He could not hear, but he could see Bel, who was forcing his way through the crowd to keep alongside, ready to help him when he came within reach, if ever he did, and it was from him that he afterwards learned that the advice shouted was to let the dog take his chance.

Twice over the set of the ice was off the shore, and matters looked bad for the young adventurer, but he stuck to the dog, and, just when the chance of reaching the shore seemed most hopeless, a couple of large flat floes rose up, and, making a dash, Dallas went boldly across them, reaching others that did not yield so much, and the next minute there was a cheer which he could hear, for he reached the shore with the dog, which looked up in his face and whined, and then limped off through the crowd.

"Life seems cheap your way, my fine fellow," said the judge. "Five minutes ago I wouldn't have given a grain of gold for yours. We don't do that sort of thing out here for the sake of a vicious, thieving dog."

"I could not stand by and see the poor brute die," said Dallas quietly.

"So it seems," said the judge. "Well, I congratulate you two young fellows on your escape last night. Those scoundrels have got away; and if they turn up again, lawyer though I am, I should advise you both to shoot on sight. If you are brought before me, I'll promise you I will bring it in justifiable homicide."

A couple of hours later they had parted from Tregelly and his companions, with a hearty shake of the hand and a promise to keep to their agreement about the gold.

"If we discover a good place."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

NORTON'S IDEA OF A GOOD SPOT.

It was a long, weary tramp up by the higher waters of the huge Yukon River towards its sources in the neighbourhood of the Pelly Lakes, where sharp rapids and torrents were succeeded by small, shallow lakes; and wherever they halted, shovel and pan were set to work, and, as their guide Norton termed it, the granite and sand were tasted, and gold in exceedingly small quantities was found.

"It's so 'most everywhere," said Norton; "and I don't say but what you might find a rich spot at any time; but if you take my advice you'll come straight on with me to where a few of us are settled down. It's regularly into the wilds. I don't suppose even an Indian has been there before; but we chaps went up."

"But there are Indians about, I suppose?" said Abel.

"Mebbe, but I haven't seen any."

The end of their journey was reached at last, high up the creek they had followed, and, save here and there in sheltered rifts, the snow was gone; the brief summer was at hand, and clothing the stones with flowers and verdure that were most refreshing after the wintry rigours through which they had forced their way.

"Nice and free and open, eh?" said Norton, smiling. "I may as well show you to the comrades up here, and then I'll help you pick out a decent claim, and you can set to work. There's only about a dozen of us here yet, and so you won't be mobbed."

"Very well," said Dallas; "but we'll try in that open space where the trees are so young."

Norton nodded, and, armed with a shovel and pan, the young men stepped to a spot about fifty feet from the edge of the rushing stream, cleared away the green growth among the young pines, and Dallas tried to drive down his shovel through the loose, gravelly soil; but the tool did not penetrate four inches.

"Why, it's stone underneath."

"Ice," said Norton, smiling. "It hasn't had time to thaw down far yet; but you skin off some of the gravelly top, and try it."

Dallas filled the pan, and they went together to a shallow place by the side of the creek, bent down, and, with the pan just beneath the surface, agitated and stirred it, the water washing away the thick muddy portion till nothing was left but sand and stones.

These latter were picked out and thrown away; more washing followed, more little stones were thrown out, and at last there was nothing but a deposit of sand at the bottom, in which gleamed brightly some specks and scales of bright yellow gold.

Norton finished his pipe, and then led the way farther up the stream, to stop at last by a rough pine-wood shed thatched with boughs.

"This is my mansion," he said. "Leave the sledges here, and we'll go and see the rest."

The stream turned and twisted about here in a wonderful way, doubling back upon itself, and spreading about over a space of three or four miles along the winding valley where the tiny mining settlement had been pitched—only some six or seven huts among the dwarfed pine-trees in all, the places being marked by fallen trees and stumps protruding from the ground.

They were all made on the same pattern, of stout young pine-trees with ridge-pole and rafters to support a dense thatching of boughs, and mostly with a hole left in the centre of the roof for the smoke of the fire burned within to escape.

The two strangers were received in a friendly enough way, the rough settlers chatting freely about the new-comers' prospects, showing specimens of the gold they had found, and making suggestions about the likeliest spot for marking out a claim along the bank.

The result was that before the day ended, acting a good deal under Norton's advice, the young men had marked out a double claim and settled where their hut should be set up, so as to form a fresh addition to the camp.

"You ought to do well here," said Norton. "There's gold worth millions of money in this district for certain; but the question is, can you strike it rich or only poor? If I thought I could do better somewhere else I should go, but I'm going to try it fairly here."

"We'll do the same," said Dallas; and, the weather being brilliant and the air exhilarating to a degree, they set to work cutting pegs for driving down to make out their claim, Norton reminding them that they would have certain applications to make afterwards to the government agency, and then began to cut down small trees for building their shanty.

To their surprise and delight, four of the neighbours came, axe-armed, to help, so that the task was made comparatively easy.

At the end of a week a rough, strong, habitable home was made, door, window, shutter and bars included, two of their helpers having come provided with a pit-saw for cutting the bigger pine-trunks up into rough boards, which were to be paid for out of the first gold winnings the young men made.

Within another week they were out of debt, for, to their intense delight, the claim promised well, the shaft they had commenced and the banks of the little river yielding enough gold to set them working every minute they could see.

But the reality did not come up to the dazzling dream in which they had indulged, either in their case or that of the men they encountered. There was the gold, and they won it from the soil; but it was only by hard labour and in small quantities, which were stored up in a leathern bag and placed in the bank—this being a hole formed under Abel's bed, covered first with a few short pieces of plank, and then with dry earth.

The store increased as the time went on, but then it decreased when an expedition had to be made to the settlement below to fetch more provisions, the country around supplying them with plenty of fuel and clear drinking water, but little else. Now and then there was the rumour of a moose being seen, and a party would turn out and shoot it, when there was feasting while it lasted; but these days were few.

Occasionally, too, either Dallas or Abel would stroll round with his gun and get a few ptarmigan or willow grouse. On lucky days, too, a brace of wild ducks would fall to their shot; but these excursions were rare, for there was the one great thirst to satisfy—that for the gold; and for the most part their existence during the brief summer was filled up by hard toil, digging and cradling the gold-bearing gravel, while they lived upon coarse bacon, beans, and ill-made cakey bread, tormented horribly the while by the mosquitoes, which increased by myriads in the sunny time.

Then came the days when the wretched little insect pests began to grow rarer.

"We shall not be able to work as late as this much longer," said Dallas.

"No," replied Abel; "the days are getting horribly short, and the nights terribly long. The dark winter will be upon us directly, and we seem to get no farther."

"We may turn up trumps at any moment, old fellow," said Dallas cheerily.

"Yes, we may," said Abel gloomily.

"Don't take it like that," cried Dallas. "Here we are in the gold region, and every day we find nuggets."

"Weighing two or three grains apiece."

"Exactly; but at any moment we might at a turn of the shovel lay them bare weighing ounces or even pounds."

"Pigs might fly," said Abel.

"Bah! Where's your pluck? Work away."

"Oh, yes, I'll work," said Abel; "but with the dreary winter coming on one can't help feeling a bit depressed. I say, I'm very glad we never sent a message to old Tregelly and his mates to come and join us."

"Well, it would have turned out rather crusty," said Dallas, who was shovelling gravel into the cradle, while Abel stood over his ankle in the stream, rocking away and stopping from time to time to pick out some tiny speck of gold.

"We shall never make our fortunes at this," he said.

"Bah! Don't be in a hurry. At all events, we are in safety. No fear of dangerous visitors, and—Here, quick—the hut—your rifle, man! Run!"

Abel sprang to the shore, to be seized by the arm, and they ran for their weapons and shelter.

None too soon, for a big burly figure had come into sight from among the pines, stopped short, and brought down his rifle, as he stood shading his eyes and scanning the retreating pair.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

TREGELLY SEEKS HIS SONS.

"Ahoy, there! What cheer, O!" rang out in a big bluff voice familiar to both.

"Oh, I say, what curs we are!" cried Dallas. "It's old Tregelly."

"Yes; don't let him know we were scared."

Vain advice. The big Cornishman shouldered his rifle, bent forward, and dragged a sledge into sight, broke into a trot, and they met half-way.

"Hullo, my sons! Did you take me for an Injun?" cried Tregelly.

"We took you for that big, red-bearded ruffian," said Dallas huskily, as he shook hands.

