As he drew near he gave vent to a signal whistle familiar to his cousin. But there was no reply, and he tugged away till he was nearer, and then gave vent to a cheery “Ahoy!”
There was still no response, and he hailed again, without result.
“Well, he is sleeping,” said Dallas, and he hailed again as he dragged away at the load. “At last!” he cried, as he reached the door and cast off the leathern loop from across his breast. “Here, Bel, ahoy! ahoy! ahoy! Hot rolls and coffee! Breakfast, bacon, and tinned tongue! Banquets and tuck out! Wake up, you lazy beggar! you dog! you—”
He was going to say “bear,” but a horrible chill of dread attacked him, and he turned faint and staggered back, nearly falling over his loaded sledge.
“Bah! coward! fool!” he cried angrily, and he looked sharply round, to see shaft fires in the distance; but there was no hut within half a mile. “What nonsense!” he muttered. “There can’t be anything wrong. Got short of food, and gone to one of the neighbours.”
Nerving himself, he tried to open the door.
But it was fast, and, as he could see from a means contrived by themselves for fastening the door from outside when they went away hunting or shooting, it had not been secured by one who had left the place.
In an instant, realising this, he grew frantic, and without stopping to think more, he ran round to the side by the shaft, caught up a piece of fir-trunk some six or seven feet long, and ran back, poised it for a few moments over his head, and then dashed it, battering-ram fashion, with all his might against the rough fir-wood door, just where the bar went across, loosening it so that he was able to insert one end of the piece of timber, using it now as a lever; and with one wrench he forced the door right open.