“Not a bit,” cried the latter. “I didn’t know that Griggs had got another range of mountains up his sleeve. There, I’m a lazy one, and I can’t help longing to loaf about in a beautiful place like this. I should like to stop and shoot and explore. The place is lovely.”
“Wait till we’ve got the gold, sir,” said Griggs merrily, “and then I’m with you. Nothing I should like better than to stop about here if Mr Lo! the poor Indian, would leave us alone. But he wouldn’t, I know of old, and I’ve a great objection to standing still for him to make a target of me and stick me as full of arrows as a porcupine. Say, I wonder we haven’t seen any of those gentlemen, and those black and white fellows with the feathery tails.”
“The skunks!” cried the doctor. “No, nor do we want to. Then now for a good rest. Sleep, boys, and ‘pay attintion to it,’ like Barney O’Reardon. This moss will feel like feather-beds to-night. My word, how dark it has grown while we have been talking! Good-night, every one. I’m half-asleep now.”
Five minutes later he was quite, and the rest, saving the watch, were rapidly following his example, the only sounds heard being the distant hoot of an owl, the musical trickling of falling water, and the crop, crop of the grazing beasts.
Chapter Twenty Four.
A Night Visitor.
Chris Lee’s bed that night was a contrivance of his own. It was between two long pieces of rock, a narrow passage which, after taking the axe to lop them off, he filled full of aromatic pine branches. These lay close and were elastic and yielding. Over them he stretched a blanket, upon which he rolled another piece of rock, which filled up one end of the narrow passage, and there, snugly protected at head and sides, was the delightful couch for a wholesomely tired lad, only wanting another blanket to cover him if he felt chilly, or to be ready to throw off if he found it warm.
Silence, darkness save for the glittering stars on high, sweet pure air, and an excellent appetite for sleep, there was all he could desire, and after laying his rifle and revolver ready and lifting his cartridge-pouch and hunting-knife a little over the rocks to prevent them from making dents in his sides, he said good-night to those near, let his head sink down, gazed for a few minutes at a brilliant star in the zenith which his father had told him was Aldebaran—one which he recollected well from its unscientific name—the Bull’s-eye, he closed his own and began dreaming at once, but not pleasantly. The fact was that he had eaten a very hearty supper and lain down to sleep very soon afterwards, two rather foolish things to do if a calm and restful sleep be sought.