“Morning, my son,” he cried; “I’ve been greasing the runners of the sledge a bit, and rubbing up the chest-strap. The thing wants using. I’ve oiled the guns and six-shooters too. Beautiful morning. I say, how that dog has come round!”
For the great shaggy brute had walked to the door to meet him, with his bushy tail well curled-up, and a keen look of returning vigour in his eyes and movements.
“Yes,” said Dallas; “I never thought he’d live. But I say, Bel persists in going with us, and I’m sure he’ll break down.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter, my son. If he does we’ll make him sit astride of the load as we come back, and each take a rope, and give him a ride home.”
“I shall be able to walk,” said Abel stoutly.
“Very well,” said Dallas. “You always were the most obstinate animal that ever breathed.”
The breakfast was eaten, pistols and cartridges placed in their belts, rifles taken down from their hooks, and the fire banked up with big logs that would last to their return; and then Dallas took up one of the skin-lined sleeping-bags.
“What’s that for?” said Abel suspiciously.
“For you to ride back in.”
Abel made an angry gesture. “I tell you I’m better,” he said sharply.