed pine-trees in all, the places being marked by fallen trees and stumps protruding from the ground.
They were all made on the same pattern, of stout young pine-trees with ridge-pole and rafters to support a dense thatching of boughs, and mostly with a hole left in the centre of the roof for the smoke of the fire burned within to escape.
The two strangers were received in a friendly enough way, the rough settlers chatting freely about the new-comers’ prospects, showing specimens of the gold they had found, and making suggestions about the likeliest spot for marking out a claim along the bank.
The result was that before the day ended, acting a good deal under Norton’s advice, the young men had marked out a double claim and settled where their hut should be set up, so as to form a fresh addition to the camp.
“You ought to do well here,” said Norton. “There’s gold worth millions of money in this district for certain; but the question is, can you strike it rich or only poor? If I thought I could do better somewhere else I should go, but I’m going to try it fairly here.”
“We’ll do the same,” said Dallas; and, the weather being brilliant and the air exhilarating to a degree, they set to work cutting pegs for driving down to make out their claim, Norton reminding them that they would have certain applications to make afterwards to the government agency, and then began to cut down small trees for building their shanty.
To their surprise and delight, four of the neighbours came, axe-armed, to help, so that the task was made comparatively easy.
At the end of a week a rough, strong, habitable home was made, door, window, shutter and bars included, two of their helpers having come provided with a pit-saw for cutting the bigger pine-trunks up into rough boards, which were to be paid for out of the first gold winnings the young men made.
Within another week they were out of debt, for, to their intense delight, the claim promised well, the shaft they had commenced and the banks of the little river yielding enough gold to set them working every minute they could see.
But the reality did not come up to the dazzling dream in which they had indulged, either in their case or that of the men they encountered. There was the gold, and they won it from the soil; but it was only by hard labour and in small quantities, which were stored up in a leathern bag and placed in the bank—this being a hole formed under Abel’s bed, covered first with a few short pieces of plank, and then with dry earth.
The store increased as the time went on, but then it decreased when an expedition had to be made to the settlement below to fetch more provisions, the country around supplying them with plenty of fuel and clear drinking water, but little else. Now and then there was the rumour of a moose being seen, and a party would turn out and shoot it, when there was feasting while it lasted; but these days were few.
Occasionally, too, either Dallas or Abel would stroll round with his gun and get a few ptarmigan or willow grouse. On lucky days, too, a brace of wild ducks would fall to their shot; but these excursions were rare, for there was the one great thirst to satisfy—that for the gold; and for the most part their existence during the brief summer was filled up by hard toil, digging and cradling the gold-bearing gravel, while they lived upon coarse bacon, beans, and ill-made cakey bread, tormented horribly the while by the mosquitoes, which increased by myriads in the sunny time.
Then came the days when the wretched little insect pests began to grow rarer.
“We shall not be able to work as late as this much longer,” said Dallas.
“No,” replied Abel; “the days are getting horribly short, and the nights terribly long. The dark winter will be upon us directly, and we seem to get no farther.”
“We may turn up trumps at any moment, old fellow,” said Dallas cheerily.
“Yes, we may,” said Abel gloomily.
“Don’t take it like that,” cried Dallas. “Here we are in the gold region, and every day we find nuggets.”
“Weighing two or three grains apiece.”
“Exactly; but at any moment we might at a turn of the shovel lay them bare weighing ounces or even pounds.”
“Pigs might fly,” said Abel.
“Bah! Where’s your pluck? Work away.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll work,” said Abel; “but with the dreary winter coming on one can’t help feeling a bit depressed. I say, I’m very glad we never sent a message to old Tregelly and his mates to come and join us.”
“Well, it would have turned out rather crusty,” said Dallas, who was shovelling gravel into the cradle, while Abel stood over his ankle in the stream, rocking away and stopping from time to time to pick out some tiny speck of gold.
“We shall never make our fortunes at this,” he said.
“Bah! Don’t be in a hurry. At all events, we are in safety. No fear of dangerous visitors, and— Here, quick—the hut—your rifle, man! Run!”
Abel sprang to the shore, to be seized by the arm, and they ran for their weapons and shelter.
