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diff --git a/28906-h/28906-h.htm b/28906-h/28906-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..747988f --- /dev/null +++ b/28906-h/28906-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14679 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Tale Of Timber Town, by A. A. Grace. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2 { text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .box { width: 600px; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; + border-style: none; } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a { text-decoration: none; } + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + /*]]>*/ + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tale of Timber Town, by Alfred Grace + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Tale of Timber Town + +Author: Alfred Grace + +Release Date: May 21, 2009 [EBook #28906] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF TIMBER TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Wall, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 361px;"> +<img src="images/imgcover.jpg" width="361" height="600" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE TALE OF TIMBER TOWN.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<h1>THE TALE<br /> +OF TIMBER TOWN</h1> + +<p class="center" style="font-variant: small-caps;"><strong>by</strong></p> + +<h2>A. A. GRACE</h2> + +<p class="center">(<em>Author of “Tales of a Dying Race,”<br /> +“Maoriland Stories,” “Folk-Tales of the Maori,”<br /> +“Hone Tiki Dialogues,” &c.</em>)</p> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 175px;"> +<img src="images/decoration.png" width="175" height="62" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">GORDON & GOTCH<br /> +Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, Perth, Launceston, Wellington,<br /> +Auckland, Christchurch, Dunedin, N.Z.</p> + +<p class="center">1914</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + +<tr> <td align='right'></td> <td align='left'></td> <td align='right'><span class="smcap">page</span></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'></td> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Proem</span></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'><span class="smcap">chapter</span></td> <td align='left'></td> <td align='right'></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>I.</td> <td align='left'>The Master-Goldsmith</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>II.</td> <td align='left'>The Wreck of The Mersey Witch</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">15</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>III.</td> <td align='left'>The Pilot’s Daughter</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">18</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>IV.</td> <td align='left'>Rachel Varnhagen</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">24</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>V.</td> <td align='left'>Bill the Prospector</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">30</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>VI.</td> <td align='left'>The Father of Timber Town</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">33</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>VII.</td> <td align='left'>Cut-Throat Euchre</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">35</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>VIII.</td> <td align='left'>The Yellow Flag</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">43</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>IX.</td> <td align='left'>What looked like Courting</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">48</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>X.</td> <td align='left'>Hocussed</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">51</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XI.</td> <td align='left'>The Temptation of the Devil</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">57</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XII.</td> <td align='left'>Rock Cod and Macaroni</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">62</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XIII.</td> <td align='left'>What the Bush Robin Saw</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">65</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XIV.</td> <td align='left'>The Robbery of the Mails</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">68</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XV.</td> <td align='left'>Dealing Mostly with Money</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">73</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVI.</td> <td align='left'>The Wages of Sin</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">77</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVII.</td> <td align='left'>Rachel’s Wiles</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">81</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVIII.</td> <td align='left'>Digging</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">83</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XIX.</td> <td align='left'>A Den of Thieves</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">86</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XX.</td> <td align='left'>Gold and Roses</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">91</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXI.</td> <td align='left'>The Foundation of the Gold League</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">96</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXII.</td> <td align='left'>Women’s Ways</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">101</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXIII.</td> <td align='left'>Forewarned, Forearmed</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">108</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXIV.</td> <td align='left'>The Goldsmith Comes to Town</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">112</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXV.</td> <td align='left'>Fishing</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">119</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXVI.</td> <td align='left'>A Small, but Important Link in the Story</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">124</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXVII.</td> <td align='left'>The Signal-Tree</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">127</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXVIII.