“Where is it buried?” asked Abel.
“Buried?” replied Tregelly, with a laugh. “’Tain’t buried at all. It’s just outside the door there—one of those big blocks of ice; but we shall have to wipe it round with a pick-axe to make it a more decent size for the sledge.”
“One of these blocks?”
“That’s right, my son. If you make a hiding-place some one’s sure to find it; but they’d never think of looking inside a block lying outside your door. You see, I picked a big hole in it, put in my stuff, then a big wedge of flannel, rammed some snow on the top, poured a drop of water over, and in half an hour it was a solid block.”
“Well, let’s get it and go, before those other scoundrels come back.”
“You needn’t fear them, my son. Scruff would let us know if they were near. I only wish they would come, so as we could have a fight. Taking my stores like that.”
“But about this man?” said Abel.
“What about him, my son? We are doing all we can by letting him alone. I know enough of that sort of thing to be able to say that nothing can be done for him. No doctor could do him any good, if there was one to be had. Let’s get the gold and go back. Perhaps his mates will come back to him when we’re gone.”
“And if they do, what then?” said Dallas sharply.
“You mean, shall I lay wait for them and trap them, my son. No; I can’t do that now. Be best for them, though, to keep quite out o’ my way. Now then, open the door just a little way, so that you can squeeze out and get hold of the dog, Mr Dallas. If he gets in we shall have a scene.”