To Win or to Die Part 26

"Well, yes, my sons; we managed to sc.r.a.pe 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 sc.r.a.pe 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

A NIGHT ALARM.

"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!"