_ CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. WHEN SLEEP IS MASTER
"Hear that?" cried Abel excitedly. "The scoundrel! The ruffian! He's firing at the dog."
"Yes, my son," said Tregelly quietly; "and I'm not surprised, for old Scruff can be pretty nasty when he likes."
"But you don't stir. Are we going to stand here and listen to that poor brute being murdered?"
"It would be about madness to go after him, my son," said Tregelly, coolly; "and after all, he isn't likely to hit the dog in the dark."
A few minutes later they found the sledge, and as they were about to start, Dallas kicked against something hard, which went spinning along the ice-covered snow.
"What's that?" he said. "Why, Tregelly, it must be your pipe."
"Yes. It struck against me," cried Abel. "Here it is," he added in triumph.
"Hooroar!" cried Tregelly. "Now, I call that fine, my sons. Why, if old Scruff comes back and says he's killed Master Redbeard, this'll be about as pleasant a time as I ever spent. But how's your arm, Master Dallas?"
"Smarts, and feels wretched and numb, that's all. I can help pull the sledge."
"All right, my son," cried Tregelly, giving the line a jerk; but in vain, for the sledge was immovable, the runners being frozen to the surface of the snow. "I say; think o' that."
Dallas and Abel gave the sledge a wrench, set it at liberty, and it glided smoothly on, Tregelly insisting on dragging it all the way back to the hut, where they shut themselves in, and then prepared an early breakfast; but before it was ready there was a familiar thump on the rough door, and Scruff was admitted, apparently free from fresh injuries, for he gave all an intelligent look, and then seated himself by the fire to lick his wound, before curling up and going to sleep.
"I wish I could do that," said Dallas.
"Do it without the curl," said Tregelly, smiling. "It's the best thing for a man who has had such a shake as you have."
"No, no. The ruffian may come back."
"He won't come yet, my son," said Tregelly; "but if he should think it best to give us another call, don't you be uneasy; we'll wake you up."
A quarter of an hour later Dallas was fast asleep, and Abel looked up at Tregelly inquiringly.
"Is the sleep natural?" he whispered.
"Yes; why shouldn't it be?" was the reply.
"It seems so strange, after the excitement we have been through during the last twenty-four hours."
"Done up, my son; regular exhausted, and wants rest."
"But I could not sleep, knowing as I do that the enemy might attack us at any time. Think of the danger."
"I wonder you ever went to sea, then, my son," said Tregelly, good-humouredly. "There's always danger of the ship sinking; and yet you went to your berth, I suppose, every night, and slept soundly enough, didn't you?"
"Of course."
"And I'll be bound to say you go to sleep this morning before long."
"Not I. Impossible," said Abel, with a touch of contempt in his tone.
But Tregelly was the better judge of human nature, and before an hour had passed away, weariness, the darkness, and the warmth of the fire had combined to conquer, and Abel sank sidewise on the rough packing-case which formed his easy chair, and slept soundly till the short daylight had passed, and they were well on towards the evening of another day. _