</td> <td align='left'>The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Second Time</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">130</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXIX.</td> <td align='left'>Amiria Plays her Highest Card in the Game of Love</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">134</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXX.</td> <td align='left'>In Tresco’s Cave</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">139</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXI.</td> <td align='left'>The Perturbations of the Bank Manager</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">145</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXII.</td> <td align='left'>The Quietude of Timber Town is Disturbed</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">147</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXIII.</td> <td align='left'>The Gold League Washes Up</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">150</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXIV.</td> <td align='left'>The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Third Time</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">153</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXV.</td> <td align='left'>Bail</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">156</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXVI.</td> <td align='left'>In Durance Vile</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">160</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXVII.</td> <td align='left'>Benjamin’s Redemption</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">164</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXVIII.</td> <td align='left'>The Way to Manage the Law</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">173</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXIX.</td> <td align='left'>Tresco Makes the Ring</td> <td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">178</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'></td> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Epilogue</span></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> </tr> +</table></div> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 78px;"> +<img src="images/decoration2.png" width="78" height="77" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2>AUTHOR’S NOTE.</h2> + + +<p>Carlyle Smythe, in his interesting reminiscences of Mark Twain, printed in +<em>Life</em>, says that, of all the stories which interested the great American writer while +travelling with him through Australasia, the tragical story which is the basis of “The +Tale of Timber Town” fascinated the celebrated author more than any other. The +version which Mark Twain read was the re-print of the verbatim report of the most +remarkable trial ever held in New Zealand, and perhaps south of the Line, and there is +no cause for wonder in his interest. I, too, have studied and re-studied that narrative, +with its absorbing psychological and sociological problems; I have interrogated +persons who knew the chief characters in the story; I have studied the locality, and +know intimately the scene of the tragedy: and even though “The Tale of Timber +Town” has in the writing taxed my energies for many a month, I have by no means +exhausted the theme which so enthralled Mark Twain.</p> + +<p>I have tried to reproduce the characters and atmosphere of those stirring +days, when £1,000,000 worth of gold was brought into Timber Town in nine months; +and I have sought to reproduce the characters and atmosphere of Timber Town, rather +than to resuscitate the harrowing details of a dreadful crime. I have tried to show +how it was possible for such a tragedy to take place, as was that which so absorbed +Mark Twain, and why it was that the tale stirred in him an interest which somewhat +surprised Carlyle Smythe.</p> + +<p>Here in Timber Town I met them—the unassuming celebrity, and the young +<em>entrepreneur</em>. The great humorist, alack! will never read the tale as I have told +it, but I am hopeful, that in “The Tale of Timber Town,” his erstwhile companion +and the public will perceive the literary value of the theme which arrested the +attention of so great a writer as Mark Twain.</p> + +<p>“The Tale of Timber Town” first appeared in the pages of <em>The Otago Witness</em>, +whose proprietors I desire to thank for introducing the story to the public, and for the +courtesy of permitting me to reserve the right of reproduction of the work in book-form.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Timber Town.</em> <span style="margin-left: 25em;">A.A.G.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h2>PROEM.</h2> + + +<p>Timber Town lay like a toy city at the bottom of a basin. Its +wooden houses, each placed neatly in the middle of a little garden-plot, +had been painted brightly for the delight of the children. +There were whole streets of wooden shops, with verandahs in front +of them to shade the real imported goods in their windows; and +three wooden churches, freshly painted to suit the tastes of their +respective—and respectable—congregations; there was a wooden +Town Hall, painted grey; a wooden Post Office, painted brown; a +red college, where boys in white disported upon a green field; a +fawn-coloured school, with a playground full of pinafored little girls; +and a Red Tape Office—designed in true Elizabethan style, with +cupolas, vanes, fantastic chimney-tops, embayed windows, wondrous +parapets—built entirely of wood and painted the colour of Devonshire +cream, with grit in the paint to make it look like stone.</p> + +<p>Along the streets ran a toy tram, pulled by a single horse, +which was driven by a man who moved his arms just as if they +were real, and who puffed genuine clouds of smoke from his tobacco-pipe. +Ladies dressed in bright colours walked up and down the +trim side-paths, with gaudy sunshades in their hands; knocked at +doors, went calling, and looked into the shop windows, just like +actual people.</p> + +<p>It was the game of playing at living. The sky shone brightly +overhead; around the town stood hills which no romantic scene-painter +could have bettered; the air of the man with water-cart, +of the auctioneer’s man with bell, and of the people popping in and +out of the shops, was the air of those who did these things for +love of play-acting on a stage.