"Thankye, my son; on'y don't do it again. I don't like the compliment. But how are you?—how are you?"

"Oh, middling. We were just thinking about you."

"Were you, my sons?" cried the big Cornishman, smiling all over his broad face. "That's right. Well, I was thinking about you, and wondering whether I should find you, and here you are first go."

"But how did you find us?" cried Dallas, after shaking hands warmly.

"Went back to Yukon Town a fortni't ago, and the chap there at the hotel told me you were still up here, for one of you came down now and then to buy stores."

"Did you see the judge?"

"Oh, yes, he's there still."

"Made his pile?"

"No-o-o! Done pretty tidy, I believe."

"And what about Redbeard and Company? Heard anything of that firm?"

"Yes; heard that they'd been seen by somebody, my son. There'd been a poor fellow done for up the country, and some gold carried off. They got the credit of it; but give a dog a bad name and—you know the rest. I should say they're all dead by now."

"But why didn't you send for us?" said Abel.

"Why didn't you send for me?"

"Well," said Dallas drily, "it was out of good fellowship. We were afraid it would be more than you could bear to get so rich. But where are your comrades?"

"Gone home," said Tregelly, in a tone of voice that the two young men took to mean, "Don't ask questions!"

"But you've found a lot?" said Dallas.

"Well, yes, my sons; we managed to scrape a good deal together, some here and some there, for we changed about and travelled over a good deal of ground."

"And you have sent it home?"

"Nay-y-ay! I've got it here on the sledge."

"Oh!" said Abel, looking at the shabby kit their visitor had left close to the door of the hut.

"I've got a bit in a bag; but, you see, it costs all you can scrape together to live wherever I've been; so I thought I'd look you two up, as my mates had gone, so as to be company for a poor little lonely chap. Will you have me?"

"Of course."

"Any chance of picking up a decent claim here?"

"Plenty, such as we have," replied Dallas. "You'll be able to do as well as we've done, and the others about here."

"That means the lumps of gold are not too big to lift?"

"That's it," said Dallas. "I've been thinking that if we were here next summer, we ought to get a lot of ants and train them to carry the grains for us."

"Ah, I see, my sons. I say, one might almost have made as much by stopping at home, eh?"

"Here, don't you come here to begin croaking," cried Dallas. "Abel here can do that enough for a dozen."

"Can he?" cried Tregelly. "Oh, you mustn't do that, my son. There's plenty of gold if we can only find it. I saw a chap with a gashly lump as big as a baby's fist. We'll do it yet. So you haven't done much good, then?"

"If we had we should have sent word for you to come."

"And I should have sent or come for you, my sons. Look here, we'd better make a change, and explore higher up towards the mountains."

"Too late this year," said Dallas decisively.

"Oh, yes; too late this season, my sons. We mustn't get too far from the supplies. Means—you know what! famine and that sort o' thing."

"Yes, we know," said Abel bitterly.

"We'll do it when the days begin to lengthen again," continued Tregelly. "What we've got to do is to make as big a heap here as we can during the winter, wash it out in the spring, and if it's good enough, then stop here. If it aren't, go and find a better place."

"Yes, that's right," said Dallas. "But about rations. There's nothing to be got here. Have you brought plenty?"

"Much as ever I could pull, my sons, and I'll take it kindly if you'll let me camp with you to-night, so that I can leave my swag with you while I hunt out a claim."

"Of course," cried Dallas; "we'll help you all we can."

"There's that pitch down yonder, Dal," said Abel—"the one we said looked likely."

"Of course; the place we tried, and which seemed fairly rich."

"That sounds well," said Tregelly. What was more, it looked so well that the big fellow decided to stay there at once, and put in his pegs, the only drawback seeming to be its remoteness from the scattered claims of the others up the creek.

But this did not trouble the big Cornishman in the least. With the help freely given by his two friends, pines were cut down, a hut knocked together, and many days had not elapsed before he was working away, and looking as much at home as if he had been there all the season, declaring when they met after working hours that it was much better than anything he and his companions had come across during their travels.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

A NIGHT ALARM.

"There's a deal in make-believe, Bel, old chap," said Dallas one day, as they sat together in their rough hut of fir-trunks, brooding over the fire lit in the centre of the floor, the blinding smoke from which escaped slowly out of an opening in the roof, when the fierce wind did not drive it back in company with the fine sharp snow, which was coming down in a regular blizzard.

"Oh, yes, a deal, if you have any faith," said Abel bitterly; "but mine's all dead."

"Gammon!" cried Dallas. "You're out of sorts, and that makes you disposed to find fault. But I must confess that during this blizzardly storm the Castle hall is a little draughty. These antique structures generally are."

"Months and months of wandering, slavery and misery, and to come to this!"

"Yes, you are not at your best, old man. How's the foot?"

"Rotting off as a frozen member will."

"My dear Bel, you want a tonic!" said Dallas cheerily.

"Think you will be able to live through this awful winter, Dal?"

"Live! I should think we will," said the young man, carefully picking up and laying some of the half-burned brands on the centre of the crackling fire. "So will you."

"No, I shall never see home again."

"Bel, you're a lazy beggar, with a natural dislike to cold," said Dallas. "It always was so, and you always used to have the worst chilblains, and turn grumpy when they itched and burned. You don't make the best of things, old chap."

"No, Dal, I haven't got your spirit. How many days longer will that meal last?"

"That depends, dear boy, on whether we are frugal, or go on banqueting and gorging."

"It is dreadfully low, isn't it?"

"Well, the supply is not great, but there is a morsel of bacon and a frozen leg-bone of our share of the moose, whose roasted marrow will be delicious. No; the larder is not well stocked, but the supply of fuel is unlimited, and we have our gigantic bag of gold in the bank cellar."

"Curse the gold!"

"No, I will not do that, my dear boy, because, you see, I can take out a handful, tramp down to the store, and come back laden with corn and wine and delicacies in the shape of bacon and tinned meat."

"Dal, it's of no use; we must give up and go back."

"No, we must not, old chap; and even if I said the same, we couldn't get away this winter time."

"You could. I'm doomed—I'm doomed!"

"Here, I say," cried Dallas, "don't begin making quotations."

"Quotations?"

"Yes; that's what the despairing old chap says in Byron's comedy, 'I'm doomed—I'm doomed!' and the other fellow says, 'Don't go on like that; it sounds like swearing when it ain't.'"

"Dal," cried Abel passionately, "how can you be so full of folly when we are in such a desperate state?"

"Because I believe in 'Never say die!'" cried the young man cheerily. "You are cold, man. Allow me, my lord, to spread this purple robe gracefully over your noble shoulders to keep off the draught. I say, Bel, these blankets are getting jolly black."

"Thanks, Dal."

"And with your lordship's permission I will hang this piece of tapestry over the doorway to enhance the warmth of the glow within. Haven't got a couple of tenpenny nails in your pocket, have you? Never mind; these pegs'll hold it up. Whoo! it does blow. We shall be quite buried in the snow by morning."

"Yes, once more," said Abel gloomily.

"So much the warmer for it, Bel, and save the wood. I say, old chap, we ought to be thankful that we have such a snug den. It would be death to any one to be out to-night."

"Yes; and they would have ceased hunting for that golden myth, and be at rest."

"Well, you are a cheerful chap to-night! I say, I wonder what has become of old 'My son,'—Tregelly, the Cornishman?"

"Dead or broken-hearted over this weary search."

"Dead? Why, that fellow wouldn't die a bit. Broken-hearted? His heart's made of stuff much too tough. He'll turn up some day to tell us he has made a big find."

"Never. He's dead by now."

"Don't you prophesy until after the event."

"Dal," said Abel, as he sat, gaunt of visage, darkened by exposure, and totally different from the bright, eager fellow of a few months earlier.

"Yes?"

"You will not go away and leave me?"

"I must, old fellow. The coals for the human grate are nearly out, and I must fetch some more."

"If you go you will find me dead when you come back. To die alone! Horrible!"

"Nonsense! Old Norton will come in every day and have a look at you if I ask him. He's a good old chap, Bel; I wish he had had better luck. I say, though, this is a rum game. You and I are now living in this rough dog-kennel, and bad as our luck has been, we have been turning out gold at the rate of, say, five hundred a year. Not bad that for beginners."

"And it takes all we get to barter for the wretched food," groaned Abel. "The prices are horrible."

"Well, things are dear, and bad at that, as our American friends say. But we only have to double our turn-in and we shall grow rich."

