Part 57 (2/2)

”Where is Quong?” he cried.

”Me velly safe up here,” came in a high-pitched voice from somewhere over our heads in the darkness.

”Did you see anything?” cried Gunson. ”Was it a bear?”

”Too dalk see anything,” he replied. ”Only hear velly much wood bleaking.”

All was quite still now, save Gunson's footsteps as he walked about our camp, and the roar of the falling waters down toward the river where the stream near us dropped in a cascade; and he was soon back.

”I shall break my neck in the darkness,” he said, as he joined us. ”I can hear nothing, and I have nearly gone headlong twice.”

”Do you think it will come back?” I said, feeling no little trepidation.

”No; Dean's yell was enough to scare a whole zoological garden. But lie down, lads, and finish your night's rest. I'll light my pipe and play sentry for the remainder of the night.”

”And I'll sit up with you,” I said.

”No; go to sleep,” he replied, firmly. ”I am used to this sort of thing.”

”But I want to get used to it,” I said.

”Afraid?”

This came with a slightly sarcastic tone, which made me turn away from him, and go back into the shelter without a word.

”Come, Esau,” I said; and I wrapped my blanket round me, and lay down at once.

”It's all very well to say 'Come, Esau,'” grumbled that gentleman. ”You ain't been half torn to pieces by a bear.”

”But you are not hurt, are you?”

”How do I know when it's so dark?” he said, petulantly.

”But you could feel.”

”No, I couldn't. I've heard that people who have been half killed don't feel any pain at first; and there ain't a doctor nowhere.”

”But, Esau,” I whispered, seriously, ”has the brute hurt you?”

”I keep on telling you I don't know. He pawed me about and turned me over, and smelt me and stood on me once. I say: how dark it is!”

”Lie down,” I said, ”and try and go to sleep. I don't think you can be hurt, or you would feel some pain. I felt the bear touch me too, but I am not scratched.”

”Must I lie down?”

”Yes; you would be better.”

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