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, there was nothing to worry about, in +Timber Town; no ragged beggars, no yelling hawkers, no sad-eyed, +care-worn people, no thought for to-morrow. The chimneys smoked +for breakfast regularly at eight o’clock every morning; the play +of living began at nine, when the smiling folk met in the streets +and turned, the men into their offices to play at business, the women +into the shops where meat and good things to eat were to be had +for little more than love. Between twelve and two o’clock +everybody went home to dinner, and the cabs which stood in front +of the wooden Post Office, and dogs which slept on the pavement +beneath the verandahs, held possession of the streets.</p> + +<p>But if anyone would see the beauty and fashion of Timber Town, +from four to five in the afternoon was the hour. Then wives and +daughters, having finished playing at house-keeping for the day, +put on their gayest costumes, and visited the milliners. Southern +Cross Street buzzed with gaudy life; pretty women bowed, and +polite men raised their hats—just as people do in real cities—but, +as everybody knew everybody else, the bowing and hat-raising were +general, just as they are when the leading lady comes into the +presence of the chorus on the stage. Then the vision of gossiping, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +smiling humanity would pass away—the shops put up their shutters +at six o’clock; the game was over for the day, and all the chimneys +smoked for tea.</p> + +<p>Timber Town by night, except when the full moon shone, was +sombre, with nothing doing. The street lamps burnt but indifferent +gas; people stayed indoors, and read the piquant paragraphs of +<em>The Pioneer Bushman</em>, Timber Town’s evening journal, or fashioned +those gay dresses which by day helped to make the town so bright, +and went to bed early and slept with a soundness and tranquillity, +well-earned by the labour of playing so quaintly at the game of life.</p> + +<p>The hills which surrounded the little town pressed so closely +upon it, that by sheer weight they seemed likely to crush its frail +houses into matchwood. On one side mountains, some bare and +rugged, some clothed with forest, rose behind the foot-hills, and +behind them more mountains, which seemed to rise like the great +green billows of an angry sea. On one side stretched the blue of +the distant forest-covered ranges, upon the other the azure of the +encroaching ocean, which, finding a way between the encircling hills, +insinuated its creeping tides into the town itself. And overhead spread +the blue sky, for the sky above Timber Town was blue nine days +out of ten, and the clouds, when they came, performed their gloomy +mission quickly and dispersed with despatch, that the sun might +smile again and the playing of the people continue.</p> + +<p>No nest in the forest was ever more securely hid than was +Timber Town from the outside world. Secreted at the end of a +deep bay, that bay was itself screened from the ocean outside by +an extensive island and a sandspit which stretched for many a mile.</p> + +<p>Inaccessible by land, the little town was reached only by water, +and there, in that quiet eddy of the great ocean, lived its quiet, +quaint, unique existence.</p> + +<p>In such a place men’s characters develop along their own lines, +and, lacking that process of mental trituration which goes on in +large cities where many minds meet, they frequently attain an +interesting if strange maturity. In such a community there is opportunity +for the contemplation of mankind ignorant of poverty; and +such a happy state, begotten of plenty and nurtured by freedom, +has its natural expression in the demeanour of the people. It was +not characteristic of Timber Town to hoard, but rather to spend. +In a climate bright through the whole year, it was not natural that +the sorrows of life, where life was one long game, should press +heavily upon the players.</p> + +<p>But we come upon the little timber town at a time of transition +from sequestered peace to the roar and rush of a mining boom, and +if the stirring events of that time seem to change the tranquil +aspect of the scene, it is only that a breeze of life from outside +sweeps over its surface, as when a gust of wind, rushing from +high mountains upon some quiet lake nestling at their feet, stirs the +placid waters into foam.</p> + +<p>So through the wild scene, when the villain comes upon the +stage and the hidden treasure is brought to light, though the play +may seem to lose its pastoral character, it is to be remembered +that if tragedy may endure for the night, comedy comes surely +enough in the morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> +<h1>THE TALE OF TIMBER TOWN.</h1> + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Master-Goldsmith.</strong></p> + + +<p>Jake Ruggles leant over the goldsmith’s bench, put the end of +his blow-pipe into the gas-flame, and impinged a little oxygenized +jet upon the silver buckle he was soldering. He was a thin, undersized, +rabbit-faced youth, whose head was thatched with a shock +of coarse black hair. He possessed a pair of spreading black eyebrows +upon a forehead which was white when well washed, for Nature +had done honestly by the top of his head, but had realised, when +his chin was reached, the fatuity of spending more time upon the +moulding and adornment of the person of Jake Ruggles.</p> + +<p>The master-goldsmith was a rubicund man, with a face which +Jake, in a rage, had once described as that of “a pig with the +measles.” But this was, without doubt, a gross perversion of the +truth. Benjamin Tresco’s countenance was as benign as that of +Bacchus, and as open as the day. Its chief peculiarity was that +the brow and lashes of one eye were white, while piebald patches +adorned his otherwise red head.</p> + +<p>In his own eyes, the most important person in Timber Town was +Benjamin Tresco. But it was natural for him to think so, for +he was the only man of his trade in a town of six thousand people. +He was a portly person who took a broad view of life, and it was +his habit to remark, when folk commented on his rotundity, “I <em>am</em> +big. I don’t deny it. But I can’t help myself—God A’mighty made +me big, big in body, big in brain, big in appetite, big in desire to +break every established law and accepted custom; but I am prevented +from giving rein to my impulses by the expansiveness of my soul. +That I developed myself. I could go up the street and rob the Kangaroo +Bank; I could go to Mr. Crewe, the millionaire, and compel him +at the pistol’s mouth to transfer me the hoards of his life-time; I +could get blazing drunk three nights a week; I could kidnap Varnhagen’s +pretty daughter, and carry her off to the mountains; but my +soul prevents me—I am the battle-ground of contending passions. +One half of me says, ‘Benjamin, do these things’; the other half says, +‘Tresco, abstain. Be magnanimous: spare them!’ My appetites—and +they are enormous—say, ‘Benjamin Tresco, have a real good +time while you can; sail in, an’ catch a-holt of pleasure with both +hands.’ But my better part says, ‘Take your pleasure in mutual +enjoyments, Benjamin; fix your mind on book-learning and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +elevating Arts of peace.’ I am a bone of contention between Virtue +and License, an’ the Devil only knows which will get me in the end.”</p> + +<p>But at the time of introduction he was quietly engraving a little +plate of gold, which was destined to adorn the watch-chain of the +Mayor, who, after Mr. Crewe, was Timber Town’s most opulent +citizen.</p> + +<p>When the craftsman engraves, he fastens his plate of gold to +the end of a piece of wood, long enough to be held conveniently in +the hand, and as thick as the width of the precious metal. This he +holds in his left hand, and in his right the graver with which he +nicks out little pieces of gold according to design, which pieces fall +into the apron of the bench—and, behold! he is engraving. The work +needs contemplation, concentration, and attention; for every good +goldsmith carries the details of the design in his head. But, that +morning, there seemed to be none of these qualities in Benjamin +Tresco. He dropped his work with a suddenness that endangered +its fastenings of pitch, rapped the bench with the round butt of his +graver, and glared ferociously at Jake Ruggles.</p> + +<p>“What ha’ you got there?” he asked fiercely of his apprentice, +who sat with him at the bench and was now working industriously +with a blow-pipe upon the hoop of a gold ring. “Who told you to +stop soldering the buckles?”</p> + +<p>Jake turned his head sideways and looked at his master, like a +ferret examining an angry terrier; alert, deliberate, and full of resource.</p> + +<p>“It’s a bit of a ring I was give to mend,” he replied, “up at The +Lucky Digger.”</p> + +<p>Tresco stretched out a long arm, and took the gem. Then he +drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>“You’ve begun early, young man,” he exclaimed. “Would you +poach on my preserves? The young lady whose finger that ring +adorns I am wont to regard as my especial property, an’ a half-fledged +young <em>pukeko</em>, like you, presumes to cut me out! <em>You</em> mend +that lady’s trinkets? <em>You</em> lean over a bar, an’ court beauty adorned +in the latest fashion? <em>You</em> make love to my ‘piece’ by fixing up her +jewels? Young man, you’ve begun too early. Now, look-a-here, I +shall do this job myself—for love—I shall deliver this ring with my +own hand.” Tresco chuckled softly, and Jake laughed out loud.</p> + +<p>The scene had been a piece of play-acting. The apprentice, who +knew his master’s weakness for the pretty bar-maid at The Lucky +Digger was, as he expressed himself, “taking a rise out of the boss,” +and Tresco’s simulated wrath was the crisis for which he had schemed. +Between the two there existed a queer comradeship, which had been +growing for more than two years, so that the bald, rotund, red-faced +goldsmith had come to regard the shock-headed, rat-faced apprentice +more as a son than as an assistant; whilst Jake would say to the +youth of his “push,” “Huh! none o’ yer bashin’ an’ knockin’ about +fer me—the boss an’ me’s chums. Huh! you should be in <em>my</em> boots—we +have our pint between us reg’lar at eleven, just like pals.”</p> + +<p>Picking up the ring with a pair of tweezers, the master-jeweller +first examined its stone—a diamond—through a powerful lens. Next, +with a small feather he took up some little bits of chopped gold from +where they lay mixed with borax and water upon a piece of slate; +these he placed deftly where the gold hoop was weak; over the top +of them he laid a delicate slip of gold, and bound the whole together +with wire as thin as thread. This done, he put the jewel upon a piece +of charred wood, thrust the end of his blow-pipe into the flame of the +gas-burner, which he pulled towards him, and with three or four +gentle puffs through the pipe the mend was made. The goldsmith +threw the ring in the “pickle,” a green, deadly-looking chemical in an +earthenware pot upon the floor.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +Tresco was what the doctors call “a man of full habit.” He ate +largely, drank deeply, slept heavily, but, alas! he was a bachelor. +There was no comfortable woman in the room at the back of his +workshop to call in sweet falsetto, “Benjamin, come to dinner! Come +at once: the steak’s getting cold!” As he used to say, “This my +domicile lacks the female touch—there’s too much tobacco-ashes an’ +cobwebs about it: the women seem kind o’ scared to come near, as if +I might turn out to be a dog that bites.”</p> + +<p>The ring being pickled, Benjamin fished it out of the green liquid +and washed it in a bowl of clean water. A little filing and scraping, +a little rubbing with emery-paper, and the goldsmith burnished the +yellow circlet till it shone bright and new.</p> + +<p>“Who knows?” he exclaimed, holding up the glistening gem, “who +knows but it is the ring of the future Mrs. T.? Lord love her, I +have forty-eight pairs of socks full of holes, all washed and put away, +waiting for her to darn. Think of the domestic comfort of nearly +fifty pairs of newly-darned socks; with her sitting, stitching, on one +side of the fire, and saying, ‘Benjamin, these ready-made socks are +no good: <em>I</em> must knit them for you in future,’ and me, on the other +side, smiling like a Cheshire cat with pure delight, and saying: ‘Annie, +my dear, you’re an angel compacted of comfort and kindness: my love, +would you pass me a paper-light, <em>if</em> you please?’ But in the meantime +the bird must be caught. I go to catch it.”</p> + +<p>He slipped his dirty apron over his head, put on his coat and +weather-beaten hat of strange outlandish shape, placed the ring in a +dainty, silk-lined case, and sallied forth into the street.</p> + +<p>Timber Town burst on his benignant gaze. Over against him +stood a great wooden shop, painted brilliant blue; along the street +was another, of bright red; but most of the buildings were a sober +stone-colour or some shade of modest grey or brown. One side of the +street was verandah’d along its whole length, and the walks on either +side of the macadamised road were asphalted. Benjamin, wearing +the air of Bacchus courting the morning, walked a hundred yards +or so, till he came to the centre of the town, where four streets met. +At one corner stood the Kangaroo Bank; at another a big clothing-shop; +at the two others Timber Town’s rival hostelries—The Bushman’s +Tavern and The Lucky Digger. The Bank and hotels, conspicuous +amid the other buildings, had no verandahs in front of them, +but each was freshly painted; the Bushman’s Tavern a slate-blue, +The Lucky Digger a duck-egg green.