The wind was whistling and shrieking about the lonely cabin, the tattered blanket over the rough wood doorway was blown in, and the smoke eddied about the corners of the tent as a quantity of snow came through the opening, and made the fire hiss angrily.

"It won't take me long, old fellow," said Dallas; "and, by the way, I had better buy a tin of powder and some cartridges. Think you'll be well enough to-morrow to clean and oil the guns while I'm down the shaft?"

"I'll try; but the shaft will be full of drifted snow."

"If it is, I'll drift it out."

"What's that?" cried Abel, as a faintly heard howl came from the distance.

"Sounds like wolves. No dog would be out in a night like this."

"Think they will come here and attack us?"

"Don't know. I hope so."

"What!" cried Abel, with a horrified look.

"Give me a chance to do a little shooting if they come in at the chimney hole. Glad of a bit of sport. Supply us with some fresh meat, too."

"What, eat wolf?"

"My dear Bel, I get so hungry that I would eat anything now. But they may taste good. Wolf's a kind of dog; they eat dog in China, and I've heard that the bargees do so on the Thames."

"What?"

"Don't you remember the chaff at Oxford—the fellows asking the bargees, 'Who ate puppy pie under Marlow Bridge?'"

"There it is again."

"Then I'll take the guns out of the cases if they come nearer. They'll be able to walk up the snow slope right on to the roof."

But the sounds died away, and Dallas opened a tin and took out a couple of pieces of roughly made damper, whose crust was plentifully marked with wood ashes.

"I can't eat," said Abel.

"I can, and I'll set you an example. Sorry there is no Strasburg pie or other delicacy to tempt you; and the cook is out, or she should grill you some grouse."

Abel sat nursing his piece of unappetising bread, while Dallas rapidly disposed of his, the smaller piece.

They had been sitting in silence for some time, with Dallas gazing wistfully at his companion.

"Try and eat the damper, old fellow," he said. "You must have food."

"I can't, Dal. I say, how much gold is there in the hole?"

"I daresay there's five-and-twenty ounces."

"You must take it, and contrive to get away from here, Dal," said Abel suddenly.

"And you?"

"Get back home again. She'll break her heart if she loses us both."

Thud!

There was a heavy blow at the rough door, and then another.

"Norton come to look us up," whispered Dallas.

"No; he would not knock like that," whispered back Abel—needlessly, for the roar of the storm would have made the voices inaudible outside.

There was another blow on the door as if something had butted against it, and then a scratching on the rough wood.

"A bear?" whispered Dallas, rising softly. "Be quiet. Bear's meat is good, but a bear would not be out on a night like this."

There was another blow, and then a piteous, whining howl.

"A dog, by Jove!" cried Dallas. "Then his master must be in trouble in the snow."

"Dal, it would be madness to go out in this storm. It means death."

Dallas did not reply, but lifted the blanket, from which a quantity of fine snow dropped, and took down the great wooden bar which, hanging in two rough mortices, formed its fastening.

As he drew the door inward a little, there was a rush of snow and wind, and the fire roared as the sparks and ashes were wafted about the place, threatening to fire the two rough bed-places; and with the drifting fine snow a great lump forced its way in through the narrow crack, rushing towards the blaze, uttering a dismal howl.

Dallas thrust the door to and stared at the object before them, one of the great Eskimo dogs, with its thick coat so matted and covered with ice and snow that the hairs seemed finished off with icicles, which rattled as the poor brute moved.

"Hullo, here!" cried Dallas. "Where's your master?"

The dog looked at him intelligently, then opened its mouth and howled.

"Come along, then. Seek, seek."

The young man made for the door as if to open it, but the dog crept closer to the fire, crouched down, and howled more dismally than before.

"Well, come and find him, then. Your master. Here, here! Come along."

The dog lifted its head, looked at the glowing fire, and then at first one and then the other, howled again, and made an effort to raise itself, but fell over.

"What's he mean by that, poor brute? He's as weak as a rat. What is it, then, old fellow?" cried Dallas, bending down to pat him. "Why, the poor brute's a mere skeleton."

The dog howled once more, struggled up, and fell over sideways.

"He doesn't act as if any one was with him," said Abel.

The dog howled again, made a fresh effort, and this time managed to sit up on his hindquarters, and drooped his fore-paws, opening his great mouth and lolling out the curled-up tongue.

"Starving—poor wretch!" said Dallas. "No, no, Bel, don't. It's the last piece of the bread."

"I can't eat it," replied Abel. "Let the poor brute have it. I can't see it suffer like that."

He broke up the cake and threw it piece after piece, each being snapped up with avidity, till there was no more, when the poor brute whined and licked Bel's hand, and then turned, crawled nearer to the fire, laid his great rough head across Dallas's foot, and lay blinking up at him, with the ice and snow which matted his dense coat melting fast.

"Poor beggar!" said Dallas. "He has been having a rough time."

The dog whined softly, and the unpleasant odour of burning hair began to fill the place as his bushy tail was swept once into the glowing embers.

"Give him part of the moose bone, Dal," said Abel.

"If this blizzard keeps on we have only that to depend on, old fellow. I want to help the dog, but I must think of you."

"Give it up," said Abel gloomily, as he laid a hand on his bandaged foot. "Give him what there is, and then let him lie down and die with us. The golden dream is all over now. Look! the poor brute just managed to struggle here. He's dying."

"No, settling down to sleep in the warm glow. Look how the water runs from his coat."

"Dying," said Abel positively. And the poor brute's actions seemed to prove that the last speaker was right, for he lay whining more and more softly, blinking at the fire with his eyes half-closed, and a shiver kept on running through him, while once when he tried to rise he uttered a low moan and fell over on to his side.

"Is he dead, Dal?" said Abel hoarsely.

His cousin bent over the dog and laid his hand upon his throat, with the result that there was a low growling snarl and the eyes opened to look up, but only to close again, and the bushy tale tapped the floor a few times.

"Knows he is with friends, poor fellow!" said Dallas. "But he did not show much sense in coming to Starvation Hall."

"It was the fire that attracted him."

"Perhaps," said Dallas. "But I have a sort of fancy that we have met before."

"What!" cried Abel, brightening up, "you don't think—"

"Yes, I do. Did you notice that the poor brute limped with one of his hind-legs?"

"Yes, but—oh, impossible. A dog would not know you again like that. You mean the one you saved from the ice."

"Yes, I do; but we shall see by daylight, such as it is. I say, though, if we do get home again, you and I, after our experience of this Arctic place, ought to volunteer for the next North Pole expedition."

Abel heaved a deep sigh.

"Look here, old fellow; you were brightening up, now you are going back again. Let's go to bed and have a good long sleep in the warm. What about the dog?"

"Yes, what about him?"

"I suppose we mustn't turn him out again on a night like this."

"Impossible."

"But you know what these brutes are. He'll be rousing up and eating our candles and belts—anything he can get hold of; but I suppose we must risk it."

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 passed 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?"

Dallas began to whistle softly, and turned the cake on the round iron pan which answered for many purposes. "It's the same dog, Bel," he said at last.

"Then the intelligent beast has tracked us out."

"Been a long time about it."

"Dogs are very grateful creatures."

"Rum way of showing his gratitude to come and sponge upon two poor fellows who are half starving. Meal bag's awfully low."

"You must try for something with the gun. What's the weather like this morning?"

"Dark and cold, but clear starlight, and a sprinkle of fresh snow on the ground."

"A sprinkle?"

"Yes; three feet deep outside the door."

"Have you been out?"

"Yes; and found I was right about the tree. There must have been lightning, I think. I'm glad it was that."

"Yes. I wonder how old Tregelly has got on. It's very lonely where he is."

"So it is here."

"How snug the fire looks, Dal!" said Abel, after a pause.

"Yes; cheery, isn't it? Cake smells good. How does the foot feel?"

"Not so painful this morning after the rest. But, Dal!"

"Well?"

"I lay thinking last night after you had gone to sleep, and you really must not go down to the town."

"Must, old chap."

"No, no; don't leave me."

"But you'll have company now—the dog."

"Go round when it's daylight, and try what stores you can get from the men round us."

"It isn't reasonable, Bel. Every one is as short as we are."

"Starving Englishmen are always ready to share with their brothers in distress."

"Yes; but their brothers in distress who are strong and well, and who have enough gold to buy food, have too much conscience to rob them."

"How much longer can we hold out?"

"I don't know," said Dallas, "and I don't want to know. Stores are getting terribly low, and that's near enough for me. But what do you say to the dog?"

"Poor brute! We must keep him."