None too soon, for a big burly figure had come into sight from among the pines, stopped short, and brought down his rifle, as he stood shading his eyes and scanning the retreating pair.
“Ahoy, there! What cheer, O!” rang out in a big bluff voice familiar to both.
“Oh, I say, what curs we are!” cried Dallas. “It’s old Tregelly.”
“Yes; don’t let him know we were scared.”
Vain advice. The big Cornishman shouldered his rifle, bent forward, and dragged a sledge into sight, broke into a trot, and they met half-way.
“Hullo, my sons! Did you take me for an Injun?” cried Tregelly.
“We took you for that big, red-bearded ruffian,” said Dallas huskily, as he shook hands.
“Thankye, my son; on’y don’t do it again. I don’t like the compliment. But how are you?—how are you?”
“Oh, middling. We were just thinking about you.”
“Were you, my sons?” cried the big Cornishman, smiling all over his broad face. “That’s right. Well, I was thinking about you, and wondering whether I should find you, and here you are first go.”
“But how did you find us?” cried Dallas, after shaking hands warmly.
“Went back to Yukon Town a fortni’t ago, and the chap there at the hotel told me you were still up here, for one of you came down now and then to buy stores.”
“Did you see the judge?”
“Oh, yes, he’s there still.”
“Made his pile?”
“No-o-o! Done pretty tidy, I believe.”
“And what about Redbeard and Company? Heard anything of that firm?”
“Yes; heard that they’d been seen by somebody, my son. There’d been a poor fellow done for up the country, and some gold carried off. They got the credit of it; but give a dog a bad name and—you know the rest. I should say they’re all dead by now.”
“But why didn’t you send for us?” said Abel.
“Why didn’t you send for me?”
“Well,” said Dallas drily, “it was out of good fellowship. We were afraid it would be more than you could bear to get so rich. But where are your comrades?”
“Gone home,” said Tregelly, in a tone of voice that the two young men took to mean, “Don’t ask questions!”
“But you’ve found a lot?” said Dallas.
“Well, yes, my sons; we managed to scrape a good deal together, some here and some there, for we changed about and travelled over a good deal of ground.”
“And you have sent it home?”
“Nay–y–ay! I’ve got it here on the sledge.”
“Oh!” said Abel, looking at the shabby kit their visitor had left close to the door of the hut.
“I’ve got a bit in a bag; but, you see, it costs all you can scrape together to live wherever I’ve been; so I thought I’d look you two up, as my mates had gone, so as to be company for a poor little lonely chap. Will you have me?”
“Of course.”
“Any chance of picking up a decent claim here?”
“Plenty, such as we have,” replied Dallas. “You’ll be able to do as well as we’ve done, and the others about here.”
“That means the lumps of gold are not too big to lift?”
“That’s it,” said Dallas. “I’ve been thinking that if we were here next summer, we ought to get a lot of ants and train them to carry the grains for us.”
“Ah, I see, my sons. I say, one might almost have made as much by stopping at home, eh?”
“Here, don’t you come here to begin croaking,” cried Dallas. “Abel here can do that enough for a dozen.”
“Can he?” cried Tregelly. “Oh, you mustn’t do that, my son. There’s plenty of gold if we can only find it. I saw a chap with a gashly lump as big as a baby’s fist. We’ll do it yet. So you haven’t done much good, then?”
“If we had we should have sent word for you to come.”
“And I should have sent or come for you, my sons. Look here, we’d better make a change, and explore higher up towards the mountains.”
“Too late this year,” said Dallas decisively.
“Oh, yes; too late this season, my sons. We mustn’t get too far from the supplies. Means—you know what! famine and that sort o’ thing.”
“Yes, we know,” said Abel bitterly.
“We’ll do it when the days begin to lengthen again,” continued Tregelly. “What we’ve got to do is to make as big a heap here as we can during the winter, wash it out in the spring, and if it’s good enough, then stop here. If it aren’t, go and find a better place.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Dallas. “But about rations. There’s nothing to be got here. Have you brought plenty?”
