To Win or to Die Part 7

"'Oh, yes, there is, sir,' I said.

"'What does Dallas say?'

"'Nothing. He doesn't know, and he will not know till aunt gets my letter, and she tells him.'

"'As if the poor old woman hadn't enough to suffer without you going off, sir,' he said.

"'But I can't stop and live upon her now, uncle.'

"'Of course you can't, sir. But what about the soldiering, and the scarlet and gold lace?'

"'Good-bye to it all, sir,' I said with a gulp, for it was an awful knockdown to a c.o.xcomb of a chap like I was, who had reckoned on the fine feathers and spurs and the rest of it.

"'Humph!' he grunted, 'and you think I am going to give--lend you a hundred pounds to go on such a wild goose chase?'

"'I hope so, uncle,' I said.

"'Hope away, then; and fill yourself with the unsatisfactory stuff, if you like. No, sir; if you want to go gold-digging, shoulder your swag and shovel, pick and cradle, and tramp there.'

"'How?' I said, getting riled, for the old nut seemed harder than ever.

'I can't tramp across three thousand miles of ocean. I could hardly tramp over three thousand miles of land, and when I did reach the Pacific, if I could, there's the long sea journey from Vancouver up to Alaska, and another tramp there. No, uncle,' I said, 'it isn't to be done. I've gone into it all carefully, and cut it as fine as I might, it will take fifty pounds for outfit and carriage to get to Klondike.'

"'Fifty! Why, you said a hundred,' he growled. 'That's coming down.

Want the other fifty to play billiards and poker?'

"'No, I don't,' I said, speaking as sharply as he did; 'I want that fifty pounds to leave with poor old aunt. I can't and won't go and leave her penniless.'"

"Ah!" sighed the listener--almost groaned.

"Well, wouldn't you have done the same?"

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

"There isn't much more to tell. I'm pretty close to the end. What do you think the old boy said?"

"I know--I know," came back in a whisper.

"That you don't," cried the narrator, who, in spite of their horrible position, burst out into a ringing laugh. "He just said 'Bah!' and came at me as if he were going to bundle me out of the door, for he clapped his hands on my shoulders and shook me fiercely. Then he banged me down into a chair, and went to one of those old, round-fronted secretary desks, rolled up the top with a rush, took a cheque-book out of a little drawer, dashed off a cheque, signed and blotted it, and thrust it into my hand.

"'There, it's open,' he said. 'You can get it cashed at the bank, and send your aunt the fifty as soon as you're gone. Be off at once, and don't say a word to a soul. Here; give me back that cheque.'

"I gave it back to him.

"'Now, swear you won't tell a soul I lent you that money, nor that you are going off!'

"'I give you my word of honour, uncle.'

"'That'll do,' he said. 'Catch hold, and be off. It's a loan, mind.

You bring back a couple of sacks full of nuggets, and pay me again.'

"'I will, uncle,' I said, 'if I live.'

"'If you live!' he said, staring at me. 'Of course you'll live. I'm seventy, and not near done. You're not a score. Be off.'

"And I came away and never said a word."

"But you sent the fifty pounds to your poor old aunt?"

"Why, of course I did; but I shall never pay old 'Hard Nut with the Sweet Kernel' his money back. G.o.d bless him, though, and I hope he'll know the reason why before he dies."

"G.o.d bless him! yes," said the listener, in a deep, low voice that sounded very strange, and as if the speaker could hardly trust himself to speak.

Then they lay together in the darkness and silence for a time, till Abel Wray made an effort and said in his harsh, husky voice:

"There, that's all. Makes a fellow feel soft. Think it's midnight yet?"

"No, no," was whispered.

"I'll strike a match and see."

"No. We want every mouthful of air to breathe, or I should have struck one long ago."

"Of course. I never thought of it once. Sleepy?"

"No."

"Then fair play. Tell me your story now."

"There is no need. But tell me this; am I awake? Have you told me all this, or have I dreamed it?"

"I've told you it all, of course."

"Am I sane, or wandering in my head? It can't be true. I must be mad."

"Then I am, too. Bah! as Uncle Morgan said. Come, play fair; tell me how you came here?"

"The same way as you did, and to get gold."

"Well, so I supposed. There, just as you like. I will not press you to tell me."

"I tell you there is no need. For your story is mine. We thought as brothers with one brain; we made the same plan; we travelled with the same means; we supplied the dear old aunt and mother from the same true-hearted source. Bel, old lad, don't you know me? It is I, Dal, and we meet like this!"

"Great heaven!" gasped Abel, in his low, husky whisper. "It has turned his brain. Impossible! Yes, that is it; the air is turning hot and strange at last, and this has driven me mad. It is all a wandering dream."

CHAPTER SEVEN.