“Very well,” said Dallas; “then we’ll go. Feel well enough to come as far as there to-morrow, Bel?”
“Yes; and I should like it,” was the reply.
“Then we’ll go. We’ll shut up the dog here to keep house till we come back, though no one is likely to come. I say, how much longer it has been light to-day.”
“Pretty sort of light!” growled Tregelly. “I could make better light out of a London fog and some wet flannel. We got a fine lot of gravel and washing stuff, though, out of the shaft to-day. Look here, I picked out this.”
He held out a tiny nugget of gold, about as big as a small pea; and it was duly examined, put in a small canister upon the shelf, and then the evening meal went on, and Tregelly refreshed himself with large draughts of tea.
“Look here,” he said: “we agreed that we’d tell one another if we found a good place, and we started working separate.”
“Yes,” said Bel, “and fate has ordered that we should come together again. We—bah! what mockery it seems to talk of ‘we’ when I’m such a helpless log.”
“Look here, Bel, I wish you were a bit stronger, and I’d kick you.”
“Don’t wait, my son; kick him now,” cried Tregelly. “He deserves it.”
“I’ll save it up,” said Dallas. “But look here, Big Bob, you needn’t make a long speech. You were going to say that you thought now that we had better stick together, share and share alike for the future.”