“Much as ever I could pull, my sons, and I’ll take it kindly if you’ll let me camp with you to-night, so that I can leave my swag with you while I hunt out a claim.”
“Of course,” cried Dallas; “we’ll help you all we can.”
“There’s that pitch down yonder, Dal,” said Abel—“the one we said looked likely.”
“Of course; the place we tried, and which seemed fairly rich.”
“That sounds well,” said Tregelly. What was more, it looked so well that the big fellow decided to stay there at once, and put in his pegs, the only drawback seeming to be its remoteness from the scattered claims of the others up the creek.
But this did not trouble the big Cornishman in the least. With the help freely given by his two friends, pines were cut down, a hut knocked together, and many days had not elapsed before he was working away, and looking as much at home as if he had been there all the season, declaring when they met after working hours that it was much better than anything he and his companions had come across during their travels.
“There’s a deal in make-believe, Bel, old chap,” said Dallas one day, as they sat together in their rough hut of fir-trunks, brooding over the fire lit in the centre of the floor, the blinding smoke from which escaped slowly out of an opening in the roof, when the fierce wind did not drive it back in company with the fine sharp snow, which was coming down in a regular blizzard.
“Oh, yes, a deal, if you have any faith,” said Abel bitterly; “but mine’s all dead.”
“Gammon!” cried Dallas. “You’re out of sorts, and that makes you disposed to find fault. But I must confess that during this blizzardly storm the Castle hall is a little draughty. These antique structures generally are.”
“Months and months of wandering, slavery and misery, and to come to this!”
“Yes, you are not at your best, old man. How’s the foot?”
“Rotting off as a frozen member will.”
“My dear Bel, you want a tonic!” said Dallas cheerily.
“Think you will be able to live through this awful winter, Dal?”
“Live! I should think we will,” said the young man, carefully picking up and laying some of the half-burned brands on the centre of the crackling fire. “So will you.”
“No, I shall never see home again.”
“Bel, you’re a lazy beggar, with a natural dislike to cold,” said Dallas. “It always was so, and you always used to have the worst chilblains, and turn grumpy when they itched and burned. You don’t make the best of things, old chap.”
“No, Dal, I haven’t got your spirit. How many days longer will that meal last?”
“That depends, dear boy, on whether we are frugal, or go on banqueting and gorging.”
“It is dreadfully low, isn’t it?”
“Well, the supply is not great, but there is a morsel of bacon and a frozen leg-bone of our share of the moose, whose roasted marrow will be delicious. No; the larder is not well stocked, but the supply of fuel is unlimited, and we have our gigantic bag of gold in the bank cellar.”
“Curse the gold!”
“No, I will not do that, my dear boy, because, you see, I can take out a handful, tramp down to the store, and come back laden with corn and wine and delicacies in the shape of bacon and tinned meat.”
“Dal, it’s of no use; we must give up and go back.”
“No, we must not, old chap; and even if I said the same, we couldn’t get away this winter time.”
“You could. I’m doomed—I’m doomed!”
“Here, I say,” cried Dallas, “don’t begin making quotations.”
“Quotations?”
“Yes; that’s what the despairing old chap says in Byron’s comedy, ‘I’m doomed—I’m doomed!’ and the other fellow says, ‘Don’t go on like that; it sounds like swearing when it ain’t.’”
“Dal,” cried Abel passionately, “how can you be so full of folly when we are in such a desperate state?”
“Because I believe in ‘Never say die!’” cried the young man cheerily. “You are cold, man. Allow me, my lord, to spread this purple robe gracefully over your noble shoulders to keep off the draught. I say, Bel, these blankets are getting jolly black.”
“Thanks, Dal.”
“And with your lordship’s permission I will hang this piece of tapestry over the doorway to enhance the warmth of the glow within. Haven’t got a couple of tenpenny nails in your pocket, have you? Never mind; these pegs’ll hold it up. Whoo! it does blow. We shall be quite buried in the snow by morning.”
“Yes, once more,” said Abel gloomily.
“So much the warmer for it, Bel, and save the wood. I say, old chap, we ought to be thankful that we have such a snug den. It would be death to any one to be out to-night.”
