I went to the little stream—a mere runlet of water—now frozen quite hard, broke some ice, melted it, and put it in the kettle to boil. When my coffee was ready I heard a voice from under one of the buffalo robes: “Wal! Wal! Wal! Blame me if you ain’t got quite a nice cup of corfy! I guess I’ll come and have some.” It was the voice of one of the teamsters, who had been watching me take all the trouble without even offering to lend a hand, and now claimed his share of what my labour had earned. I was savage, but it was no use showing it, for these men are very independent, and if I had been sulky, he would have been off at daylight with his waggon and team, leaving us to get on as best we could with those that remained. On our last evening, as hungry and disconsolate we sat shivering by the camp fire, we were startled by the tinkling of a bell. It was a kind old cow who had strayed out into the wilderness and came to be milked. Was there ever sweeter music or a more royal feast than what she brought us? Moreover she told us that we were nearing civilization. We had had enough of this very barren hunting, tightening our girdles day by day, and breaking the ice night and morning; so we settled up with our teamsters and Ananias the hunter, caught a train at the wayside station, and steamed away to New York. CHAPTER XXXIV 1874 THE BLACK OPAL “Ibam forte viâ sacrâ, sicut meus est mos, Nescio quid meditans nugarum, totus in illis, Accurrit quidam.” Horace, Sat. I. 9. One fine day at the end of April I was walking down the “sacred street” of St. James, as usual thinking of I know not what trifles, utterly absorbed in them, when I felt a tap upon my shoulder. I turned round—Gloster, by all that was unexpected! Colonel Gloster, to whom I had bidden farewell at Point de Galle nine years before! It was a happy meeting, and we stopped to chat for a moment, but he had a business appointment, so we agreed that he should come to dinner with me in my rooms in Victoria Street that evening. As we parted I said: “What a pity that Overbeck should not be in England! We could have such a delightful talk over the days of the Lion’s Den on board the _Simla_!” I hailed a hansom and trotted off to order dinner: on my table was Overbeck’s card! “Only in London for two days—when and where can I see you?” I lost no time in going to look him up; found him by great good luck, and so it happened that we three came together again on that April day after nine long and strenuous years, during which neither of us had met, though we had corresponded fitfully.