“A bit achey sometimes. And your shoulder?”
There was no reply, for, utterly wearied out with poling the raft, Dallas was asleep, leaving only one of the party to watch the expiring embers of the fire, and listen to the rapids’ deep humming roar.
Abel did not keep awake, though, long. For after getting up to satisfy himself that the raft was safe, he lay down again, meaning to watch till the fire was quite out, though there was not the slightest danger of their being attacked. The only way an enemy could have approached was by water, and it was with a calm, restful sense of satisfaction that the young man stretched himself out on the soft boughs as he said to himself, “There isn’t a boat on the lake, and it would take any party two days to make a raft.”
Chapter Fourteen.
From the frying-pan into the wet fire.
“We could not have better weather, Bel,” said Dallas, as they finished the next morning’s breakfast. “Summer is coming.”
“Rather a snowy summer,” was the reply; “but never mind the cold: let’s try wherever we halt to see if there is any gold; those fellows are getting out their tins.”
A few minutes later all were gold-washing on the shore, their Cornish friend having cast loose a shovel, and given every person a charge of sand and stones from one of the shallows, taking his shovelfuls from places a dozen yards or so apart.