“Yes; and they would have ceased hunting for that golden myth, and be at rest.”
“Well, you are a cheerful chap to-night! I say, I wonder what has become of old ‘My son,’—Tregelly, the Cornishman?”
“Dead or broken-hearted over this weary search.”
“Dead? Why, that fellow wouldn’t die a bit. Broken-hearted? His heart’s made of stuff much too tough. He’ll turn up some day to tell us he has made a big find.”
“Never. He’s dead by now.”
“Don’t you prophesy until after the event.”
“Dal,” said Abel, as he sat, gaunt of visage, darkened by exposure, and totally different from the bright, eager fellow of a few months earlier.
“Yes?”
“You will not go away and leave me?”
“I must, old fellow. The coals for the human grate are nearly out, and I must fetch some more.”
“If you go you will find me dead when you come back. To die alone! Horrible!”
“Nonsense! Old Norton will come in every day and have a look at you if I ask him. He’s a good old chap, Bel; I wish he had had better luck. I say, though, this is a rum game. You and I are now living in this rough dog-kennel, and bad as our luck has been, we have been turning out gold at the rate of, say, five hundred a year. Not bad that for beginners.”
“And it takes all we get to barter for the wretched food,” groaned Abel. “The prices are horrible.”
“Well, things are dear, and bad at that, as our American friends say. But we only have to double our turn-in and we shall grow rich.”
The wind was whistling and shrieking about the lonely cabin, the tattered blanket over the rough wood doorway was blown in, and the smoke eddied about the corners of the tent as a quantity of snow came through the opening, and made the fire hiss angrily.
“It won’t take me long, old fellow,” said Dallas; “and, by the way, I had better buy a tin of powder and some cartridges. Think you’ll be well enough to-morrow to clean and oil the guns while I’m down the shaft?”
“I’ll try; but the shaft will be full of drifted snow.”
“If it is, I’ll drift it out.”
“What’s that?” cried Abel, as a faintly heard howl came from the distance.
“Sounds like wolves. No dog would be out in a night like this.”
“Think they will come here and attack us?”
“Don’t know. I hope so.”
“What!” cried Abel, with a horrified look.
“Give me a chance to do a little shooting if they come in at the chimney hole. Glad of a bit of sport. Supply us with some fresh meat, too.”
“What, eat wolf?”
“My dear Bel, I get so hungry that I would eat anything now. But they may taste good. Wolf’s a kind of dog; they eat dog in China, and I’ve heard that the bargees do so on the Thames.”
“What?”
“Don’t you remember the chaff at Oxford—the fellows asking the bargees, ‘Who ate puppy pie under Marlow Bridge?’”
“There it is again.”
“Then I’ll take the guns out of the cases if they come nearer. They’ll be able to walk up the snow slope right on to the roof.”
But the sounds died away, and Dallas opened a tin and took out a couple of pieces of roughly made damper, whose crust was plentifully marked with wood ashes.
“I can’t eat,” said Abel.
“I can, and I’ll set you an example. Sorry there is no Strasburg pie or other delicacy to tempt you; and the cook is out, or she should grill you some grouse.”
Abel sat nursing his piece of unappetising bread, while Dallas rapidly disposed of his, the smaller piece.
They had been sitting in silence for some time, with Dallas gazing wistfully at his companion.
“Try and eat the damper, old fellow,” he said. “You must have food.”
“I can’t, Dal. I say, how much gold is there in the hole?”
“I daresay there’s five-and-twenty ounces.”
“You must take it, and contrive to get away from here, Dal,” said Abel suddenly.
“And you?”
“Get back home again. She’ll break her heart if she loses us both.”
Thud!
There was a heavy blow at the rough door, and then another.
“Norton come to look us up,” whispered Dallas.
“No; he would not knock like that,” whispered back Abel—needlessly, for the roar of the storm would have made the voices inaudible outside.
There was another blow on the door as if something had butted against it, and then a scratching on the rough wood.
“A bear?” whispered Dallas, rising softly. “Be quiet. Bear’s meat is good, but a bear would not be out on a night like this.”
There was another blow, and then a piteous, whining howl.