</p> + +<p>The sun was hot; the iron on the roofs ticked in the heat and +reflected the rays of heaven. Benjamin paused on the edge of the +pavement, mopped his perspiring brow, and contemplated the garish +scene. Opposite the wooden Post Office, which flanked the “clothing +emporium,” stretched a rank of the most outlandish vehicles that +ever came within the category of cabs licensed to carry passengers. +Some were barouches which must have been ancient when Victoria +was crowned, and concerning which there was a legend that they came +out to the settlement in the first ships, in 1842; others were landaus, +constructed on lines substantial enough to resist collision with an +armoured train; but the majority were built on a strange American +plan, with a canopy of dingy leather and a step behind, so that the +fare, after progressing sideways like a crab, descended, at his journey’s +end, as does a burglar from “Black Maria.”</p> + +<p>Along the footpaths walked, in a leisurely manner, a goodly +sprinkling of Timber Town’s citizens, with never a ragged figure +among them.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the seediest-looking citizen “on the block” was Tresco +himself, but what he lacked in tailoring he made good in serene +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +benignity of countenance. His features, which beamed like the sun +shining above him, were recognised by all who passed by. It was, +“How do, Benjamin; bobbin’ up, old party?” “Mornin’, Tresco. You +remind me of the rooster that found the jewel—you look so bloomin’ +contented with yourself.” “Ah! good day, Mr. Tresco. I hope I see +you well. Remember, I still have that nice little bit of property for +sale. Take you to see it any time you like.”</p> + +<p>With Benjamin it was, “How do, Ginger? In a hurry? Go it—you’ll +race the hands round the clock yet.” “Good morning, Mr. Flint. +Lovely weather, yes, but hot. Now, half-a-pint is refreshing, but you +lawyers have no time—too many mortgages, conveyances, bills of sale +to think about. I understand. Good morning.” “Why, certainly, +Boscoe, my beloved pal. Did you say ‘half’?—I care not if it’s a +pint. Let us to the blushing Hebe of the bar.”</p> + +<p>Tresco and his friend, Boscoe, entered the portals of The Lucky +Digger. Behind the bar stood a majestic figure arrayed in purple +and fine linen. She had the development of an Amazon and the fresh +face of a girl from the shires of England. Through the down on +her cheek “red as a rose was she.”</p> + +<p>Tresco advanced as to the shrine of a goddess, and leant deferentially +over the bar. Never a word spoke he till the resplendent deity +had finished speaking to two commercial travellers who smoked cigars, +and then, as her eyes met his, he said simply, “Two pints, if you +please, miss.”</p> + +<p>The liquor fell frothing into two tankards; Boscoe put down the +money, and the goddess withdrew to the society of the bagmen, who +talked to her confidentially, as to their own familiar friend.</p> + +<p>Tresco eyed the group, smilingly, and said, “The toffs are in the +cheese, Boscoe. You’d think they’d a monopoly of Gentle Annie. +But wait till I get on the job.”</p> + +<p>Boscoe, a wizened little tinsmith, with the grime of his trade upon +him, looked vacuously to his front, and buried his nose in his pot of +beer.</p> + +<p>“Flash wimmen an’t in my line,” said he, as he smacked his lips, +“not but this yer an’t a fine ‘piece.’ But she’d cost a gold mine in +clo’es alone, let alone brooches and fallals. I couldn’t never run it.” +Here one of the gaudy bagmen stretched out his hand, and fingered the +bar-maid’s rings. The girl seemed nothing annoyed at this awkward +attention, but when her admirer’s fingers stole to her creamy chin, +she stepped back, drew herself up with infinite dignity, and said with +perfect enunciation, “Well, you <em>have</em> got an impudence. I must go +and wash my face.”</p> + +<p>She was about to leave the bar, when Tresco called after her, +“My dear, one minute.” From his pocket he drew the dainty ring-case, +and held it out to the girl, who took it eagerly. In a moment +the gem was on her finger. “You dear old bag of tricks!” she exclaimed. +“Is it for me?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly,” said Benjamin. “One moment.” He took the +ring between his forefinger and thumb, as if he were a conjurer about +to perform, glanced triumphantly round the bar-room, held the girl’s +hand gallantly in his, deliberately replaced the ring on her finger, +and said, “With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee worship; +with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, I’ll take the ring,” retorted the bar-maid, with mock +annoyance and a toss of her head, “but, really, I can’t be bothered +with your old carcase.”</p> + +<p>“Pleasing delusion,” said Tresco, unruffled. “It’s your own ring!”</p> + +<p>A close, quick scrutiny, and the girl had recognised her refurbished +jewel.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +“You bald-headed rogue!” she exclaimed. But Tresco had +vanished, and nothing but his laugh came back through the swinging +glass-door.</p> + +<p>The bagmen laughed too. But Gentle Annie regarded them indignantly, +and in scornful silence, which she broke to say, “And <em>now</em> +I shall go and wash my face.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Wreck of the Mersey Witch.</strong></p> + + +<p>The Maori is a brown man. His hair is straight, coarse, black, and +bright as jet. His eyes are brown, his teeth are pearly white; +and, when he smiles, those brown eyes sparkle and those white teeth +gleam. A Maori’s smile is one of Nature’s most complete creations.</p> + +<p>But as Enoko poked his head out of the door of the hut, his face +did not display merriment. Day was breaking; yet he could see +nothing but the flying scud and the dim outline of the shore; he +could hear nothing but the roar of the breakers, battering the boulders +of the beach.</p> + +<p>He came out of the hut, his teeth chattering with the rawness of +the morning; and made a general survey of the scene.</p> + +<p>“It’s too cold,” he muttered in his own language. “There’s too +much wind, too much sea.”