“I’d take more,” said Abel; “provisions will be dearer than ever.”
“Right; so they will. Well, that must be plenty. Now then, where’s your bag?”
This was produced, rather unwillingly, from the hiding-place.
“That’s right,” he continued, as the glittering treasure was poured into the leather bag. “Now then, we’ll just see what we can do in the way of prog for me to take. I can hold out pretty well on some cake and plenty of tobacco. Then I’ll be off.”
“When do you mean to go?” said Abel.
“Go, my son? Why, now, directly. Sooner the better. Those chaps won’t come back till they want some more prog. I tell you what you might do, though; go to the first shanty and tell the neighbour about those two being out on the rampage, and ask him to pass the word all along the line.”
An hour later Tregelly was ready to start, and shook hands. Then he hesitated.
“What is it?” said Dallas.
“I was thinking whether I ought to go round by my claim and see how that fellow’s getting on. Sometimes I’m pulled one way, sometimes I’m pulled another. But going perhaps means a bullet in my jacket, so I won’t go.”
He threw the leather band over his shoulder, and the next minute the sledge runners were creaking and crackling as they glided over the hardened snow, while Dallas stood listening with his companion till the last sound died out, and then hurriedly fetched load after load of fire-logs, with the dog busily at work exploring the neighbourhood in all directions, coming back at five-minute intervals panting and sending up his visible breath, till Dallas bade him go in.