Chapter Twenty One.
Tregelly seeks his sons.
“Ahoy, there! What cheer, O!” rang out in a big bluff voice familiar to both.
“Oh, I say, what curs we are!” cried Dallas. “It’s old Tregelly.”
“Yes; don’t let him know we were scared.”
Vain advice. The big Cornishman shouldered his rifle, bent forward, and dragged a sledge into sight, broke into a trot, and they met half-way.
“Hullo, my sons! Did you take me for an Injun?” cried Tregelly.
“We took you for that big, red-bearded ruffian,” said Dallas huskily, as he shook hands.