</p> + +<p>With another look at the angry breakers, he went back into the +hut. “Tahuna,” he cried, “there’s no fishing to-day—the weather’s +bad.”</p> + +<p>Tahuna stirred under his blankets, sat up, and said in Maori, “I’ll +come and look for myself.”</p> + +<p>The two men went out into the cold morning air.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Tahuna, “it’s no good—there’s a north-east gale. +We had better go back to the <em>pa</em> when the day has well dawned.”</p> + +<p>The words were hardly out of his mouth, when a sudden veering +of the wind drew the scud from the sea and confined it to the crest +of the rocky, wooded cliff under which the Maoris stood. The sea +lay exposed, grey and foaming; but it was not on the sea that the +men’s eyes were riveted. There, in the roaring, rushing tide, a ship lay +helpless on the rocks.</p> + +<p>Enoko peered, as though he mistrusted the sight of his eye—he +had but one. Tahuna ran to the hut, and called, “Come out, both +of you. There’s a ship on the rocks!”</p> + +<p>From the hut issued two sleepy female forms, the one that of +the chief’s wife, the other that of a pretty girl. The former was +a typical Maori <em>wahine</em> of the better class, with regular features and +an abundance of long black hair; the latter was not more than +eighteen years old, of a lighter complexion, full-figured, and with a +good-natured face which expressed grief and anxiety in every feature. +“Oh!” she exclaimed, as a great wave broke over the helpless ship, +“the sailors will be drowned. What can we do?”</p> + +<p>“Amiria,” said the chief to her, “go back to the <em>pa</em>, and tell the +people to come and help. We three,”—he pointed to his wife, Enoko +and himself—“will see what we can do.”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the girl, “I can swim as well as any of you. I +shall stay, and help.” She ran along the beach to the point nearest +the wreck, and the others followed her.</p> + +<p>Tahuna, standing in the wash of the sea, cried out, “A rope! A +rope! A rope!” But his voice did not penetrate ten yards into the +face of the gale.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +Then all four, drenched with spray, shouted together, and with +a similar result.</p> + +<p>“If they could float a rope ashore,” said the chief, “we would +make it fast, and so save them.”</p> + +<p>The vessel lay outside a big reef which stretched between her +and the shore; her hull was almost hidden by the surf which broke +over her, the only dry place on her being the fore-top, which was +crowded with sailors; and it was evident that she must soon break +up under the battering seas which swept over her continually.</p> + +<p>“They can’t swim,” said the chief, with a gesture of disgust. +“The <em>pakeha</em> is a sheep, in the water. <em>We</em> must go to <em>them</em>. Now, +remember: when you get near the ship, call out for a rope. We can +drift back easily enough.”</p> + +<p>He walked seawards till the surf was up to his knees. The +others followed his example; the girl standing with the other woman +between the men.</p> + +<p>“Now,” cried Tahuna, as a great breaker retired; and the four +Maoris rushed forward, and plunged into the surf. But the force +of the next wave dashed them back upon the beach. Three times +they tried to strike out from the shore, but each time they were +washed back. Tahuna’s face was bleeding, Enoko limped as he rose +to make the fourth attempt, but the women had so far escaped unscathed.</p> + +<p>“When the wave goes out,” cried the chief, “rush forward, and +grasp the rocks at the bottom. Then when the big wave passes, +swim a few strokes, dive when the next comes, and take hold of the +rocks again.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a good plan,” said Enoko. “Let us try it.”</p> + +<p>A great sea broke on the shore; they all rushed forward, and +disappeared as the next wave came. Almost immediately their +black heads were bobbing on the water. There came another great +breaker, the four heads disappeared; the wave swept over the spot +where they had dived, but bore no struggling brown bodies with it. +Then again, but further out to sea, the black heads appeared, to +sink again before the next great wave. Strong in nerve, powerful +in limb were those amphibious Maoris, accustomed to the water from +the year of their birth.</p> + +<p>They were now fifty yards from the shore, and swam independently +of one another; diving but seldom, and bravely breasting +the waves.</p> + +<p>The perishing sailors, who eagerly watched the swimmers, raised +a shout, which gave the Maoris new courage.</p> + +<p>Between the Natives and the ship stretched a white line of +foam, hissing, roaring, boiling over a black reef which it was impossible +to cross. The tired swimmers, therefore, had to make a +painful detour. Slowly Tahuna and Enoko, who were in front, +directed their course towards a channel at one end of the reef, and +the women followed in their wake. They were swimming on their +sides, but all their strength and skill seemed of little avail in bringing +them any nearer to their goal. But suddenly Amiria dived +beneath the great billows, and when her tangled, wet mane reappeared, +she was in front of the men. They and the chief’s wife +followed her example, and soon all four swimmers had passed +through the channel. Outside another reef lay parallel to the first, +and on it lay the stranded ship, fixed and fast, with the green seas +pounding her to pieces.</p> + +<p>When the Maoris were some fifty yards from the wreck, they +spread themselves out in a line parallel to the reef on which lay +the ship, her copper plates exposed half-way to the keel. “Rope! +Rope! Rope!” shouted the Maoris. Their voices barely reached the +ship, but the sailors well knew for what the swimmers risked their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +lives. Already a man had unrove the fore-signal-halyards, the sailors +raised a shout and the coiled rope was thrown. It fell midway between +Tahuna and Enoko, where Amiria was swimming. Quickly +the brave girl grasped the life-line, and it was not long before her +companions were beside her.</p> + +<p>They now swam towards the channel. Once in the middle of +that, they turned on their backs and floated, each holding tight to +the rope, and the waves bearing them towards the shore.</p> + +<p>The return passage took only a few minutes, but to get through +the breakers which whitened the beach with foam was a matter of +life or death to the swimmers. They were grasped by the great +seas and were hurled upon the grinding boulders; they were sucked +back by the receding tide, to be again thrown upon the shore.