“Must I, father?” said the boy, in a disappointed tone.
“Yes. You have run risks enough for one day.”
“Ha, ha!” cried Ned, laughing, to the astonishment of all, and his satisfaction rang out in his tones. “You can’t do it, after all, Griggs,” and though he said no more his eyes looked a finish to the sentence—serve you right for getting the better of Chris!
“Why can’t I do it?” said Griggs quietly.
“Because there’s no fire to heat the iron.”
“But I can soon make one.”
“What of? Stones?”
Griggs brought his right fist down into his left hand with a loud spang, uttering a low hiss the while, for there was not a scrap of wood in sight.
Then his face lit up and he went to the mule laden with the tent, cast loose a rope, and ran an iron ringed peg about two feet long off from where it had been placed for safety, and walked off amongst the rocks till he found a crevice suited to his purpose. There he thrust the thin end of the peg in between the sides some six inches, and exerting his strength a little, bent the iron round till the lower part stood off at right angles to the upper. This done, he raised the iron, placed the point upon the surface of a level block, and pressed heavily down, the point yielding slowly, and, the iron being fairly soft, he very shortly produced a roughly-made hook.
“’Taint so neat as I could wish,” he said quietly; “but it is a hook, and you can’t call it anything else.”