Part 49 (1/2)

”Yes, wonderfully,” said Dallas, who crouched there gazing at the figure where the bank of snow had been.

”It's my belief that we've slept a good four-and-twenty hours, and that it's night again.”

”Think so?”

”I do, my son, and it's to-morrow night, I believe. I say, how the snow has melted away. Why, hullo!” he shouted, as the flames leapt up merrily now, ”who's that?”

”I don't know,” faltered Dallas; ”I thought at first it was you.”

”Not a dead 'un?” whispered Tregelly in an awestruck tone.

”Yes; and whoever it was must have been buried in that bank of snow, so that we did not see him last night.”

Tregelly drew a burning brand from the fire, gave it a wave in the air to make it blaze fiercely, and stepped towards the rec.u.mbent figure lying there.

”Hi! Look here, my son,” he cried. ”No wonder we didn't see him come back.”

Dallas grasped the fact now, and the next moment he too was gazing down at the fierce face, icily sealed in death, the light playing upon the huge red beard, while the eyes were fixed in a wild stare.

”Hah!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tregelly. ”He'll do no more mischief now, my son.

But what was he doing here? Rather a chilly place for a man to choose for his lair. Thought he was safe, I suppose. Only look.”

For a few moments Dallas could not drag his eyes from the horrible features of their enemy, about which the dog was sniffing in a puzzled way. But at last he turned to where Tregelly was waving the great firebrand, which shed a bright light around.

”It was his den, Master Dallas,” growled Tregelly. ”Look here, this was all covered with snow last night when we lit the fire, and it's all melted away. Why, only look, my son; he spent all his time trying to do for us, and what's he done?--he's saved all our lives. Flour, bacon, coffee. What's in that bag? Sugar. Why, this is all his plunder as he's robbed from fellows' huts. There's his gun, too, and his pistol.

But what a place to choose to live in all alone! You'd ha' thought he'd have had a shelter. Here, I'm not _going_ to die just yet.”

A wave of energy seemed to inspire the great fellow, who picked up the rug that had sheltered him during the night, and gave Dallas a nod.

”When a man dies,” he said solemnly, ”he wipes out all his debts. We don't owe him nothing neither now.”

As Tregelly spoke he drew the rug carefully over the figure lying there, and the next minute set to work to make the fire blaze higher, while Dallas, with half-numbed hands, tried to help him by filling the billy with pieces of ice, setting it in the glowing embers, and refilling it as the solid pieces rapidly melted down.

They were both too busy and eager to prepare a meal from the life-saving provender they had so strangely found, to pay any heed to Abel.

”Let him rest, my son, till breakfast's ready; he's terribly weak, poor lad. Mind, too, when we do rouse him up, not to say a word about what's lying under that rug. I'll pitch some wood across it so as he shan't notice before we wake him up.”

Dallas nodded, and with a strange feeling of renewed hope for which he could not account, he worked away; for it seemed the while that the store of provisions they had found would do no more for them than prolong their weary existence in the wild for two or three weeks.

Tregelly brought forward more wood from the shelter they had formed; the fire burned more brightly; bacon was frying, and the fragrance of coffee and hot cake was being diffused, when, just as Dallas was thinking of awakening his cousin to the change in their state of affairs, a hoa.r.s.e cry aroused him and made him look sharply at where, unnoticed, Abel had risen to his knees; and there, in the full light of the fire, he could be seen pointing.

”We're too late, my son,” growled Tregelly; ”he has seen it. Meant to have covered it before he woke.”

”No, no; he is not pointing there.”

”Look! Look!” cried Abel.

”Poor lad, he's off his head,” whispered Tregelly.