“That sounds well,” said Tregelly. What was more, it looked so well that the big fellow decided to stay there at once, and put in his pegs, the only drawback seeming to be its remoteness from the scattered claims of the others up the creek.
But this did not trouble the big Cornishman in the least. With the help freely given by his two friends, pines were cut down, a hut knocked together, and many days had not elapsed before he was working away, and looking as much at home as if he had been there all the season, declaring when they met after working hours that it was much better than anything he and his companions had come across during their travels.
Chapter Twenty Two.
A night alarm.
“There’s a deal in make-believe, Bel, old chap,” said Dallas one day, as they sat together in their rough hut of fir-trunks, brooding over the fire lit in the centre of the floor, the blinding smoke from which escaped slowly out of an opening in the roof, when the fierce wind did not drive it back in company with the fine sharp snow, which was coming down in a regular blizzard.
“Oh, yes, a deal, if you have any faith,” said Abel bitterly; “but mine’s all dead.”
“Gammon!” cried Dallas. “You’re out of sorts, and that makes you disposed to find fault. But I must confess that during this blizzardly storm the Castle hall is a little draughty. These antique structures generally are.”
“Months and months of wandering, slavery and misery, and to come to this!”