</p> + +<p>Tahuna was the first to scramble out of the surf, though he +limped as he walked above high-water-mark. Amiria lay exhausted +on the very margin, the shallow surge sweeping over her; but the +rope was still in her hand. The chief first carried the girl up the +beach, and laid her, panting, on the stones; then he went back to +look for the others. His wife, with wonderful fortune, was carried +uninjured to his very feet, but Enoko was struggling in the back-wash +which was drawing him into a great oncoming sea. Forgetting +his maimed foot, the chief sprang towards his friend, seized hold of +him and a boulder simultaneously, and let the coming wave pass over +him and break upon the beach. Just as it retired, he picked up +Enoko, and staggered ashore with his helpless burden.</p> + +<p>For five minutes they all lay, panting and still. Then Amiria +got up and hauled on the life-line. Behind her a strange piece of +rock, shaped like a roughly-squared pillar, stood upright from the +beach. To this she made fast the line, on which she pulled hard +and strong. Tahuna rose, and helped her, and soon out of the surf +there came a two-inch rope which had been tied to the signal-halyards.</p> + +<p>When the chief and the girl had fixed the thicker rope round +the rock, Tahuna tied the end of the life-line about his waist, walked +to the edge of the sea, and held up his hand.</p> + +<p>That was a signal for the first man to leave the ship. He would +have to come hand-over-hand along the rope, through the waters that +boiled over the deadly rocks, and through the thundering seas that +beat the shore. And hand-over-hand he came, past the reef on which +the ship lay, across the wild stretch of deep water, over the second +and more perilous reef, and into the middle of the breakers of the +beach. There he lost his hold, but Tahuna dashed into the surf, and +seized him. The chief could now give no attention to his own safety, +but his wife and Amiria hauled on the life-line, and prevented him +and his burden from being carried seawards by the back-wash. And +so the first man was saved from the wreck of <em>The Mersey Witch</em>.</p> + +<p>Others soon followed; Tahuna became exhausted; his wife took +his place, and tied the life-line round her waist. After she had +rescued four men, Enoko came to himself and relieved her; and +Amiria, not to be outdone in daring, tied the other end of the line +about her waist, and took her stand beside the half-blind man.</p> + +<p>As the captain, who was the last man to leave the ship, was +dragged out of the raging sea, a troop of Maoris arrived from the +<em>pa</em> with blankets, food, and drink. Soon the newcomers had lighted +a fire in a sheltered niche of the cliff, and round the cheerful blaze +they placed the chilled and exhausted sailors.</p> + +<p>The captain, when he could speak, said to Tahuna, “Weren’t +you one of those who swam out to the ship?”</p> + +<p>“Yeh, boss, that me,” replied the chief in broken English. “You +feel all right now, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Where are the women we saw in the water?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +“T’e <em>wahine</em>?” said Tahuna. “They all right, boss.”</p> + +<p>“Where are they? I should like to see them. I should like to +thank them.”</p> + +<p>The chief’s wife, her back against the cliff, was resting after +her exertions. Amiria was attending to one of the men she had +dragged out of the surf, a tall, fair man, whose limbs she was chafing +beside the fire. When the chief called to his wife and the girl, +Amiria rose, and placing her Englishman in the charge of a big +Maori woman, she flung over her shoulders an old <em>korowai</em> cloak +which she had picked up from the beach, and pushing through the +throng, was presented to the captain.</p> + +<p>He was a short, thick-set man, weather-beaten by two score +voyages. “So you’re the girl we saw in the water,” said he. “Pleased +to meet you, miss, pleased to meet you,” and then after a pause, +“Your daughter, chief?”</p> + +<p>Amiria’s face broke into a smile, and from her pretty mouth +bubbled the sweetest laughter a man could hear.</p> + +<p>“Not my taughter,” replied Tahuna, as his wife approached, +“but this my <em>wahine</em>, what you call wife.”</p> + +<p>The Maori woman was smiling the generous smile of her race.</p> + +<p>“You’re a brave crowd,” said the captain. “My crew and I +owe you our lives. My prejudice against colour is shaken—I’m not +sure that it’ll ever recover the shock you’ve given it. A man may +sail round the world a dozen times, an’ there’s still something he’s +got to learn. I never would ha’ believed a man, let alone a woman, +could ha’ swum in such a sea. An’ you’re Natives of the country?—a +fine race, a fine race.” As they stood, talking, rain had commenced +to drive in from the sea. The captain surveyed the miserable +scene for a moment or two; then he said, “I think, chief, that +if you’re ready we’ll get these men under shelter.” And so, some +supported by their dusky friends, and some carried in blankets, the +crew of <em>The Mersey Witch</em>, drenched and cold, but saved from the +sea, were conveyed to the huts of the <em>pa</em>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Pilot’s Daughter.</strong></p> + + +<p>She came out of the creeper-covered house into a garden of roses, +and stood with her hand on a green garden-seat; herself a rosebud +bursting into perfection.</p> + +<p>Below her were gravelled walks and terraced flower-beds, cut +out of the hill-side on which the quaint, gabled house stood; her +fragrant, small domain carefully secreted behind a tall, clipped +hedge, over the top of which she could see from where she stood the +long sweep of the road which led down to the port of Timber Town.</p> + +<p>She was dressed in a plain, blue, cotton blouse and skirt; her +not over-tall figure swelling plumply beneath their starched folds. +Her hair was of a nondescript brown, beautified by a glint of gold, +so that her uncovered head looked bright in the sunlight. Her face +was such as may be seen any day in the villages which nestle beneath +the Sussex Downs, under whose shadow she was born; her +forehead was broad and white; her eyes blue; her cheeks the colour +of the blush roses in her garden; her mouth small, with lips coloured +pink like a shell on the beach. As she stood, gazing down the road, +shading her eyes with her little hand, and displaying the roundness +and whiteness of her arm to the inquisitive eyes of nothing more +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +lascivious than the flowers, a girl on horseback drew up at the gate, +and called, “Cooee!”