"I meant killing and eating him."

"No, you didn't. Dal, I'm better this morning; the coming of that poor dog like a fellow-creature in distress seems to have cheered me up."

"That's right. Then, as a reward, I will wait a few days and go round cadging."

"No—buying."

"The fellows won't sell. They will only let us have some as a loan."

"Very well, then; get what you can as a loan, Dal."

"All right; but I know what it will be wherever I go: 'We can let you have some tobacco, old man; we've scarcely anything else.'"

"Never mind; try."

Dallas threw a few small pieces of wood on the fire to make a blaze and light up the rough place, and then the breakfast was partaken of. Not a very substantial meal: milkless tea, with very stodgy hot cake, made with musty meal; but to the great delight of Dallas, his companion in misfortune partook thereof with some show of appetite, and then sat looking on without a word while Dallas took one of their gold-washing pans, poured in some meal, took a piece of split firewood, and stirred with one hand while he poured hot water in from the billy with the other.

Neither spoke, but their thoughts were in common, and as soon as the hot mash had cooled a little, the cook turned to the dog.

"Now then, rough un," he cried, "as you have invited yourself to bed and breakfast, here is your mess, and you'd better eat it and go."

The dog opened his eyes, looked at him wistfully, and beat the floor again, but he made no effort to rise.

"Poor brute! He is weak, Bel. Here, let's help you."

Passing his arm under the dog's neck, he raised him a little so that he could place the shallow tin of steaming food beneath his muzzle; but the only result was a low whine, and a repetition of the movement of the tail.

At last, though, the eyes opened, and the poor brute sniffed, and began to eat very slowly, pausing now and then to whine before beginning again, till at last the effect of the hot mess seemed magical, and the latter half was eaten with avidity, the tin being carefully licked clean.

A few minutes later the dog was asleep again, but in a different attitude, for he had, after a few efforts, curled himself up as close to the fire as he could get without burning, his muzzle covered over by his bushy tail.

"Dallas Adams, Esquire, gold medal from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Bow from Dallas Adams, Esquire, and loud cheers from the audience at the annual meeting."

"And well deserved," said Abel, smiling. "Oh, I wish I had your spirits."

"Get your frozen foot well, and then you will," was the reply. "Look here, I'll take a sack and go begging at once, and then come back and get in some wood, for there will not be time to work in the shaft, only get out the snow."

"Go on, then, and you will succeed."

"Doubtful," was the reply.

Soon after, Dallas, with a sack fastened across one shoulder like a scarf, and his gun over his shoulder, opened the door. "Cheer up, old chap!" he cried. "I shan't be long," and forcing his way out, he closed the door, plunged forward, and struggled waist deep through the snow which had drifted up against the hut.

Farther on it lay less heavy, and pausing for a few moments to take a look round beneath the starlit sky, he made his way along the border of the creek—carefully on the look-out for pine-stumps, the remains of the dense scrub which had been cut down by the gold-seekers—in the direction of one of the lights dotting the creek here and there, those nearest being lanterns, but farther on a couple of fires were burning.

"Morning, mate," said a cheery voice, as he came upon two men busily shovelling snow from a pit beneath a rough shelter of poles, while a hut was close by. "You've got plenty of this, I s'pose?"

"Nearly buried. I say, we're awfully short of meal and bacon. Can you sell us some?"

The two men leaned on their shovels.

"We're so desp'rate low ourselves, mate," said the one who had not spoken. "We don't like to say no. But look here, go and try round the camp and see what you can do. Some of them's a deal better off than we are. Get it of them. If you can't, come back here and we'll do what we can. Eh, mate?"

"Of course," came in a growl; "but no humbug, Mr Adams."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, this. When it comes to eating we, as it says in the song, you must play fair and draw lots with the rest of us."

"Never fear," said Dallas merrily, joining in the laugh; "but we've got the dogs to eat first if we can't get any moose. There ought to be some tracks seen after this."

"So plaguy dark, mate, for hunting and shooting; but talk about dogs, did you hear that brute howling during the storm?"

"Oh, yes, I heard him," said Dallas.

"He soon gave in, though. I believe some of the others hunted him down and didn't stop to draw lots. What hungry beggars they are!"

Dallas trudged on slowly, calling at claim after claim on his way down the creek, but always with the same result—friendly willingness, but want of means.

Then he reached the spot where one of the fires had been burning, but which had died out, nothing being left but wood, smoke, and steam, while two men were scraping away the snow from a heap while they waited till a shaft about six feet deep beneath a roofed shed was cool enough to descend.

"Morning, mate," was his salutation. "Nearly got our roof on fire. Were you coming to help?"

"No, to ask for help," said Dallas, and he made his request.

One of the men went to the edge of the pit and descended a roughly made ladder, prior to beginning to fill a bucket with the gravelly bottom which had been thawed by the fire, ready for his companion to haul up and empty on the heap ready for washing when the spring time came.

"Tell him," he said gruffly. "Well, mate," said the man at the top, "it's like this. We've got about a couple of pound of strong shag and a few ounces o' gold we can loan you. If that's any good, you're welcome; but grub's awful short. Try further down, and if you can't get what you want, come back."

"All right, and thank you, mates," said Dallas. "Morning."

"I say, we'll show you the flour-tub and the bare bone if you like."

"No, no," cried Dallas; "I believe you." And then to himself, "I must fall back on Tregelly."

He had the burning wood fire for guide to where the big miner was thawing the shaft in his claim, to make the frozen gravel workable, and in addition there were faint signs coming of the short-lived day. "Morning, Tregelly."

"What, you, Mr Adams! Glad to see you, my son. Come inside and have a mouthful of something and a pipe."

"I don't want to hinder you," said Dallas to his cheery friend.

"You won't hinder me, my son. I like letting the fire have a good burn out, and then for it to cool down before I begin. Come along; but how's your cousin?"

"Better this morning, but very low-spirited last night, with his frost-bitten foot."

"Poor lad! It is hard on him."

"The fact is, we are terribly short of provisions."

"You are? Same here, my son; but why didn't you come down and tell me? I haven't got much, but you're welcome to what I can spare. There you are; sit down by the fire and I'll see what we can do. Bacon's horribly close, and I've only two of those mahogany salt solids they call 'Merican hams; but I can let you have a tin or two of meal and some flour."

"If you can," cried Dallas, "it will be a blessing to us now, and as soon as ever—"

"Yes, yes, all right, my son: I know. But how's the gold turning out?"

"The gravel seems fairly rich, but somehow I'm afraid we shall do no good."

"That's how it seems with me," said the miner. "One just gets enough to live upon and pay one's way; and one could do that anywhere, without leading such a life as this."

Dallas thought of his friend's words as he tramped back through the snow with his sack of provender on his back, for the life they were leading was that of the lowest type of labourer, the accommodation miserable, and the climate vile.

"It will not do—it will not do," he said sadly; but he returned, all the same, in better spirits with the results of his foraging, to find Abel waiting for him anxiously, and the dog curled-up by the fire sleeping heavily.

The stores obtained were carefully husbanded, and during the next few days, in spite of intense frost, Dallas worked hard in the shaft on their claim, heating it with the abundant wood till a certain amount of gravel was thawed, and then throwing it out ready for washing when the next summer came.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

ABEL'S NIGHT ALARM.

"It's no good, Bel," said Dallas one day; "I can't go begging round again. It's not fair to the men. I must go down to the town and bring back as much as I can."

"Very well," said Abel. "When do you start?"

"To-morrow morning."

"So soon? Well, if it has to be done, the sooner the better."

"I can get back within four or five days, I believe, and I'll ask Tregelly to come in once or twice to see you, so that you will not be so lonely."

"You need not do that, because I shall not be here," said Abel quietly.

"Not be here?"

"Of course not. I shall be with you."

"Impossible."

"No, I shall manage to limp along somehow."

"Impossible, I tell you!" cried Dallas. "You must stay to take care of the claim; and then there is the gold—and the dog."

Abel was silenced; and the next morning, taking his empty sledge, and trusting to obtain enough food at the shanties which he would pass on the track, Dallas started.

Abel watched him pass away into the gloom of the dark morning, and then turned and limped back sadly to where the dog lay dozing by the fire, apparently still too weak to stir.

Abel's bed had been drawn aside, and there was a hole in the ground, while upon the upturned barrel which formed their table stood a little leather bag half full of scales, scraps, and nuggets of gold—that which remained after Dallas had taken out a sufficiency to purchase stores at the town on the Yukon.

