“And I should have sent or come for you, my sons. Look here, we’d better make a change, and explore higher up towards the mountains.”
“Too late this year,” said Dallas decisively.
“Oh, yes; too late this season, my sons. We mustn’t get too far from the supplies. Means—you know what! famine and that sort o’ thing.”
“Yes, we know,” said Abel bitterly.
“We’ll do it when the days begin to lengthen again,” continued Tregelly. “What we’ve got to do is to make as big a heap here as we can during the winter, wash it out in the spring, and if it’s good enough, then stop here. If it aren’t, go and find a better place.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Dallas. “But about rations. There’s nothing to be got here. Have you brought plenty?”
“Much as ever I could pull, my sons, and I’ll take it kindly if you’ll let me camp with you to-night, so that I can leave my swag with you while I hunt out a claim.”
“Of course,” cried Dallas; “we’ll help you all we can.”
“There’s that pitch down yonder, Dal,” said Abel—“the one we said looked likely.”
“Of course; the place we tried, and which seemed fairly rich.”