The next moment he uttered a cry, and there was a quick rustling sound as of something leaping to its feet. Then the dog’s cold nose touched his cheek, and there was a low whine of satisfaction, followed by a panting and scuffling as the dog transferred his attentions to Abel.
“And we’re both left alive,” half groaned Dallas; but the dog uttered a joyous bark, and he sprang painfully to his feet, for a familiar gruff voice growled:
“Now, then, what’s the matter with you, my son?” And then: “Fire out? How gashly dark!”
“Bob!” faltered Dallas.
“You, Master Dallas? Wait a bit, my son, and I’ll get the fire going. How’s Mr Wray?”
There was a weary groan, and Abel said dreamily: “Don’t—don’t wake me. How cold! How cold!”
Tregelly sighed, but said nothing for the moment, exerting himself the while in trying to fan the flickering flame into a stronger glow, and with such success that the horrible feeling of unreality began to pass away, with its accompanying confusion, and Dallas began to realise the truth.
“I—I thought you were lying there dead,” he said at last.
“Oh, no, my son; I’m ’live enough,” said Tregelly, who still bent over the fire; “but I never thought to open my eyes again. Shall I melt some snow over the fire? There is a scrap or two more to eat, and when it’s light we might p’r’aps shoot something. But I say, we must have slept for an awful long time, for we made a tremendous fire, and the snow’s melted all about wonderful.”
“Yes, wonderfully,” said Dallas, who crouched there gazing at the figure where the bank of snow had been.