Abel's first act was to stoop down, mend the fire, and pat the dog, which responded by rapping the earth with his tail. Then the leather bag was tied up, replaced in the bank hole, which was then filled up, the earth beaten down flat, and the sacks and skins which formed the bed drawn back into their places.

He stooped down and patted the dog.

"Pah! Why don't you lie farther from the fire? You make the hut smell horribly with your burnt hair."

The dog only whined, opened one eye, blinked at him, and went off to sleep again.

"Poor old chap!" mused Abel. "I didn't think I could care so much for such a great, rough, ugly brute as you are; but adversity makes strange friends."

Abel finished that day wondering how Dallas was getting on, and trying to picture his journey through the snow by the side of the ice-bound stream; grew more melancholy from his lonely position, and then tried to rouse himself by being practical and planning.

He made up his mind to content himself with one good, hearty meal a day, so as to make the provisions last out well, in case Dallas should not be back to time, and only to be extravagant with the fuel.

Lastly, he went to the door and looked out, to find that it was a clear, frosty night, with the brilliant stars peering down.

He knew it was night, for no fires were to be seen in any direction, and, after making all as snug as he could, he rolled himself in his blankets, drew the skin bag up about him, and followed his dumb companion's example, sleeping till morning, when the logs were just smouldering and had to be coaxed into a good warm blaze again.

And so the days and nights glided by. He would awake again to find the fire burning low, the dog still sleeping, and the horror of another dreary day to pass. For his foot seemed no better, his spirits were lower than ever, and at last it was long past the time when Dallas should have returned.

How the days passed then he never afterwards could quite recall, for it was like a continuous nightmare. But in a mechanical way he kept up the fire, with the wood piled in one corner by the door getting so low that he knew he must bestir himself soon, and get to the stack by the shaft, knock and brush off the snow, and bring in more to thaw in the warmth of the hut.

All in a strange, dreamy way he sat and watched, cooked a large pot of skilly, and shared it with the still drowsy dog, which took its portion and curled-up again, after whining softly and licking his hand.

One night all seemed over. No one had been near, and he had felt too weak and weary to limp to the nearest hut in search of human companionship. He was alone in his misery and despair. Dallas must be dead, he felt sure, and there was nothing for him to do now but make another good meal for himself and the dog, and then sleep.

"Sleep," he said aloud, "and perhaps wake no more."

He ate his hot meal once more and watched the dog take his portion before going to the door, to look out feebly and find all black, depressing darkness; not even a star to be seen.

"Night, night, black night!" he muttered as he carefully fastened up again, pegged the blankets across to keep out the cruel wind, carefully piled up the pieces of wood about the fire, as an afterthought carried out with a smile, with a big log that would smoulder far on into the next day for the sake of the dog.

"For I shall not want it," he said sadly. "Poor brute! What will he do when I'm dead?"

The thought startled him, and he sat down and fixed his eyes upon the shaggy, hairy animal curled-up close to the fire, whose flames flickered and danced and played about, making the hair glisten and throwing the dog's shadow back in a curious grotesque way.

Something like energy ran in a thrill through the watcher, and he shuddered and felt that he must do something to prevent that—it would be too horrible.

It was in a nightmare-like state he seemed to see people coming to the door at last. He could even hear them knocking and shouting, and at last using hatchets to crash a way in. For what? To find the dog there alive and stronger, ready to resent their coming, even to fighting and driving them away; but only to return, rifle or pistol armed, to destroy the brute for what it had done according to its nature, to keep itself alive.

And then, it seemed to Abel, in his waking dream, they shudderingly gathered together what they saw to cast into the ready-dug grave—the shaft in which he and Dallas had so laboriously but hopefully delved, in search of the magnet which had drawn them there—the gold.

He made a wild effort to drive away the horrible fancy, and at last with a weary sigh sank upon his bed, his last thought being:

"Would those at home ever know the whole truth?"

"How long have I been awake?"

It must have been one long stupor of many, many hours, for the fire was very low, shedding merely a soft warm glow through the place.

He was stupefied, and felt unable to move, but the fancy upon which he had fallen asleep was there still in a strange confused way, and he felt that the dog was not in the spot where he had left it.

He lay with his eyes half-closed, conscious now of some sound which had awakened him. For there beyond the glowing embers, where all was made indistinct and strange, the dog was hard at work tearing a way out of the hut. The wood snapped and grated as it was torn away; then there was silence, and he was half disposed as he lay there helpless to think it was all a dream.

But as this fancy came the noise began once more, and at last he caught sight of the great dog, strong and sturdy now, crawling through a hole it had made into the hut—what for he could not make out in his feverish state. Why should it have done this to get at him when already there?

He knew it was all wrong, and that his brain was touched; but one thing was plain reality: There was the great beast, magnified by the light of the fire, creeping forward while he lay paralysed and unable to stir.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

DAL'S WELCOME BACK.

And yet it was strange, for just then the embers fell together, a soft, lambent, bluish flame flickered up, making the interior of the hut light, and he saw that the dog still lay in its old place, fast asleep. What was it then—bear, wolf—which had torn a way through or half under the wall of the place?

A bear, for it suddenly raised itself up on its hind-legs, and as he lay stupefied with horror, Abel could make out its shaggy hide.

Still, he could not move to reach for the rifle which stood ready loaded in the corner close by, but lay half paralysed in the strange dazed state into which he had fallen, till the object which reared up, looking huge, moved a little, and seemed listening.

Just then there was a bright gleam.

Eyes—teeth? Impossible, for it was low down, and Abel shook off his lethargy and uttered a low, hoarse cry, as he made an effort to spring up and reach a weapon.

But he was tight in the skin-lined sleeping-bag, and this fettered him so that he fell back, and the next moment his nocturnal visitant sprang forward, coming down heavily upon him, at the same moment making a deadly blow at him.

The strange feeling of helplessness was gone. Something to call forth the young man's flagging energies had been needed, and it had come. He had lain down as one who had given up all hope, who had lost all that bound him to life; but that was but the dream of weakness, the stagnation of his nature, brought on by suffering, loneliness, and despair.

Face to face now with this danger, confronted by a cowardly ruffian, Nature made her call, and it was answered. The strong desire for life returned, and with another hoarse cry he flung himself aside, and thus avoided the blow aimed at him.

The next moment he had thrown himself upon his assailant. In an instant his hands were upon his throat. And now a terrible struggle ensued, in which a strange sense of strength came back to Abel; and he kept his hold, as, failing to extricate himself, his assailant retaliated by seizing him in the same way, and kept on raising and beating the fettered man's head against the floor.

For in their struggle they had writhed and twisted till they were approaching the fire; and as they strove on in their fight for the mastery, Abel was conscious of hearing a loud yelp. Then his breath grew shorter, there was a horrible sensation of the blood rushing to his eyes, as he gasped for breath—a terrible swimming of the brain—lights bright as flashes of lightning danced before his eyes, and then with his senses reeling he was conscious of a tremendous weight, and then all was black—all was silent as the grave.

————————————————————————————————————

"Two days late," said Dallas, as he paused for a few moments to rest and gain his breath, before shooting into collar again, when the trace tightened, the sledge creaked and ground over the blocks of ice, and glided over the obstruction which had checked him for the moment, and the runners of the heavily loaded frame rushed down the slope, nearly knocking him off his feet. The young man growled savagely, for the blow was a hard one.

"If you could only keep on like that I'd give you an open course," he said; "but you will not. Never mind; every foot's a foot gained. Wonder how old Abel is getting on?"

He shot into the collar once more, the trace tightened, and he went on for another hundred yards over the ice and snow.

The young man's collar was a band of leather, his trace a rope, but no horse ever worked harder or perspired more freely than he, who was self-harnessed to the loaded sledge.

"I don't mind," he had said over and over again. "I'd have brought twice as much if I could have moved it. As it is, there's enough to pay off one's debts and to keep up, with economy, till the thaw comes; and now we are not going to be so pressed I daresay I shall manage to shoot a moose."

That journey back from the settlement had been a terrible one, for he had loaded himself far more heavily than was wise, and this had necessitated his sleeping two nights in the snow instead of one. But snow can be warm as well as cold, and he found that a deep furrow with the bright crystals well banked up to keep off the wind, blankets, and a sleeping-bag, made no bad lair for a tired man who was not hungry. He took care of that, for, as he said to himself, "If it is only a donkey who draws he must be well fed."

