“It’s my belief that we’ve slept a good four-and-twenty hours, and that it’s night again.”
“Think so?”
“I do, my son, and it’s to-morrow night, I believe. I say, how the snow has melted away. Why, hullo!” he shouted, as the flames leapt up merrily now, “who’s that?”
“I don’t know,” faltered Dallas; “I thought at first it was you.”
“Not a dead ’un?” whispered Tregelly in an awestruck tone.
“Yes; and whoever it was must have been buried in that bank of snow, so that we did not see him last night.”
Tregelly drew a burning brand from the fire, gave it a wave in the air to make it blaze fiercely, and stepped towards the recumbent figure lying there.
“Hi! Look here, my son,” he cried. “No wonder we didn’t see him come back.”
Dallas grasped the fact now, and the next moment he too was gazing down at the fierce face, icily sealed in death, the light playing upon the huge red beard, while the eyes were fixed in a wild stare.
“Hah!” ejaculated Tregelly. “He’ll do no more mischief now, my son. But what was he doing here? Rather a chilly place for a man to choose for his lair. Thought he was safe, I suppose. Only look.”