“And are you bent on going, Mr. Longman?” inquired Andrew Quin.
“‘Bent on’ it, Dandy? I can’t help it. Something is drawing me. I feel it all the time.”
“On a visit?”
“On a visit for the present.”
“Then I go with you, sir, and come back with you, if I feel like it—though it is giving up the chance of a grand future.”
“But it is making reasonably sure of enjoying the rest of your days, Dandy.”
“Well, mates, if you’ll both be laving, it’s meself that will go wid you. The ould fort will be right on our road, and I can shtop there to see me swishter Judy, and then I’ll go back to Grizzly. Grizzly ain’t no great shakes; but for a steady-going old mining camp, that will nivir promise to mek a man a millingnaire, nor yet starve him to death, but sorter keep him a-going on fair hopes and fair profits, why, thin, give me ould Grizzly!”
“Good for you, Mike, my bold boy! We shall be glad to have your company, even as far as the fort, if no further,” said Longman, clapping his young comrade on the shoulder.
“Well, now, boys,” said Andrew, “I hev hed twenty years’ experience in these regions, where both of you are, relatively speaking, newcomers. And I tell you, airly as it is in the season, there’s snow not far off, and if so be we are bound to start, we had better be off to-morrow. What do you say?”
“I’m riddy,” said Mike.