"I say, it would have been much better if we had kept to our old idea
and had, say, three light mule-carts. What a lot of these odds and ends
we could have stowed out of the way."
"I said so to old Griggs," replied Chris, and then he was silent.
"Well, what did he say?"
"Only grinned at first."
"Well, what then?"
"He said it would have taken so long and been so expensive, because we
should have had to send an army of men on first to make a road all the
way we were going."
"Which means he was laughing at you."
"Grinning, I call it. But I suppose he's right, because when you come
to think of it, there'll be no track, and a lot of our travelling will
be in and out among the mountains. There, that's the last door," said
Chris with a sigh, as there was a loud bang following the creaking of
hinges that had been rarely used. Directly after, Griggs' hammer came
into play, making the horses restive and back away from the noise to the
full extent of their reins.
"Yes," said Ned, with a sigh, "the last door. I say, Chris, now it has
come to it, don't you feel a bit sorry to go away from the old place?"
"Horribly," said the boy in a low, husky voice. "What fun we used to
have!"
"Yes," said Ned, "before everything got to be so dull because things
failed so and made my father so low-spirited."
"He wasn't so low-spirited as my father was; but I s'pose there wasn't
much difference," replied Chris, to the accompaniment of Griggs' hammer
and the fidgeting of his nag. "Quiet, will you, stupid! He isn't going
to hurt you."
"I say, how jolly grumpy it used to make Mr Wilton."
"Hah!" ejaculated Chris. "A year ago he was always ready for a bit of
fun, fishing, snaking, squirrel-hunting, or seeking honey. But there,
no wonder; he felt like father, that it was all lose, lose, lose, and
that it was unfair not to be at work."
"And it took all the fun out of our games."
"Yes, no more games now, Neddy. Father said last night when we were
alone that we must bid good-bye to being boys with the place--leave all
that here, and begin to think of being and acting like men."
"Yes, and my father said something like that to me, Chris; and somehow
now it has come to making the start I don't feel as if I want to be a
man yet. It was so jolly to be a boy here in the dear old place. Oh,
bother the old gold! I wish that poor old chap hadn't come here to
die."
"So do I," said Chris, and his voice sounded very husky now as he gazed
round him at the many familiar objects. "I say, look how my apple-tree
has grown!"
"Yes, and my pear," said Ned quickly. "It has beaten your old apple all
to bits."
"Well, of course it has," said Chris roughly. "Pears do run up tall and
straight and weak. Apples grow stout and strong and slow."
"They've done well enough."
"Yes; but then see what pains we took to water and manure them. Nothing
else has done well."
"No, nothing. As father says, it has all been like slow ruin coming on;
but I like the dear old place all the same, because we helped to make it
out of the wilderness into a great garden. Oh, Chris, I wish we weren't
going."
"So do I, but it's of no use to go on wishing. We should have felt much
more miserable when we were starting to go back to England, not knowing
what we were going to do. We should have had to go, and this is going
to be like a great roving holiday, seeing something fresh and new every
day."
"So it will be. There, I begin to feel better now. I say, look at the
sun rising--isn't it glorious!"
"Always is," said Chris cheerily. "How different it makes things look!
I always feel better when the sun shines. There, good-bye, old place,
if we never see you again."
"But I say, Chris, we might come back some day, you know."
"Not likely."
"Why? We might find the gold, and then come back here to live. It
wouldn't matter then about the peaches and grapes and things failing."
"No; father wouldn't want the money then," said Chris thoughtfully. "I
should like to come back, after all, but--"
_Bing_!--Bing!--Bang!
"That's done it, sir," cried Griggs, his voice ringing out cheerily in
the morning air. "I'll tuck the hammer and nails in my pouch. They may
come in useful. No, I can't; it's full. I'll tuck the hammer handle
through my belt. Either of you youngsters got room for a few nails in
your pocket?"
"I have, Griggs," cried Chris quickly, and, with something to do, the
pain of the farewell to the beautiful scene came to an end.
"Ready?" cried the doctor sharply.
"Aye, aye!" came back, and the horses shuffled and spread their legs.
"Mount!" cried the doctor, and every one sprang to his saddle amidst the
stamping of the mustangs' feet. "Lead on, Griggs," cried the doctor.
The American pressed his cob's sides and trotted to where the leading
mule stood browsing, ready to raise its head, shaking the bell
violently, and make a vicious snap at the horse's neck with its bared
teeth.
But Griggs was ready for it, and threw out one of his long legs, the toe
of his boot catching the mule in the cheek and spoiling the aim.
"Look here, my fine fellow," he cried, "don't you try that game again,
or I'll fix a spike to the end of a stout hickory ready for lancing
those gums of yours. I'm afraid you've got toothache, or you wouldn't
be so ready to bite. Now then, ring up. Get on."
"Forward!" snouted the doctor; and as the mule led the way under the
American's direction the whole heavily-laden team filed after, settling
down steadily enough, the horsemen bringing up the rear, looking like a
little detachment of irregular cavalry as they wound along the tracks
through the blighted plantation, straight away for the uncultivated
wilds.
"Good-bye to five years' labour," said the doctor, turning in his saddle
for a last look.
"Five years' disappointment," said Wilton sadly.
"Five years of buried hopes," said Bourne slowly; but the boys were
silent, neither daring to trust his voice.
"And now," cried the doctor, "for five years of unburied hope and
looking forward to the future. Here, boys, you ought to give a cheer.
Who'll lead?"
No one: the moments were too sad, for there seemed to be a thick black
veil hanging before them right in front, and neither dared to think of
what might be to come.
Onward, onward into the future, with the wilderness unseen waiting to
swallow up the adventurers in the unknown way--the perils to be
encountered happily hidden from them as yet.