Part 16 (1/2)

”Let's see,” said Dallas, who was well provided with map and plan; ”when we get to the bottom of this lake there are some narrows and rapids to pa.s.s along.”

”So we heard,” said the Cornishman. ”Well, so much the better. We shall go the faster. I suppose they're not Falls of Ni-agger-ray.--I say, can you gents swim?”

”Pretty well,” was the reply. ”Can you?”

The big fellow scratched his head and screwed up his face into a queer smile.

”You ask my two mates,” he said.

”No, I asked you,” said Dallas.

”Not a stroke, my son. If we get capsized I shall trust to being six foot three and a half and walk out. I don't s'pose it'll be deeper than that. If it is, I dessay my mates'll lend me a hand.”

”Then we mustn't capsize,” said Abel.

”Well, it would be as well not,” said one of the other party drily, ”on account of the flour and sugar and tea. I always said you ought to swim, Bob, old man.”

”So you did, mate,” said the big fellow, with a chuckle. ”And as soon as it gets warm enough I'm going to learn.”

That night they reached the foot of the lake where the rocky walls closed in, forming a narrow ravine, through which the great body of water seemed to be emptying itself with a roar, the aspect of the place being dangerous enough to make the party pole to the sh.o.r.e at the first likely landing-place and camp for the night.

The evening was well upon them by the time they had their fire alight, and after a hearty meal their couch of pine-boughs proved very welcome.

”Sounds ominous, Dal,” said Abel. ”I hope we shall get safely through in the morning.”

”We must,” was the reply. ”Don't think about it; we ought to be hardened enough to do anything now. How's your head?”

”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-was.h.i.+ng on the sh.o.r.e, 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.

Then the was.h.i.+ng began in the bright suns.h.i.+ne, with the same results--a few tiny specks of colour, as the men termed their glittering scales of gold-dust.

”That's your sort, gentlemen,” cried the Cornishman, was.h.i.+ng out his pan, after tossing the contents away; ”plenty of gold, and if you worked hard you might get about half enough to starve on. Why, we could ha'

done better at home, down in Wales. You can get a hundred pounds' worth of gold there if you spend a hundred and fifty in labour.”

”Yes; but even this dust shows that we are getting into the gold region,” said Dallas.