Part 29 (1/2)

The door now being rattled loudly by the tremendous wind, was once more made secure, the blanket replaced, and then, after well making up the fire with a couple of heavy logs, the weary pair were about to creep into their skin sleeping-bags when they were startled into full wakefulness again, for a fierce gust seemed to seize and shake the hut, and then, as the wind went roaring away, there was a wild moaning cry, and a sharp report from close at hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

BEGGING YOUR BREAD IN GOLDEN DAYS.

”It is the dog's master, Bel,” whispered Dallas, springing to the door and beginning to unfasten it, just as the dog raised his head and whined dismally.

The disposition was there to help, and as soon as he could get the door open, Dallas dashed out into the whirling snow, which rushed in blinding eddies about the hut, while Abel, awestricken and panting, clung to the post and tried to pierce the black darkness.

”It is madness. It means death,” he groaned to himself.

Even as the thought crossed his mind Dallas staggered back, to stand panting and wiping the snow from his eyes.

Then he dashed out again, but was beaten back breathless and exhausted.

Again he tried, for Abel had not the heart to stay him, and a good ten minutes elapsed--minutes of anxiety to the watcher, which seemed like hours--before his companion was literally driven in again, to fall completely exhausted upon the floor.

”I can't do it, Bel,” he said at last feebly. ”I never thought the wind and snow could be like this. It's death to go out there, and I felt that I should never get back again.”

He struggled to his feet once more and made for the door, but Abel seized him by the arm and tried to shut out the blinding snow, which had given the interior of the hut the appearance of winter, and after a hard struggle the door was closed.

”Bel, that biggest tree at the side is split right down, and half has fallen this way,” said Dallas breathlessly. ”It must have been that we heard. I fell over it as I tried to find the door.”

”You shall not go again,” said Abel.

”I cannot,” replied Dallas sadly; ”but I feel sure now that no one is asking for help.”

The hours pa.s.sed and the fire was made up again and again, while towards morning the storm lulled.

The dog lay perfectly still; but he was not dead when Dallas roused himself up to examine him, for he feebly rapped the floor with his tail.

Abel had sunk into the sleep of utter weariness, and Dallas let him lie as he replenished the fire, opened the door softly, plunged through the snow, and, as well as the darkness would allow, satisfied himself that he was right about the riven tree. ”It was very horrible to think, though,” he said to himself; ”but no one could have been travelling on such a night.”

He returned to the hut, replenished the fire, and the billy was boiling ready for its pinch of tea, and the newly made cake baking, by the time Abel opened his eyes and sighed.

”What a useless log I am, Dal,” he said.

”Are you?”

”Yes, I lie here doing nothing. How is the dog?”

”Quite dry and fluffy.”

”But he is not dead?”

”No; but are we to give him house room?”

”Could we turn him out into the snow?”