“No,” said Ingomar; “we felt no pain of any kind, not even cold, when we fell, rather than lay down. Drowsy, though; yes, very drowsy, and I knew the drowsiness was that of death. The last thing I remember was poor Wallace licking my cheek. But for that dog and Slap-dash we should have been buried in the snow. But cheerily does it, Curtis, old man. We have more harm yet to do, if we can only get back home to do it.”
The dogs were soon themselves again, and fit for anything; but another fortnight elapsed before Curtis and Ingomar were strong enough to take much interest in anything.
One day Dr. Wright proclaimed them quite out of danger. They had only to eat, and so an extra allowance of good things was given them, and they grew well after this, as if by magic.
There could be no thought of returning, however, to the seashore now, until winter was past. If they could but live through it. An ugly little “if” that.
“It won’t be half so bad as we think,” said Macdonald, cheerily. “We’ve plenty to eat, though we might dae wi’ a drap mair whisky.
“I dinna believe half what I read about the rigours o’ the Antarctic winter, only you sair-footit Englishmen are brocht up to be frichtened at a pickle snaw. Noo, if I had you in the Hielans——”
“Hush, hush! Mac,” cried Curtis, laughing. “Don’t give us any more Hielans just at present”—it was at breakfast. “Listen, old man, our provisions will last us through the remains of the autumn, and through the darkness of the long winter, till the sun comes out again; but we must work now while it is called to-day, and I am going to examine these wonderful bones of yours this very forenoon.”
“My bones! What’s the matter wi’ my bones? I’ve Hielan’ bones and Hielan’ blood, and if——”
“I know, Mac, I know. But I mean that heap!”
“I’ll tak’ naething to do wi’t. It’s hardly canny to bide (stay) in the same room wi’ such an awful cairn. But to touch them—Ugh!”