“A dog, by Jove!” cried Dallas. “Then his master must be in trouble in the snow.”
“Dal, it would be madness to go out in this storm. It means death.”
Dallas did not reply, but lifted the blanket, from which a quantity of fine snow dropped, and took down the great wooden bar which, hanging in two rough mortices, formed its fastening.
As he drew the door inward a little, there was a rush of snow and wind, and the fire roared as the sparks and ashes were wafted about the place, threatening to fire the two rough bed-places; and with the drifting fine snow a great lump forced its way in through the narrow crack, rushing towards the blaze, uttering a dismal howl.
Dallas thrust the door to and stared at the object before them, one of the great Eskimo dogs, with its thick coat so matted and covered with ice and snow that the hairs seemed finished off with icicles, which rattled as the poor brute moved.
“Hullo, here!” cried Dallas. “Where’s your master?”
The dog looked at him intelligently, then opened its mouth and howled.
“Come along, then. Seek, seek.”
The young man made for the door as if to open it, but the dog crept closer to the fire, crouched down, and howled more dismally than before.
“Well, come and find him, then. Your master. Here, here! Come along.”
The dog lifted its head, looked at the glowing fire, and then at first one and then the other, howled again, and made an effort to raise itself, but fell over.
“What’s he mean by that, poor brute? He’s as weak as a rat. What is it, then, old fellow?” cried Dallas, bending down to pat him. “Why, the poor brute’s a mere skeleton.”
The dog howled once more, struggled up, and fell over sideways.
“He doesn’t act as if any one was with him,” said Abel.
The dog howled again, made a fresh effort, and this time managed to sit up on his hindquarters, and drooped his fore-paws, opening his great mouth and lolling out the curled-up tongue.
“Starving—poor wretch!” said Dallas. “No, no, Bel, don’t. It’s the last piece of the bread.”
“I can’t eat it,” replied Abel. “Let the poor brute have it. I can’t see it suffer like that.”
He broke up the cake and threw it piece after piece, each being snapped up with avidity, till there was no more, when the poor brute whined and licked Bel’s hand, and then turned, crawled nearer to the fire, laid his great rough head across Dallas’s foot, and lay blinking up at him, with the ice and snow which matted his dense coat melting fast.
“Poor beggar!” said Dallas. “He has been having a rough time.”
The dog whined softly, and the unpleasant odour of burning hair began to fill the place as his bushy tail was swept once into the glowing embers.
“Give him part of the moose bone, Dal,” said Abel.
“If this blizzard keeps on we have only that to depend on, old fellow. I want to help the dog, but I must think of you.”
“Give it up,” said Abel gloomily, as he laid a hand on his bandaged foot. “Give him what there is, and then let him lie down and die with us. The golden dream is all over now. Look! the poor brute just managed to struggle here. He’s dying.”
“No, settling down to sleep in the warm glow. Look how the water runs from his coat.”
“Dying,” said Abel positively. And the poor brute’s actions seemed to prove that the last speaker was right, for he lay whining more and more softly, blinking at the fire with his eyes half-closed, and a shiver kept on running through him, while once when he tried to rise he uttered a low moan and fell over on to his side.
“Is he dead, Dal?” said Abel hoarsely.
His cousin bent over the dog and laid his hand upon his throat, with the result that there was a low growling snarl and the eyes opened to look up, but only to close again, and the bushy tale tapped the floor a few times.
“Knows he is with friends, poor fellow!” said Dallas. “But he did not show much sense in coming to Starvation Hall.”
“It was the fire that attracted him.”
“Perhaps,” said Dallas. “But I have a sort of fancy that we have met before.”
“What!” cried Abel, brightening up, “you don’t think—”
“Yes, I do. Did you notice that the poor brute limped with one of his hind-legs?”
“Yes, but—oh, impossible. A dog would not know you again like that. You mean the one you saved from the ice.”
“Yes, I do; but we shall see by daylight, such as it is. I say, though, if we do get home again, you and I, after our experience of this Arctic place, ought to volunteer for the next North Pole expedition.”
Abel heaved a deep sigh.
