"That's all rubbish, talk like that," returned Gray sharply. "You just drop it, Harding."
He got up, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, and leant against the wall. His eyes went round the hut.
"A king's palace!" he said with a hard laugh. "Verily it needs strong imagination to think of such a place here. What a hole to live in! But I'll not stand it much longer."
Harding did not answer this time. He went up to his bunk and took from under the pillow his little shabbily bound Bible and sat down to read his evening chapter.
Gray watched him moodily; but in a moment his attention was drawn off by the strange behaviour of the dog, which, when Harding had sat down on his bunk, had crawled under it.
But it had come out again almost at once, and now stood in the middle of the hut, with its head bent and its ears upraised in the attitude of intent listening.
"What's the matter with the dog?" said Gray. "He hears somebody."
Harding looked up.
"Nobody ever comes this way; it's out of the track. Come here, Watch. You're dreaming, old fellow."
The dog turned its head and looked at its master, gave a slow wag of its tail to show that it heard his voice, and then with a dash it sprang at the door, barking fiercely.