Part 27 (1/2)
”Ay, Max, but there is this difference, that luck is rather uncertain, whereas precision is always sure.”
”Well, be that as it may,” said I putting on my snow-shoes, for the snow in the wood we were about to enter was deep and soft, ”we have enough for a good supper at all events.”
”True, and we shall need a good supper, for we must camp out. There is no chance of our finding this treasure--even if it exists--until we have had a good search, and then it will be too late to return home with comfort, or even safety, for it is difficult on a dark night to distinguish tracks on the hard snow of a lake, as I've sometimes found to my cost.”
We set up several other coveys of ptarmigan as we traversed the belt of willows lying between the lake and the woods, and when we entered the latter, several grouse, of a species that takes to trees, fluttered away from us; but we did not molest them, having already more than we could consume swinging at our belts.
We went straight up the valley to what we deemed the most sequestered part of it, and then paused.
”This looks somewhat like the spot, doesn't it?” said Lumley, glancing round. ”Yonder is a cliff with rocks at the base of it.”
”Yes, but too many rocks,” said I; ”the paper mentions only one; besides, it refers to a stunted pine, and I see nothing of that sort here.”
”True, it must be higher up the valley. Come along.”
On we plodded, hour after hour, halting often, and examining with care many a secluded spot that seemed to answer, more or less, the description of the spot for which we searched, but all in vain. Sunset found us as far from our object as ever, and as hungry as hawks.
Darkness of course put an end to the search, and, with a feeling of disappointment and weariness that I had not experienced since arriving in that region, I set to work to fell and cut up a tree for fire wood, while Lumley shovelled a hole in the snow at the foot of a pine, and otherwise prepared our encampment.
But youth is remarkably elastic in spirit! No sooner was the fire crackling, the kettle singing, and the delicious odour of roasted ptarmigan tickling our nostrils, than disappointment gave way to hope and weariness to jollity.
”Come, we shall have at it again to-morrow,” said Lumley.
”So we shall,” said I--”mind that kettle. You have an unfortunate capacity for kicking things over.”
”One of the disadvantages of long legs, Max. They're always in the way.
Get out the biscuit now. My ptarmigan is ready. At least, if it isn't, I can't wait.”
”Neither can I, Jack. I sometimes wish that it were natural to us to eat things raw. It would be so very convenient and save sh---a--lot-- of--time.”
Hunger and a wrenched-off drumstick checked further utterance!
That night we lay in our snow camp, gazing up at the stars, with our feet to the fire, talking of gold and diamonds with all the eagerness of veritable misers--though it is but justice to myself to add that Eve's blue eyes outshone, in my imagination, all the diamonds that ever decked the brow of Wealth or Beauty! When at last we slept, our dreams partook of the same glittering ideas--coupled, of course, with much of the monstrous absurdity to which dreams are liable. I had just discovered a gem which was so large that I experienced the utmost difficulty in thrusting it into my coat-pocket, and was busy shovelling small diamonds of the purest water into a wheelbarrow, when a tremendous whack on my nose awoke me.
Starting up with an indignant gasp I found that it was a lump of snow, which had been detached by the heat of our fire from a branch overhead.
”What's wrong, Max?” growled my companion, who lay curled up in his buffalo robe, like a huge Newfoundland dog. ”Bin dreamin'?”
”Yes,” said I, with a loud yawn, ”I was dreaming of shovelling up diamonds by the thousand when a lump of snow fell and hit my nose!”
”Str'nge,” sighed Lumley, in the sleepiest voice I ever heard, ”so's I-- dr'm'n 'f g'ld'n sa.s.s-gs an' dm'nd rupple-ply.”
”What nonsense are you talking, man? What were you dreaming of?”
”'F gold'n saus'ges an' dim'nd rolly-p'ly. I say--'s fire out?”
”Nearly.”
”'S very cold. G't up--mend it, l'ke good f'llow. I'll help you, d'rectly.”
He finished off with a prolonged snore, so I rose with a slight laugh, mended the fire, warmed myself well, observed in a sleepy way that the night was still bright and calm, and then lay down in a state of semi-consciousness to drop at once into a nest made of golden filigree filled with diamond eggs!