To Win or to Die Part 6

"Oh, yes."

"An uncle of mine brought me up after father and mother died."

"Indeed?"

"Dear old fellow! He and aunt quite took my old people's place; and their boy, my cousin, always seemed like my brother."

The listener made a quick movement.

"What is it? Hear anything?"

"No; go on."

"They were such happy times. I never knew what trouble was, till one day poor uncle was brought home on a gate. His horse had thrown him."

There was a pause, and then the speaker continued in an almost inaudible whisper:

"He was dead."

The listener uttered a strange e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

"Yes, it was horrible, wasn't it? And there was worse to come. It nearly killed poor dear old aunt, and when she recovered a bit it was to hear the news from the lawyers. I don't quite understand how it was even now--something about a great commercial smash--but all uncle's money was gone, and aunt was left penniless."

"Great heavens!" came in a strange whisper.

"You may well say that. Bless her! She had been accustomed to every luxury, and we boys had had everything we wished. My word! it was a knockdown for poor old Dal."

"Who was poor old Dal?" said the listener, almost inaudibly.

"Cousin Dallas--Dallas Adams. I thought the poor chap would have gone mad. He was just getting ready for Cambridge. But after a bit he pulled himself together, and 'Never mind, Bel,' he said--I'm Bel, you know; Abel Wray--'Never mind,' he said, 'now's the time for a couple of strong fellows like we are to show that we've got some stuff in us.

Bel,' he said, 'the dear old mother must never know what it is to want.'"

It was the other's turn to draw in his breath with a low hissing sound, and the narrator's voice sounded still more husky and strange, as if he were touched by the sympathy of his companion, as he went on:

"I said nothing to Dal, but I thought a deal about how easy it was to talk, but how hard for fellows like us to get suitable and paying work.

But if I said nothing, I lay awake at nights trying to hit on some plan, till the idea came--ah! is that the snow coming down?"

"No, no! It was only I who moved."

"But what--what are you doing? Why, you've turned over on your face."

"Yes, yes; to rest a bit."

"I'm trying you with all this rigmarole about a poor, unfortunate beggar."

"No, no!" cried the other fiercely. "Go on--go on."

The narrator paused for a few moments.

"Thank you, old fellow," he whispered softly, and he felt for and grasped the listener's hand, to press it hard. "I misjudged you. It's pleasant to find a bit of sympathy like this. I've often read how fellows in s.h.i.+pwrecks, and wounded men after battles, are drawn together and get to be like brothers, and it makes one feel how much good there is in the world, after all. I expect you and I will manage to keep alive for a few days, old chap, and then we shall have to make up our minds to die--like men. I won't be so cowardly any more. I feel stronger, and till we do go to sleep once and for all we'll make the best of it, like men."

"Yes, yes, yes! Go on--go on!"

CHAPTER SIX.

A STRANGE MADNESS.

It was some time, though, before the narrative was continued, and then it was with this preface.

"Don't laugh at me, old chap. The shock of all this has made me as weak and hysterical as a girl. I say, I'm jolly glad it's so dark."

"Laugh at you!"

"I say, if you speak in that way I shall break down altogether. That fellow choked a lot of the man out of me, and then the excitement, and on the top of it this horrible burying alive--it has all been too much for me."

"Go on--go on."

"Yes, yes, I will. I told you the idea came, but I didn't say a word to my cousin for fear he should think it mad; and as to hinting at such a thing to the dear old aunt, I felt that it would half kill her. I made up my mind that she should not know till I was gone.

"Well, I went straight to the 'Hard Nut'--that's Uncle Morgan. We always called him the nut that couldn't be cracked--the roughest, gruffest old fellow that ever breathed, and he looked so hard and sour at me that I wished I hadn't gone, and was silent. 'Well,' he said, 'I suppose you two boys mean to think about something besides cricket and football now. You've got to work, sir, work!'"

"Hah!" sighed the listener.

"'Yes, uncle,' I said, 'and I want to begin at once.'

"'Humph!' he said. 'Well, that's right. But what do you want with me?'

"'I want you to write me a cheque for a hundred pounds.'

"'Oh,' he said, in the harsh, sneering way in which he always spoke to us boys; for he didn't approve of us being educated so long. He began work early, and made quite a fortune. 'Oh,' he said, 'do you? Hadn't I better make it five?'

"'No,' I said. 'I've thought it all out. One hundred will do exactly.'

"'What for?' he said with a snap.

"'I'm off to Klondike.'

"'Off to Jericho!' he snarled.

"'No, to Klondike, to make a fortune for the poor old aunt.'

"'Humph!' he grunted, 'and is Dallas going with you to make the second fool in the pair?'

"'No, uncle,' I said; 'one fool's enough for that job. Dal will stop with his mother, I suppose, and try to keep her. I'm n.o.body, and I'll take all risks and go.'

"'Yes, one fool's enough, sir,' he said, 'for a job like that. But I don't believe there is any gold there.'