Several days were spent in the work of landing the treasure-trove, then the tedious and toilsome labour of conveying it to the Snowbird commenced. There was in all nearly thirty tons of it to be dragged in the sledges over a rough and difficult country, yet at last this was safely accomplished, and the mate of the Trefoil had the satisfaction of seeing it stored in one immense bin, where it could await the process of boiling down and refining, previously to being conveyed into the tanks of the yacht.
“I feel happier now,” said Mr Hill, as he quietly contemplated the result of their labours. “It is a goodly pile, thirty tons there if there is an ounce; it will take us two good months’ hard work to refine it.”
“Meanwhile,” said McBain, “we must not forget one thing.”
“What is that?” said Mr Hill.
“Why,” replied the captain, “that to-morrow is Christmas. You must rest from your labours for a few days at least, there is plenty of time before us. It will be well on to the middle of May ere the ice lifts sufficiently to permit us to bear up for the east once more.”
“Well,” said the mate, “the truth is, I had forgotten the season was so far advanced.”
“You have been thinking about nothing but your ‘fish,’” said McBain, laughing.
“I have been full of that fish,” replied the mate; “full of it, and that is a curious way to speak. Why, that fish is a fortune in itself. And I do think, captain, it is a sad thing to go home in a half-empty ship.”
“Ah!” McBain added, “thanks to you, and thanks to our own good guns, we won’t do that.”
“Talking about fortunes,” said Allan, who had just come on deck, “we ought to have a small fortune in skins alone.”