With his sledge at his head, tilted on one side to make a sort of canopy, and a couple of blankets stretched over, tent fashion, upon some stout sticks close down to his face, the air was soon warmed by his breath, and thanks to the skin-lined bag he slept soundly each night, and by means of a little pot and a spirit-lamp contrived to obtain a cup of hot tea before starting on his journey in the morning. But it was the lamp of life, heated by the brave spirit within him, that helped him on with his load, so that after being disappointed in not covering the last eight miles over-night, he dragged the sledge up towards their hut just at dawn of the day which succeeded the attack made upon his companion.

By dawn must be understood about ten o'clock, and as he drew near, Dallas could see a fire blazing here, and another there, at different shafts; but there was no sign of glow or smoke from the fire in their own hut; and in the joy that was within him at the successful termination of his expedition, Dallas laughed.

"The lazy beggar!" he said. "Not stirring yet, and no fire. Why, I must have been tugging at this precious load over four hours. He ought to have been up and had a good fire, and the billy boiling. He's taking it out in sleep and no mistake. Wonder whether the dog's dead? Poor brute! I don't suppose he can have held out till now."

As he drew near he gave vent to a signal whistle familiar to his cousin. But there was no reply, and he tugged away till he was nearer, and then gave vent to a cheery "Ahoy!"

There was still no response, and he hailed again, without result.

"Well, he is sleeping," said Dallas, and he hailed again as he dragged away at the load. "At last!" he cried, as he reached the door and cast off the leathern loop from across his breast. "Here, Bel, ahoy! ahoy! ahoy! Hot rolls and coffee! Breakfast, bacon, and tinned tongue! Banquets and tuck out! Wake up, you lazy beggar! you dog! you—"

He was going to say "bear," but a horrible chill of dread attacked him, and he turned faint and staggered back, nearly falling over his loaded sledge.

"Bah! coward! fool!" he cried angrily, and he looked sharply round, to see shaft fires in the distance; but there was no hut within half a mile. "What nonsense!" he muttered. "There can't be anything wrong. Got short of food, and gone to one of the neighbours."

Nerving himself, he tried to open the door.

But it was fast, and, as he could see from a means contrived by themselves for fastening the door from outside when they went away hunting or shooting, it had not been secured by one who had left the place.

In an instant, realising this, he grew frantic, and without stopping to think more, he ran round to the side by the shaft, caught up a piece of fir-trunk some six or seven feet long, and ran back, poised it for a few moments over his head, and then dashed it, battering-ram fashion, with all his might against the rough fir-wood door, just where the bar went across, loosening it so that he was able to insert one end of the piece of timber, using it now as a lever; and with one wrench he forced the door right open.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

TREGELLY'S IDEA OF A GOLD TRAP.

Dropping the piece of wood, he dashed into the dark hut, to find that the rush of wind from the suddenly opened door had started the embers in the middle of the floor flickering in a dim lambent flame, just enough to show him that the barrel table had been knocked over, the boxes used for seats driven here and there, the bed occupied by his cousin dragged away, the boards lifted, and the earth underneath it torn up, while Abel was lying face downward close up to the remains of their store of wood.

It was all in one comprehensive glance that he had seen this, and it seemed still to be passing panorama-like across the retina of his eyes, when the faint flame died out and he dropped upon his knees beside the prostrate man.

"Oh, Bel, lad," he groaned; "what have I done? I oughtn't to have left you. Bel, old man, speak to me. God help me! He can't be dead!"

His hands were at his cousin's breast to tear open the clothes, and feel if the heart was beating, but for the moment he shrank back in horror, half paralysed with the dread of learning the truth.

It was but momentary, and then he mastered the coward feeling, uttering a gasp of relief, for there was a faint throbbing against the hand he thrust into the poor fellow's breast.

"Alive! I am in time," he muttered, and he continued his examination in the dark, expecting to feel blood or some trace of a wound.

But, as far as he could make out, there was nothing of the kind, though he felt that his cousin must have been attacked; so, after laying the sufferer in a more comfortable position, he felt for the matches on the rough shelf, struck one, saw that the lamp stood there unused, and the next minute he had a light and went down upon one knee to continue his examination.

At the first glance he saw that Bel's throat was discoloured, and there were ample signs of his having been engaged in some terrible struggle, but that was all. No, not all; the poor fellow was like ice, and quite insensible.

Dallas's brain was in a whirl, but he was able to act sensibly under the circumstances. He caught up rugs and blankets, and covered the sufferer warmly. Then, going to the open door, he dragged in the sledge, and closed and secured the entrance after a fashion.

His next effort was to get a good fire blazing to alter the temperature of the hut; and when this was done he went to the spirit-flask kept on the shelf for emergencies, and trickled a few drops between the poor fellow's lips.

As he worked at this he tried hard to puzzle out what had happened.

His first thoughts had been in the direction of attack and robbery. But there was the fastened door. It was not likely that Abel, after being half strangled and hurled down, could have fastened up the door again from the inside; he would sooner have left it open in the hope of one of their neighbours passing by and rendering help. And yet there was the bed dragged away, the board removed, and the earth torn up.

He crossed to the place.

There was no doubt about it; the object of the attack must have been robbery, for the bag of gold was gone.

He held his hand to his brow and stared about wildly.

Ah! A fresh thought. The dog! Hungry! Mad! It must have attacked and seized Abel by the throat. That would account for its lacerated state and the terrible struggle.

There was evidence, too, just across the hut—a hole had been half dug, half torn through the side, just big enough for such a dog to get through, and it had, after nearly killing him who had saved the brute's life, torn a way out, partly beneath the side.

"Oh, Bel, lad, if you could only speak!" groaned Dallas, as he took up the lamp, felt how cold the poor fellow was, and, setting the lamp down again, stooped to pick up a skin rug tossed into the corner by the head of the bed.

But as he drew it towards him something dropped on the ground. Stooping down to see what it was, he discovered that it was a sharp, thick bowie-knife.

"It is robbery. He has been attacked," cried Dallas; and once more he devoted himself to trying to restore the sufferer—chafing his cold limbs, bathing his temples with spirits, drawing him nearer the fire, and at last waiting in despair for the result, while feeling perfectly unable to fit the pieces of the puzzle so as to get a solution satisfactory in all points.

"Poor old Bel!" he said to himself; "he seems always to get the worst of it; but when I told him so he only laughed, and said it was I."

He was in agony as to what he should do.

One moment he was for going to fetch help; the next he gave it up, dreading to leave his cousin again.

By degrees, though, the poor fellow began to come to as the warmth pervaded him; and at last, to Dallas's great delight, he opened his eyes, stared at him wildly, and then looked round wonderingly till his eyes lit upon the opening, over which his cousin had pegged a rug.

He started violently then, and the memory of all that had taken place came back.

Clapping his hand to his throat, he wrenched his head round so that he could look in the direction of the bed.

"The gold—the bag of gold!" he whispered.

"Gone, old fellow; but never mind that, so long as you are alive. Try and drink this."

"No, not now," said Abel feebly. "I want to lie still and think. Yes, I remember now; he broke in at the side there while I was asleep. He had a knife, but I seized him. Did you come back then?"

"No, I have not long been home. Shall I go and ask Norton to come?"

"No, don't leave me, Dal; I am so weak. But where is the dog?"

"He was not here when I broke in."

"You broke in?"

"Yes; I could not make you hear. I say, though, had I not better fetch help?"

"What for? There is no doctor; and he might come back."

Dallas had started, for as Abel spoke there was a loud thumping at the door. His hand went behind to his revolver, which he held ready, fully expecting from his cousin's manner that the marauder who had attacked him had returned; but to the delight of both, after a second blow on the door, the familiar voice of Tregelly was heard in a cheery hail.

"Hullo, there!" he cried. "Any one at home?"

Dallas darted to the door, threw it open, and there in the gloomy light of mid-day stood their friend with a load over his shoulder.

"Back again, then? I was coming to see. But I say, what's the meaning of this—is it a trap?"

"Is what a trap?" said Dallas.

"Putting this bag out yonder with the dog to watch it and snap at any one who touches it. Is the bag yours?"

"Yes, of course," exclaimed Dallas excitedly; "but where was it?"

"Outside, I tell you; but it's a failure if it's a trap, for the dog's dead."

Dallas rushed out, followed by his visitor, and there in the dim light lay the dog, stretched out upon the snow, perfectly stiff and motionless.

"I see how it was now," cried Dallas excitedly; and as their neighbour helped him carry the dog in, he told him in a few words of how he had found matters on his return.

"Poor brute! Was he in the place, then?"

