“Because if there was I might take you to it and make you comfortable. You are not very comfortable out here on these damp rocks.”
“There is a cave-hut just back of here. Take me to that, please.”
As Blake spoke, a dizziness seemed to come over him, and he closed his eyes. Bob waited until the spell was over, and then half carried, half dragged the old man to the place he had mentioned.
The young photographer found that a large hollow under a shelving rock had been converted into a dwelling-place by having a front of logs built up against it.
There were a door and a window, and, entering the former, Bob discovered a cot, a table, and a couple of chairs, while a number of pans and dishes lay heaped up in a corner.
The youth placed Blake on the cot and made him as comfortable as the conveniences of the cave-hut permitted. Blake pointed to a flask resting on a shelf, and when the youth handed it to him the old man took a deep draught of the liquor it contained.
It appeared to brace him up. The color came back into his face, and presently he sat up.
“So you say Casco got away with those papers?” he said slowly.
“He got away. I know nothing of any papers.”
“He ought to let me have ’em back.”