“Nay, not quite, my son,” said their new friend good-humouredly, “because we’ve got to bear it. Cheer up. Might have been worse. You see, it was a fresh lot come along while we were asleep and out of sight. ‘Hullo!’ says one of ’em, ‘now I do call this kind; some un’s made us a raft all ready for taking to the water. Come along, mates,’ and they all comed.”
“I wish I’d heard them,” cried Dallas.
“Well, if you come to that, so do I, my sons. But there, we’ve got our tackle, and they haven’t taken all the wood, so we must make another.”
“Yes, and waste two more days,” cried Abel angrily.
“Well, we’re none of us old yet,” said the Cornishman good-humouredly; “and I don’t suppose those who have gone before will have got all the gold.”
“But it is so annoying to think that we lay snoring yonder and let whoever they were steal the raft,” said one of the men.
“So it is, my son,” cried his companion; “and I can see that you two are chock full o’ swear words. Tell you what: you two go in yonder among the trees and let ’em off, while we three light the fire and cook the rashers. It’ll ease your minds, and you’ll feel better. I say, what’s about the value of that there raft?”
“I wouldn’t have taken twenty pounds for my share of it,” cried Abel.
“Humph! Twenty,” said the Cornishman musingly. “Well, seeing it’s here, we’ll say twenty pound. There’s five of us, and that makes a hundred. All right, my sons; we shall come upon those chaps one of these days, and they’ll have to pay us about a pound and a harf o’ gold for our work; and if they don’t there’s going to be a fight. Now then, gentlemen, fire—breakfast—and then work. We shall be a bit more handy in making another. Wish we’d had a bit o’ paint.”
“Paint! What for?” cried Dallas and Abel in a breath.