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<h3>Chapter Twenty Five.</h3> <h4>Thinking of Supper.</h4> The party was astir soon after daybreak, nothing having interfered with the night’s repose, and the first thing seen to, was the state of the horses and baggage animals. They too were all the better for the rest, but the result of the examination was a discussion between the doctor and Griggs over the injuries the animals had received. Two of the mules had been down, and showed injuries to their knees. One had evidently met with a bad fall over a piece of rock, and limped painfully, while two of the ponies wore the aspect of having been over-ridden. “I think they ought to have another day’s rest, Griggs,” said the doctor. “And I think they ought to have two,” was the reply; “but what about staying here? The Indians may find and follow our trail.” “We must not think of waiting two days,” replied the doctor, “but I think we might risk one, and we must send out a scout along the road we have come, to select a suitable spot on high ground and keep a lookout. If he sees danger on the way he must ride back and warn us. Meanwhile we’ll have everything ready for an immediate start, keeping the animals close in, and the packs, so that we can load up at once.” Griggs nodded. “What about the scout?” he said. The doctor looked at him in silence. “You mean you would like me to go?” “Yes, but there is no reason why you should go alone. I could easily spare one of the boys.” “That’s right—Chris,” said the American, and in pretty good time that morning these two, with their wallets well supplied and their water-bottles filled, rode off along the back track to make a reconnoissance, with the understanding that they were to rejoin their friends that night. It was a glorious ride through a lovely country, slowly and cautiously taken, till a spot was reached commanding the portion along which danger seemed sure to come if it was astir, and here, with their ponies hobbled to graze, Chris and the American watched hour after hour, enjoying the rest. “But doesn’t it seem queer,” said Chris, as the day wore on, “just because we are bound to be so careful, and dare not fire a shot for fear of taking the enemy’s attention, we have had chance after chance of getting birds? I should have liked to take three or four brace back with us.” “Yes,” said Griggs shortly. “Been a nice change; but it wouldn’t do.” The sun was getting low when Griggs finished a long search of the back country with the glass he carried, and ended by closing it and thrusting it into the case. “No Indians to-day, or we should have seen them. I think we may start back now.” They were soon in the saddle, and, to Chris’s delight, he found that his pony’s stiffness had pretty well passed off, while, to the intense satisfaction of both, the slight lameness grew better and promised well for the next day. They kept to a walk, pausing wherever a good view back could be obtained, till it began to grow dark, but they kept steadily on. “Another hour ought to bring us to camp,” said Griggs suddenly. “And they’ll be waiting supper for us,” said Chris. “I hope they have done a little shooting. A turkey would be splendid to-night. Don’t you think so?” added the boy, after waiting in vain for an answer. “I was thinking about something else,” said the American slowly. “What about—the gold city?” “No, my lad, I was thinking about how awkward it would be if the Indians had found a better road than we did, and had got to the camp while we’ve been away.” “Griggs!” cried Chris in an agonised voice.—“Oh, nonsense! You said that to scare me.” “No; it’s too serious a thing to cut jokes about. This is a big country, and we are only feeling our way, being strangers. Those Indian fellows were born in it, and must know it by heart.” “Here, let’s ride on as fast as we can,” said Chris huskily. “You think, then, that they may have been surprised?” “I only felt that it might be possible.” “Then let’s get on at full speed,” cried Chris. “It’s horrible to think that they may be wanting our help.” “We can’t ride at full speed,” said Griggs quietly, “only go at a walk; and I dare say it’s all my fancy.” “But we might go faster than this,” said Chris excitedly. “No; the way’s so bad that we should only throw our ponies down.” “But if—” began Chris. “But if anything had happened there we should want our ponies to be fresh and ready for a gallop. It would be madness to hurry them over rough ground. There, I’m sorry I spoke, lad, for I honestly believe that I have alarmed you for nothing.” “I can’t help thinking it is not for nothing,” said Chris bitterly. “Why do you say