“Look here, old fellow; you were brightening up, now you are going back again. Let’s go to bed and have a good long sleep in the warm. What about the dog?”
“Yes, what about him?”
“I suppose we mustn’t turn him out again on a night like this.”
“Impossible.”
“But you know what these brutes are. He’ll be rousing up and eating our candles and belts—anything he can get hold of; but I suppose we must risk it.”
The door now being rattled loudly by the tremendous wind, was once more made secure, the blanket replaced, and then, after well making up the fire with a couple of heavy logs, the weary pair were about to creep into their skin sleeping-bags when they were startled into full wakefulness again, for a fierce gust seemed to seize and shake the hut, and then, as the wind went roaring away, there was a wild moaning cry, and a sharp report from close at hand.
“It is the dog’s master, Bel,” whispered Dallas, springing to the door and beginning to unfasten it, just as the dog raised his head and whined dismally.
The disposition was there to help, and as soon as he could get the door open, Dallas dashed out into the whirling snow, which rushed in blinding eddies about the hut, while Abel, awestricken and panting, clung to the post and tried to pierce the black darkness.
“It is madness. It means death,” he groaned to himself.
Even as the thought crossed his mind Dallas staggered back, to stand panting and wiping the snow from his eyes.
Then he dashed out again, but was beaten back breathless and exhausted.
Again he tried, for Abel had not the heart to stay him, and a good ten minutes elapsed—minutes of anxiety to the watcher, which seemed like hours—before his companion was literally driven in again, to fall completely exhausted upon the floor.
“I can’t do it, Bel,” he said at last feebly. “I never thought the wind and snow could be like this. It’s death to go out there, and I felt that I should never get back again.”
He struggled to his feet once more and made for the door, but Abel seized him by the arm and tried to shut out the blinding snow, which had given the interior of the hut the appearance of winter, and after a hard struggle the door was closed.
“Bel, that biggest tree at the side is split right down, and half has fallen this way,” said Dallas breathlessly. “It must have been that we heard. I fell over it as I tried to find the door.”
“You shall not go again,” said Abel.
“I cannot,” replied Dallas sadly; “but I feel sure now that no one is asking for help.”
The hours passed and the fire was made up again and again, while towards morning the storm lulled.
The dog lay perfectly still; but he was not dead when Dallas roused himself up to examine him, for he feebly rapped the floor with his tail.
Abel had sunk into the sleep of utter weariness, and Dallas let him lie as he replenished the fire, opened the door softly, plunged through the snow, and, as well as the darkness would allow, satisfied himself that he was right about the riven tree. “It was very horrible to think, though,” he said to himself; “but no one could have been travelling on such a night.”
He returned to the hut, replenished the fire, and the billy was boiling ready for its pinch of tea, and the newly made cake baking, by the time Abel opened his eyes and sighed.
“What a useless log I am, Dal,” he said.
“Are you?”
“Yes, I lie here doing nothing. How is the dog?”
“Quite dry and fluffy.”
“But he is not dead?”
“No; but are we to give him house room?”
“Could we turn him out into the snow?”
Dallas began to whistle softly, and turned the cake on the round iron pan which answered for many purposes. “It’s the same dog, Bel,” he said at last.
“Then the intelligent beast has tracked us out.”
“Been a long time about it.”
“Dogs are very grateful creatures.”
“Rum way of showing his gratitude to come and sponge upon two poor fellows who are half starving. Meal bag’s awfully low.”
“You must try for something with the gun. What’s the weather like this morning?”
“Dark and cold, but clear starlight, and a sprinkle of fresh snow on the ground.”
“A sprinkle?”
“Yes; three feet deep outside the door.”
“Have you been out?”
“Yes; and found I was right about the tree. There must have been lightning, I think. I’m glad it was that.”
“Yes. I wonder how old Tregelly has got on. It’s very lonely where he is.”
“So it is here.”
“How snug the fire looks, Dal!” said Abel, after a pause.
“Yes; cheery, isn’t it? Cake smells good. How does the foot feel?”
“Not so painful this morning after the rest. But, Dal!”
“Well?”
“I lay thinking last night after you had gone to sleep, and you really must not go down to the town.”
