“You are? Same here, my son; but why didn’t you come down and tell me? I haven’t got much, but you’re welcome to what I can spare. There you are; sit down by the fire and I’ll see what we can do. Bacon’s horribly close, and I’ve only two of those mahogany salt solids they call ’Merican hams; but I can let you have a tin or two of meal and some flour.”
“If you can,” cried Dallas, “it will be a blessing to us now, and as soon as ever—”
“Yes, yes, all right, my son: I know. But how’s the gold turning out?”
“The gravel seems fairly rich, but somehow I’m afraid we shall do no good.”
“That’s how it seems with me,” said the miner. “One just gets enough to live upon and pay one’s way; and one could do that anywhere, without leading such a life as this.”
Dallas thought of his friend’s words as he tramped back through the snow with his sack of provender on his back, for the life they were leading was that of the lowest type of labourer, the accommodation miserable, and the climate vile.
“It will not do—it will not do,” he said sadly; but he returned, all the same, in better spirits with the results of his foraging, to find Abel waiting for him anxiously, and the dog curled-up by the fire sleeping heavily.
The stores obtained were carefully husbanded, and during the next few days, in spite of intense frost, Dallas worked hard in the shaft on their claim, heating it with the abundant wood till a certain amount of gravel was thawed, and then throwing it out ready for washing when the next summer came.