“Ah, I went there,” said the Cornishman, “and the Yankee chap it belongs to called it his hotel. But to go back to what we are to do next, my son. We mustn’t stay here, but go up to one of the little streams they’re talking about, and peg out claims as soon as we find good signs. Now, I’ve been thinking, like our chap who lost his knife, that we’d better separate here and go different ways. If we find a good place we’ll come to you, and if you find one you’ll share with us. What do you say?”
“Tired of our company?” asked Abel bitterly.
The big fellow turned to him and smiled.
“Look here, my son,” he said, “that foot of yours hurts you more than you owned to. You take my advice; after we’ve got a bit of a fire and made our camp and cooked our bit o’ supper, you make a tin o’ water hot and bathe it well, and don’t you use that foot much for a day or two. No, my sons, I’m not tired of you. If I had been I should ha’ said good-bye days ago. I’m sorry for us to break up our party, but I’ve been thinking that what I proposed was the best plan, even if it does sound rough.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Dallas, speaking in a more manly way. “I beg your pardon. So does my cousin here. We’re fagged out, and this does seem such a damper. I wish we were back somewhere in the pine-woods.”
“Tchah! I don’t want no pardons begged, my son. I know. When I saw this lovely spot first I felt as if I could sit down and swear; but what good would that ha’ done? It’ll be all right. Now it seems to me that we shall be more comfort’ble if we go just over yonder away from the hotels and places, make our bit o’ fire, get a pannikin of tea, and then two of us’ll stop and look after the traps in case any one should come and want to borrow things and we not know where they’re gone. T’others had better have a look round and drop in here and there at these places where the men meet. It won’t do to be proud out here. I want to see some of the gold.”
“Eh?” cried a big, hearty voice, and a man who was passing stopped short and looked at them. “Want to see some of the gold? Well, there you are!”
He unfastened a strap that went across his breast, and drew a heavy leather satchel from where it hung like a cartouche-box on his back.
“Catch hold,” he cried. “That’s some of the stuff.”