“Must, old chap.”
“No, no; don’t leave me.”
“But you’ll have company now—the dog.”
“Go round when it’s daylight, and try what stores you can get from the men round us.”
“It isn’t reasonable, Bel. Every one is as short as we are.”
“Starving Englishmen are always ready to share with their brothers in distress.”
“Yes; but their brothers in distress who are strong and well, and who have enough gold to buy food, have too much conscience to rob them.”
“How much longer can we hold out?”
“I don’t know,” said Dallas, “and I don’t want to know. Stores are getting terribly low, and that’s near enough for me. But what do you say to the dog?”
“Poor brute! We must keep him.”
“I meant killing and eating him.”
“No, you didn’t. Dal, I’m better this morning; the coming of that poor dog like a fellow-creature in distress seems to have cheered me up.”
“That’s right. Then, as a reward, I will wait a few days and go round cadging.”
“No—buying.”
“The fellows won’t sell. They will only let us have some as a loan.”
“Very well, then; get what you can as a loan, Dal.”
“All right; but I know what it will be wherever I go: ‘We can let you have some tobacco, old man; we’ve scarcely anything else.’”
“Never mind; try.”
Dallas threw a few small pieces of wood on the fire to make a blaze and light up the rough place, and then the breakfast was partaken of. Not a very substantial meal: milkless tea, with very stodgy hot cake, made with musty meal; but to the great delight of Dallas, his companion in misfortune partook thereof with some show of appetite, and then sat looking on without a word while Dallas took one of their gold-washing pans, poured in some meal, took a piece of split firewood, and stirred with one hand while he poured hot water in from the billy with the other.
Neither spoke, but their thoughts were in common, and as soon as the hot mash had cooled a little, the cook turned to the dog.
“Now then, rough un,” he cried, “as you have invited yourself to bed and breakfast, here is your mess, and you’d better eat it and go.”
The dog opened his eyes, looked at him wistfully, and beat the floor again, but he made no effort to rise.
“Poor brute! He is weak, Bel. Here, let’s help you.”
Passing his arm under the dog’s neck, he raised him a little so that he could place the shallow tin of steaming food beneath his muzzle; but the only result was a low whine, and a repetition of the movement of the tail.
At last, though, the eyes opened, and the poor brute sniffed, and began to eat very slowly, pausing now and then to whine before beginning again, till at last the effect of the hot mess seemed magical, and the latter half was eaten with avidity, the tin being carefully licked clean.
A few minutes later the dog was asleep again, but in a different attitude, for he had, after a few efforts, curled himself up as close to the fire as he could get without burning, his muzzle covered over by his bushy tail.
“Dallas Adams, Esquire, gold medal from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Bow from Dallas Adams, Esquire, and loud cheers from the audience at the annual meeting.”
“And well deserved,” said Abel, smiling. “Oh, I wish I had your spirits.”
“Get your frozen foot well, and then you will,” was the reply. “Look here, I’ll take a sack and go begging at once, and then come back and get in some wood, for there will not be time to work in the shaft, only get out the snow.”
“Go on, then, and you will succeed.”
“Doubtful,” was the reply.
Soon after, Dallas, with a sack fastened across one shoulder like a scarf, and his gun over his shoulder, opened the door. “Cheer up, old chap!” he cried. “I shan’t be long,” and forcing his way out, he closed the door, plunged forward, and struggled waist deep through the snow which had drifted up against the hut.
Farther on it lay less heavy, and pausing for a few moments to take a look round beneath the starlit sky, he made his way along the border of the creek—carefully on the look-out for pine-stumps, the remains of the dense scrub which had been cut down by the gold-seekers—in the direction of one of the lights dotting the creek here and there, those nearest being lanterns, but farther on a couple of fires were burning.
“Morning, mate,” said a cheery voice, as he came upon two men busily shovelling snow from a pit beneath a rough shelter of poles, while a hut was close by. “You’ve got plenty of this, I s’pose?”
“Nearly buried. I say, we’re awfully short of meal and bacon. Can you sell us some?”
The two men leaned on their shovels.