that now? It’s only to comfort me.” “Not quite all. I’ve been thinking. Suppose the camp has been attacked. It could not have been from this side.” “No, because we should have seen the Indians.” “Then it must have been from the other.” “Of course.” “What would the doctor do then?” “Defend it to—the last,” said Chris, with the final words seeming to stick before they would come. “No, he wouldn’t; he’d keep up a running fight.” “What, retreating?” “I should say so; retiring on the detachment he had sent out, as a soldier would say. To put it differently, he’d begin to think as you did, for though you said nothing I could see your first thought was about your father. Wasn’t it?” “Of course,” said Chris huskily. “Yes, of course; and he’d say to himself, ‘There’s my boy over yonder with that long, thin Yankee chap.’ We must join them at once. Now, don’t you see, if anything had happened we should have met them before now?” Chris could not speak, but reached over to hold out his hand, which was warmly grasped by Griggs, who then began to talk cheerily. “Very stupid of me,” he said. “I was feeling tired and mouldy. I’ve had precious little sleep, fidgeting about this wild-goose sort of expedition. I’m precious hungry too, and that makes a poor fellow feel low-spirited. My word, I mean to make my mark in that roast turkey to-night! Sniff, sniff, sniff! That isn’t roasting I can smell, coming with the wind, is it?” Chris laughed, and Griggs went on chatting. “Keep a tight rein over these stony bits. I do like to take care of a horse,” he said. “Poor beggars, they’re the best of friends, but I do wish they wouldn’t be such cowards. Getting up a stampede like that and chipping and straining themselves, all on account of a bear. They’ve no pluck.” “Then I suppose I’ve none either,” said Chris, “for the bear frightened me.” “Ha, ha! Yes, and poor Mr Bourne too. My word, didn’t he holloa!” “And no wonder,” said Chris. “Wouldn’t you have done the same?” “I just should. I say, though, I hope they haven’t shot any of those tough old gobblers, years old. They’re as stringy as a fiddle. One just a full year old’s the sort of fellow we want. Who’ll be cook? Your comrade Ned, I expect. If he has let the bird burn I’ll never forgive him.” “There’ll be no turkey, Griggs,” said Chris. “What! Why?” “Because father won’t have any firing.” “Well, they might trap one, or knock one over with a stick sent flying like a boomerang.” “Here, I say, don’t!” cried Chris. “I’m so hungry too that it makes my mouth water. Here, I know what we shall have for supper.” “Yes, what?” cried Griggs eagerly. “One of those big tins of preserved meat warmed up with water in the kettle like a thick soup, and damper cakes, and tea as well.” “And not a bad supper either, lad, for hungry folks. Glad of it, for I’ve no faith in Ned Bourne’s cooking. He can make capital tea and coffee, but when it comes to roasting a turkey, or cutting it up and frying it in a pan, I’d beat him hollow. How much farther have we to go?” “About a mile,” said Chris, and he had hardly spoken before from out of the darkness ahead came the Australian cry—Coo-ee! “There’s Ned,” said Chris eagerly. “Come to meet us.—Coo-ee! Is it all right?” “Yes, all right,” came back. “Tain’t,” said Griggs gruffly. “He’s left the fire, and that turkey will burn.” “Soup,” said Chris merrily. “Well, soup, then,” growled Griggs. “Why can’t he stick to his work?” “Anyone with you?” cried Chris. “No; I came on alone. Where’s Griggs?” “Here I am,” replied the American to the voice out of the darkness. “I say, how came you to leave that turkey?” “Turkey! What turkey?” “The one you were cooking for our supper.” “Oh, father’s cook to-night; but there’s no turkey.” “What, then?” said Griggs. “Oh, a mess of tinned beef.” “There, I told you so,” cried Chris. “You never said a word about a mess,” growled Griggs; “but I might have known. A nice mess it will be!” Ned did not hear, for he was questioning and being questioned about the doings of the day, which had been as uneventful in camp as out of it. Ten minutes later they were sitting near the fire enjoying the waiting supper, and in the reflection from the glowing embers Chris could see Griggs’ face beaming with the smiles of satisfaction, as he made liberal use of a pewter spoon, and took semi-circular bites out of a hot bread-cake liberally ornamented with grey wood-ashes. “How’s the mess, Griggs?” said Chris merrily. Griggs had only one word to say, and it fitted itself for usage as a long-drawn husky drawl. The word was Prime! <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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