"I suppose so, and he must have attacked the scoundrel, and made him drop the bag."

"And then lay down to watch it, dying at his post. If he had lived I'd have given something for that dog."

"Indeed you would not," said Dallas warmly. "No gold would have bought him."

The dog was laid down by the fire, but Tregelly shook his head.

"Might as well save his skin, youngsters; but you'll have to thaw him first."

"Is he dead?" asked Abel feebly.

"No doubt about that," replied Tregelly. "It's a pity, too, for he was a good dog. Those Eskimo, as a rule, are horrid brutes, eating up everything, even to their harness; but this one was something. I'd come up to bring Mr Wray here half one o' my hams, but you won't want it now."

"No," said Dallas; "and I can send you back loaded, and be out of debt."

"Well, I can't say what I lent you won't be welcome. My word, though, you brought a good load."

"Set to and play cook," said Dallas, "while I tidy up. I'm sure you could eat some breakfast, and I'm starving."

"So am I," cried their visitor, laughing. "Beginning to feel better, master?" he added, turning to Abel.

"Yes; only I'm so stiff, and my throat is so painful."

"Cheer up, my lad; that'll soon get better. I only wish, though, I had come last night when that fellow was here. I don't believe my conscience would ever have said anything if I had put a bullet through him."

Abel lay silent near the fire, watching the dog thoughtfully while stores were unpacked and preparations made for a meal; but at last he spoke.

"Dal," he said, "give me that knife that you found."

"What for? You had better lie still, and don't worry about anything now except trying to get well."

"Give me the knife. I've been thinking. That man who attacked me last night was one of that gang."

"What!" cried Tregelly, stopping in his task of frying bacon. "Nonsense! they daren't show their noses here now."

"I feel sure of it," said Abel excitedly. "Let me look at that knife. I believe it's the one that was stolen from the man on the lake."

Dallas looked at him doubtingly, before picking up the knife and shaking his head. "It might be, or it might not," he said dubiously, as he passed it to his cousin.

"Well, at any rate, Dal, they have tracked us down, and that accounts for the attack."

"It looks like it," said Dallas; "but don't get excited, old fellow. I don't want you to turn worse."

"But they must be somewhere close at hand, Dal," cried Abel; "and we may be attacked again at any moment."

"All right, then, we'll be ready for them," said Dallas soothingly. "Forewarned is forearmed."

"You are saying that just to calm me," said Abel bitterly. "You do not believe me, but it is a fact. I felt something of the kind last night in those horrible moments when he held my throat in that peculiar way. It was out of revenge for the past. They have dogged us all the time, and been close at our heels. Ah, look out!" he cried wildly, as he tried to spring up—"Listen! I can hear them outside plainly."



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE STARTING OF A BODYGUARD.

"Nay, nay, lad," said Tregelly soothingly; "there's no one here now. That bag of gold was enough to bring one of the rowdies down upon you, but those three chaps wouldn't risk a meeting with the judge again."

"I don't know," said Dallas thoughtfully; "there is plenty of room hereabout for them to be in, hiding; and they must have gone somewhere."

"Not much chance for a man to keep himself alive in this country, without tackle and stores, or a shanty of his own."

"Unless he has attacked and murdered some one," said Abel bitterly. "But you will see."

The poor fellow was so exhausted by what he had gone through that, after painfully swallowing some of the tea that had been prepared, he dropped into a stupor-like sleep, whilst Dallas watched him anxiously.

"That was fancy of his, my lad," said Tregelly, who was making a hearty breakfast. "Come, you don't eat."

"How can I, with the poor fellow like this?" cried Dallas. "He seems to come in for all the misfortune."

"Yes, he is a bit unlucky," replied Tregelly; "but you must eat if you want to help him. Look here, I don't want to be unfeeling; but your mate isn't dying of fever."

"No, no; but look at him."

"Yes, I have, and he has been a good deal knocked about, besides having a frozen foot; but that will all get well. You are set up with provisions again; you've got your gold back, and a good claim of your own."

"Just good enough to keep us alive."

"Well, it isn't very lively work, my lad," said Tregelly; "but we must make the best of it. We shall have the summer again soon, and do better, perhaps."

"I hope so," said Dallas bitterly, "for we could never get through another winter like this."

"You don't know till you try. And you take my advice: let your brother—"

"My cousin."

"Well, it's all the same out here. Let him sleep all he can, and when he's awake feed him up and keep him warm."

"I can't get rid of the feeling that I ought to go back to Yukon Town and try to get a doctor."

"Nonsense, my son; he wants no doctor. And now look here; if I say something to you, will you believe that it's meant honest?"

"Of course. What do you mean?"

"Only this, my son; that I don't want you to think that I want to come and sponge upon you because you've got plenty of prog."

"Mr Tregelly!"

"Let me finish, my lad," said the big Cornishman. "I was going to say, what do you think of me coming and pigging here with you for a bit, in case what the youngster here says might be right; and if it is, you and me could polish off that gang pretty well, better than you could alone, or I could alone. Not that I'm skeered; but if young Wray here is right they'll be down upon me too. But I don't want you to think—"

"But what about your gold?" said Dallas eagerly.

"If any one should go there, and can find it, I'll give it him."

"Is it so well hidden?"

"Yes; I've got it froze into the middle of a block of ice. They'll never look there."

"Will you come?" said Dallas excitedly.

"I'll do better than that," said the Cornishman: "I'll stop now."

"You will?"

"Of course; and glad of the chance to help you. Yah!"

The big fellow jumped up in horror, as a loud rap came from close by.

"What was that?" cried Dallas, who was equally startled.

"It was that there dog's ghost got his tail thawed enough to give it a rap on the floor to say, 'That's right'; and I believe your cousin's right too, now, and this is a message sent to us to say, 'Look out, for those three beauties are coming here again.'"

"Nonsense!" cried Dallas, going down on his knees; "the dog's alive."

"I'm blessed!" said his big friend. "Well, some things can stand being froze hard and thawed out again better than we Christians. I s'pose it's having such a thick coat. Look at him; he's got one eye open, and he's winking."

In proof thereof came a low whine, as if in appeal for food.

"Look here, my sons," said Tregelly one day, as he came in last from the dismal darkness without to the bright warmth of the hut, where the fire was burning cheerily and an appetising odour of tea, damper, and fried ham proclaimed how busy, weak as he still was, Abel had been; "I used to grumble a deal down in old Cornwall because we had a lot o' wet days, and say it was a country not fit for anything better than a duck to live in; but I'm an altered man now, and I repent. It's a regular heaven compared to this Klondike country. Hullo, Scruff, my son, how are you?" The dog gave an amiable growl, and seemed to enjoy the gentle caress the big miner gave him with his heavy boot, as he lay stretched out by the fire.

"Don't grumble, Bob," said Dallas. "This looks cheery enough, and we've done some good to-day."

"Oh, I'm not grumbling, my son; only making comparisons as is ojus. That's what I used to write at school. This is a reg'lar Lord Mayor's banquet for a hungry man. But my word, how dirty I am!"

"So am I," said Dallas. "What with the gravel and the wood-smoke, I feel like a charcoal burner. I should like a wash, though."

"Wash, my son! I should like a bathe in our old Cornish sea, with the sun shining on my back. And I say, a bit of our old fish. A few pilchards or grilled mackerel, or a baked hake, with a pudding inside him—or oh! a conger pie."

"Don't, Bob," said Dallas. "This is painful. And look here; either you or I must go down to Yukon City with the sledge again, for the stores are getting low."

"Nay," said the big Cornishman; "we'll have up what I've got down yonder first. Clear out the place. There's enough there to last us a fortnight longer; and I want to go there badly."

"Very well," said Dallas; "then we'll go. Feel well enough to come as far as there to-morrow, Bel?"

"Yes; and I should like it," was the reply.

"Then we'll go. We'll shut up the dog here to keep house till we come back, though no one is likely to come. I say, how much longer it has been light to-day."

"Pretty sort of light!" growled Tregelly. "I could make better light out of a London fog and some wet flannel. We got a fine lot of gravel and washing stuff, though, out of the shaft to-day. Look here, I picked out this."

He held out a tiny nugget of gold, about as big as a small pea; and it was duly examined, put in a small canister upon the shelf, and then the evening meal went on, and Tregelly refreshed himself with large draughts of tea.

"Look here," he said: "we agreed that we'd tell one another if we found a good place, and we started working separate."

"Yes," said Bel, "and fate has ordered that we should come together again. We—bah! what mockery it seems to talk of 'we' when I'm such a helpless log."

