“Exactly; but at any moment we might at a turn of the shovel lay them bare weighing ounces or even pounds.”
“Pigs might fly,” said Abel.
“Bah! Where’s your pluck? Work away.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll work,” said Abel; “but with the dreary winter coming on one can’t help feeling a bit depressed. I say, I’m very glad we never sent a message to old Tregelly and his mates to come and join us.”
“Well, it would have turned out rather crusty,” said Dallas, who was shovelling gravel into the cradle, while Abel stood over his ankle in the stream, rocking away and stopping from time to time to pick out some tiny speck of gold.
“We shall never make our fortunes at this,” he said.
“Bah! Don’t be in a hurry. At all events, we are in safety. No fear of dangerous visitors, and— Here, quick—the hut—your rifle, man! Run!”
Abel sprang to the shore, to be seized by the arm, and they ran for their weapons and shelter.
None too soon, for a big burly figure had come into sight from among the pines, stopped short, and brought down his rifle, as he stood shading his eyes and scanning the retreating pair.