"Say, Phon, you think you catch plenty fish by to-morrow?"
"S'pose you come 'long an' help I catch 'em," replied Phon.
"All right, I'll come. How much gold you pack along with you, Phon?" Steve added as the three went down to the creek to fish.
"Me halo pack any," was Phon's unexpected reply.
"Halo pack any! Why, don't you want any gold?"
"Yes, me want him, but me not pack any. Me not go to-mollow. Me stop here!"
"Stop here! What, alone! How about the devils?"
Poor Phon glanced nervously over his shoulder. The shadows were growing deeper and deeper amongst the pine stems, and the trees were creaking and groaning with a little wind which generally rose about sundown.
"S'pose you want find men carry gold to Victollia, one man go catch 'em. One man plenty. S'pose two man stop here, that heap good. No one steal 'um gold then," and the speaker pointed to the bags of dust.