“Not I. Impossible,” said Abel, with a touch of contempt in his tone.
But Tregelly was the better judge of human nature, and before an hour had passed away, weariness, the darkness, and the warmth of the fire had combined to conquer, and Abel sank sidewise on the rough packing-case which formed his easy chair, and slept soundly till the short daylight had passed, and they were well on towards the evening of another day.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
The red glow.
Weary month after month passed by, with the indefatigable adventurers leading the life of labourers working in a terrible climate to win just a bare existence from the soil.
“I would not care so much if we could feel safe,” said Dallas; “but big as the country is, that scoundrel seems to be always on our track.”
“He do, he do, my son,” said Tregelly. “He means paying us off.”
“Well, we are doing no more now than when we started, while others are making fortunes. Let’s strike right up into the mountains, make a bold stroke for fortune, and give that scoundrel the slip.”