"Look here, Bel, I wish you were a bit stronger, and I'd kick you."

"Don't wait, my son; kick him now," cried Tregelly. "He deserves it."

"I'll save it up," said Dallas. "But look here, Big Bob, you needn't make a long speech. You were going to say that you thought now that we had better stick together, share and share alike for the future."

"Well, I dunno how you knew that," said Tregelly; "but it was something of the kind."

"That's right, then we will; eh, Bel?"

"Of course; if Tregelly will consent to share with such a weak, helpless—"

"Here," cried the big Cornishman, springing up, "shall I kick him?"

"No, no; let him off."

"But he do deserve it," said Tregelly, subsiding. "Now, I was going to say it don't seem quite fair for me to stop, as those precious three—if there is three of 'em left unhung—not having shown up, there don't seem any need."

"More need than ever," said Dallas. "Your being here scares them away."

"Hope it do," said Tregelly. "Then look here, we'll go down to my pit to-morrow, and bring up the sledge load, including my bit of ice, for it can't be so very long now before it'll begin to thaw a bit every day, and I don't want my block to melt and let out the gold. There's more there than you'd think."

"But that's yours," said Abel.

"Nay, nay, my son; we'll put it all together. You've got some, and there's a lot yonder outside when the soft weather comes and we can wash it out; so that's settled. Wonder whether working in that hot damp shaft'll give us rheumatiz by-and-by."

"I hope not, Bob," said Dallas, yawning. "I've often thought of something of the kind. One thing is certain, that if we don't find much more gold than we have got so far we shall have earned our fortunes."

"Fortunes!" cried Abel contemptuously; "why, at the rate we have been going on, if we get enough to pay for our journey home, as well as for our provisions, that will be about all."

"And except for the pleasant trip, my sons, we might as well have stopped at home."



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

A STRANGE DISCOVERY.

Dallas stared the next morning when he opened his eyes, for the fire was burning brightly and Abel was bustling about in the lit-up hut, with nothing but a slight limp to tell of the old frost-bite in his foot.

"Come," he said cheerfully; "breakfast is nearly ready."

"Where's Bob Tregelly?" cried Dallas.

"Scraping the ice off the sledge to make it run easily. It's a glorious morning."

"Night," said Dallas sourly, for he was half asleep. "I'm not going to call it morning till there's daylight. Snowing?"

"No. Keen frost, and the stars are brilliant."

"Bother the stars!" grumbled Dallas, rolling out of his warm couch of blankets and skins. "I want the sun to come back and take the raw edge off all this chilly place. But I say, you have given up going with us to-day—to-night, I mean?"

"Given up? No. I feel that it is time I made an effort, and I shall be better and stronger if I do."

"But you can't wear your boots, you know, and it will not be safe for you to trust to a bandaged sandal."

"Can't wear my boots?" said Abel. "Well, at any rate, I've got them on."

"But they must hurt you horribly."

"Not in the least," said Abel, and his cousin was silent while he completed his exceedingly simple toilet—one that he would not have thought possible in the old days.

By the time he had finished, the door opened, and Tregelly stooped to pass under the lintel.

"Morning, my son," he cried; "I've been greasing the runners of the sledge a bit, and rubbing up the chest-strap. The thing wants using. I've oiled the guns and six-shooters too. Beautiful morning. I say, how that dog has come round!"

For the great shaggy brute had walked to the door to meet him, with his bushy tail well curled-up, and a keen look of returning vigour in his eyes and movements.

"Yes," said Dallas; "I never thought he'd live. But I say, Bel persists in going with us, and I'm sure he'll break down."

"Well, that doesn't matter, my son. If he does we'll make him sit astride of the load as we come back, and each take a rope, and give him a ride home."

"I shall be able to walk," said Abel stoutly.

"Very well," said Dallas. "You always were the most obstinate animal that ever breathed."

The breakfast was eaten, pistols and cartridges placed in their belts, rifles taken down from their hooks, and the fire banked up with big logs that would last to their return; and then Dallas took up one of the skin-lined sleeping-bags.

"What's that for?" said Abel suspiciously.

"For you to ride back in."

Abel made an angry gesture. "I tell you I'm better," he said sharply.

"Well, never mind if you are, my son," said Tregelly quietly. "You must get tired, and if you are you'll be none the worse for a ride, but a good deal so if you get your toes frosted again."

"Very well, make a child of me," said Abel, and he gave way. "Have we got all we want?"

"Better take something for a bit of lunch before we start back," suggested Dallas.

"Nay-y-ay!" cried the Cornishman, "there's plenty yonder, and we may as well carry some of it back inside as out."

"Come on, then," said Dallas, and he strode to the door, when, to the surprise of all, the dog uttered a deep bark and sprang before them.

"Oh, come, that won't do," cried Dallas. "You've got to stop and mind the house."

The dog barked fiercely, and rose at the door upon its hind-legs.

"Yes, he had better stay," said Abel; "we mustn't leave the place unprotected. Let's slip out one by one."

"I don't know," said Tregelly thoughtfully; "he has evidently made up his mind to go with us, and if we shut him in alone he'll be wild and get springing about, and perhaps knock the fire all over the place. Don't want to come back and find the shanty burned up."

This remark settled the matter, and they started out into the keen dark morning, the dog, after bounding about a little and indulging in a roll in the snow, placing himself by the trace as if drawing, and walking in front of the empty sledge which Tregelly was dragging.

"Might as well have let you pull too," said the latter; "but never mind—you may rest this time."

No fires were burning yet, as they trudged on over the frozen snow, while the stars glittered brilliantly as if it were midnight, giving quite enough light for them to make their way over the four miles which divided them from Tregelly's claim.

"Getting pretty close now," he said, breaking the silence; for the rugged state of the slippery snow had resulted in the latter part of the journey being made in silence, only broken by the crunching of the icy particles and the squeaking sound made from time to time by the sledge runners as they glided over the hard surface.

Suddenly Tregelly stopped short, and as they were in single file, the rest halted too.

"What's the matter?" said Dallas.

"Why, some one's took up a claim and made a shanty close up to mine. No, by thunder! They've got in my place and lit a fire! Oh, I'm not going to stand that!"

"What impudence!" said Dallas.

"Impudence! I call it real cheek! But come on; I'll soon have them out of that!"

"Hist!" whispered Abel; "let's go up carefully and see first. It may be some one we know."

"Whether we know them or whether we don't," said Tregelly angrily, "they're coming out, and at once. Do you hear? There's more than one of them. Come along."

But before he had taken a dozen of his huge strides towards the hut, from whose rough chimney the ruddy smoke and sparks were rising, there was a wild hoarse cry as of some one in agony, and the sound of a struggle going on, while fierce oaths arose, and a voice, horrible in its weird, strange tones, shrieked out so that the words reached their ears:

"The dog—the dog! Keep him from me, or he'll tear my heart right out!" while at the same moment Scruff barking fiercely, bounded forward towards the door, just as a cry of horror arose, so awful that it seemed to freeze the marrow in the young men's bones.

"Come on," shouted Tregelly; "they're killing some one."

The two young men needed no inciting. Following Tregelly closely, they ran towards the door, which was flung open as their leader reached it, and Tregelly was dashed back against them with such violence that he would have fallen but for their support.

At the same moment, after they had caught, by the light of the fire within, a glimpse of two rough-looking men, one of them apparently as big as their companion, the door swung to again and all was darkness, while added to the still continuing cries, yells, and appeals to keep back the dog, there came from the other direction the crunching of heavy boots in full retreat on the snow, the savage barking of the dog, and then flash after flash, followed by reports, as the late occupants of the hut evidently turned to fire at the pursuing dog.

The first idea of the trio was to rush after the men who had come in contact with them, but second thoughts suggested the impossibility of overtaking them in the darkness, while the appealing cries from within the cottage drew them in the other direction.

"Leave them to the dog," shouted Dallas excitedly.

"Yes, come on and see who's this one inside," growled Tregelly, as he thrust open the door and stepped into his hut.

The place was well illumined by the blazing wood fire, and they looked round in wonder for the assailant or dog which had elicited the hoarse wild appeals for help and protection which rose from the solitary occupant of the place—a wild, bloodshot-eyed, athletic man in torn and ragged half-open shirt and trousers, who cowered on the rough bed trying to force himself closer into the corner, his crooked fingers scratching at the wall, while all the time his head was wrenched round so that he stared wildly at imaginary dangers, evidently vividly seen, and kept on shrieking for help.