May bore up bravely. I left her alone for a few moments; when she rejoined me outside she was silent. We secured the entrance against bears and foxes with rocks and logs.
I fashioned a cross and fastened it above the door; on it I wrote that it was the burial-place of William Bell, of Hawkenhurst, Kent, England, who died February 20, 1897, and a few other particulars.
We next secured the shanty. Having removed all we wished to carry away, we nailed a paper to the door stating to whom it belonged, giving the names of the party and their residences, outside; adding that the adjacent claim—describing the position of the boundary stakes—was their property, who were the discoverers of the gold, and that it was duly registered according to law.
As for the gold, we hid it safely: May had no fear of robbery, even if any one should wander that way, which was most unlikely, till spring at any rate.
We packed my sled with the remaining food, apparel, and a few things she required—some blankets and her tent; then as we found we could haul the load easily, Patch and I, we opened May's cache and added to our cargo fifty pounds' weight of gold, which was so much less to remove later, and so much saved in case bad characters should come across the place.
May and her father had kept a diary, so by means of the memoranda I had preserved we were enabled to discover with some certainty not only the day her father died, but when poor Meade "left."
Mr Bell passed away February 20, 1897, and Meade, November 10, 1896.
There was at this season some daylight; the sky was for some hours beautiful with sunrise colours—and the twilight lasted, though the sun was not up for very long.
We welcomed this promise of better times; indeed it was a great change from the monotony we had so long experienced.
Wrapped to the eyes in furs and blankets, May and I stood for a while impressed with the scene, whilst Patch, to whom cold made no difference, gambolled to his heart's content in the dry and powdery snow.