“We’re so desp’rate low ourselves, mate,” said the one who had not spoken. “We don’t like to say no. But look here, go and try round the camp and see what you can do. Some of them’s a deal better off than we are. Get it of them. If you can’t, come back here and we’ll do what we can. Eh, mate?”
“Of course,” came in a growl; “but no humbug, Mr Adams.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, this. When it comes to eating we, as it says in the song, you must play fair and draw lots with the rest of us.”
“Never fear,” said Dallas merrily, joining in the laugh; “but we’ve got the dogs to eat first if we can’t get any moose. There ought to be some tracks seen after this.”
“So plaguy dark, mate, for hunting and shooting; but talk about dogs, did you hear that brute howling during the storm?”
“Oh, yes, I heard him,” said Dallas.
“He soon gave in, though. I believe some of the others hunted him down and didn’t stop to draw lots. What hungry beggars they are!”
Dallas trudged on slowly, calling at claim after claim on his way down the creek, but always with the same result—friendly willingness, but want of means.
Then he reached the spot where one of the fires had been burning, but which had died out, nothing being left but wood, smoke, and steam, while two men were scraping away the snow from a heap while they waited till a shaft about six feet deep beneath a roofed shed was cool enough to descend.
“Morning, mate,” was his salutation. “Nearly got our roof on fire. Were you coming to help?”
“No, to ask for help,” said Dallas, and he made his request.
One of the men went to the edge of the pit and descended a roughly made ladder, prior to beginning to fill a bucket with the gravelly bottom which had been thawed by the fire, ready for his companion to haul up and empty on the heap ready for washing when the spring time came.
“Tell him,” he said gruffly. “Well, mate,” said the man at the top, “it’s like this. We’ve got about a couple of pound of strong shag and a few ounces o’ gold we can loan you. If that’s any good, you’re welcome; but grub’s awful short. Try further down, and if you can’t get what you want, come back.”
“All right, and thank you, mates,” said Dallas. “Morning.”
“I say, we’ll show you the flour-tub and the bare bone if you like.”
“No, no,” cried Dallas; “I believe you.” And then to himself, “I must fall back on Tregelly.”
He had the burning wood fire for guide to where the big miner was thawing the shaft in his claim, to make the frozen gravel workable, and in addition there were faint signs coming of the short-lived day. “Morning, Tregelly.”
“What, you, Mr Adams! Glad to see you, my son. Come inside and have a mouthful of something and a pipe.”
“I don’t want to hinder you,” said Dallas to his cheery friend.
“You won’t hinder me, my son. I like letting the fire have a good burn out, and then for it to cool down before I begin. Come along; but how’s your cousin?”
“Better this morning, but very low-spirited last night, with his frost-bitten foot.”
“Poor lad! It is hard on him.”
“The fact is, we are terribly short of provisions.”
“You are? Same here, my son; but why didn’t you come down and tell me? I haven’t got much, but you’re welcome to what I can spare. There you are; sit down by the fire and I’ll see what we can do. Bacon’s horribly close, and I’ve only two of those mahogany salt solids they call ’Merican hams; but I can let you have a tin or two of meal and some flour.”
“If you can,” cried Dallas, “it will be a blessing to us now, and as soon as ever—”
“Yes, yes, all right, my son: I know. But how’s the gold turning out?”
“The gravel seems fairly rich, but somehow I’m afraid we shall do no good.”
“That’s how it seems with me,” said the miner. “One just gets enough to live upon and pay one’s way; and one could do that anywhere, without leading such a life as this.”
Dallas thought of his friend’s words as he tramped back through the snow with his sack of provender on his back, for the life they were leading was that of the lowest type of labourer, the accommodation miserable, and the climate vile.
“It will not do—it will not do,” he said sadly; but he returned, all the same, in better spirits with the results of his foraging, to find Abel waiting for him anxiously, and the dog curled-up by the fire sleeping heavily.
The stores obtained were carefully husbanded, and during the next few days, in spite of intense frost, Dallas worked hard in the shaft on their claim, heating it with the abundant wood till a certain amount of gravel was thawed, and then throwing it out ready for washing when the next summer came.