</p> + +<p>She was tall and brown, dressed in a blue riding-habit, and in +her hand she carried a light, silver-mounted whip. She jumped +lightly from the saddle, opened the gate, and led her horse up the +drive.</p> + +<p>The fair girl ran down the path, and met her near the tethering-post +which stood under a tall bank.</p> + +<p>“Amiria, I <em>am</em> glad to see you!”</p> + +<p>“But think of all I have to tell you.” The brown girl’s intonation +was deep, and she pronounced every syllable richly. “We don’t +have a wreck every day to talk about.”</p> + +<p>“Come inside, and have some lunch. You must be famishing +after your long ride.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, I’m not hungry. <em>Taihoa</em>, by-and-by.”</p> + +<p>The horse was tied up securely, and the girls, a contrast of +blonde and brunette, walked up the garden-path arm-in-arm.</p> + +<p>“I have heard <em>such</em> things about you,” said the fair girl.</p> + +<p>“But you should see him, my dear,” said the brown. “You would +have risked a good deal to save him if you had been there—tall, +strong, struggling in the sea, and <em>so</em> helpless.”</p> + +<p>“You <em>are</em> brave, Amiria. It’s nonsense to pretend you don’t know +it. All the town is talking about you.” The white face looked at +the brown, mischievously. “And now that you have got him, my +dear, keep him.”</p> + +<p>Amiria’s laugh rang through the garden. “There is no hope +for me, if <em>you</em> are about, Miss Rose Summerhayes,” she said.</p> + +<p>“But wasn’t it perfectly awful? We heard you were drowned +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! I got wet, but that was all. Of course, if I was +weak or a bad swimmer, then there would have been no hope. But +I know every rock, every channel, where the sea breaks its force, +and where it is strongest. There was no danger.”</p> + +<p>“How many men?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-nine; and the one drowned makes thirty.”</p> + +<p>“And which is <em>the</em> particular one, your treasure trove? Of +course, he will marry you as soon as the water is out of his ears, and +make you happy ever afterwards.”</p> + +<p>Amiria laughed again. “First, he is handsome; next, he is a +<em>rangatira</em>, well-born, as my husband ought to be. I really don’t +know his name. Can’t you guess that is what I have come to find +out?”</p> + +<p>“You goose. You’ve come to unburden yourself. You were just +dying to tell me the story.”</p> + +<p>They had paused on the verandah, where they sat on a wooden +seat in the shade.</p> + +<p>“Anyway, the wreck is better for the Maori than a sitting of +the Land Court—there! The shore is covered with boxes and bales +and all manner of things. There are ready-made clothes for everyone +in the <em>pa</em>, boots, tea, tobacco, sugar, everything that the people +want—all brought ashore from the wreck and strewn along the +beach. The Customs’ Officers get some, but the Maori gets most. +I’ve brought you a memento.”</p> + +<p>She put her hand into the pocket of her riding-habit, and drew +out a little packet. “That is for you—a souvenir of the wreck.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it rather like stealing, to take what really belongs to +other people?”</p> + +<p>“Rubbish! Open it, and see for yourself,” said Amiria, smiling.</p> + +<p>Rose undid the packet’s covering, and disclosed a black leather-covered +case, much the worse for wear.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t injured by the water—it was in a tin-lined box,” said +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +the Maori girl. “It opens like a card-case.”</p> + +<p>Rose opened the little receptacle, which divided in the middle, and +there lay exposed a miniature portrait framed in oxidized silver.</p> + +<p>The portrait represented a beautiful woman, yellow-haired, with +blue eyes and a bright colour on her cheeks, lips which showed +indulgence in every curve, and a snow-white neck around which was +clasped a string of red coral beads.</p> + +<p>Rose fixed her eyes on the picture.</p> + +<p>“Why do you give me this?” she asked. “Who is it?”</p> + +<p>Amiria turned the miniature over. On its back was written +“Annabel Summerhayes.”</p> + +<p>Rose turned slightly pale as she read the name, and her breath +caught in her throat. “This must be my mother,” she said quietly. +“When she died, I was too young to remember her.”</p> + +<p>Both girls looked at the portrait; the brown face close to the +fair, the black hair touching the brown.</p> + +<p>“She must have been very good,” said Amiria, “—— look how +kind she is.”</p> + +<p>Rose was silent.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that a nice memento of the wreck,” continued the Maori +girl. “But anyhow you would have received it, for the Collector of +Customs has the packing-case in which it was found. However, I +thought you would like to get it as soon as possible.”</p> + +<p>“How kind you are,” said Rose, as she kissed Amiria. “This +is the only picture of my mother I have seen. I never knew what +she was like. This is a perfect revelation to me.”</p> + +<p>The tears were in her voice as well as in her eyes, and her lip +trembled. Softly one brown hand stole into her white one, and +another brown hand stole round her waist, and she felt Amiria’s +warm lips on her cheek. The two girls had been playmates as +children, they had been at school together, and had always shared +each other’s confidences, but this matter of Annabel Summerhayes +was one which her father had forbidden Rose to mention; and +around the memory of her mother there had grown a mystery which +the girl was unable to fathom.</p> + +<p>“Now that this has occurred, there is no harm in disobeying +my father,” she said. “He told me never to speak of my mother to +him or anyone else, but when you give me her picture, it would be +stupid to keep silence. She looks good, doesn’t she, Amiria? I think +she was good, but my father destroyed everything belonging to +her: he even took the trouble to change my name from Annabel to +Rose—that was after we arrived here and I was three years old. +I do not possess a single thing that was hers except this picture; +and even that I must hide, for fear my father should destroy it. +Come, we will go in.”</p> + +<p>They passed along the shady verandah, and entered the house. +Its rooms were dark and cool, and prettily if humbly furnished. +Rose took Amiria along a winding passage, up a somewhat narrow +flight of stairs, and into a bedroom which was in one of the many +gables of the wooden house. The Maori girl took off her hat and +gloves, and Rose, drawing a bunch of keys from her pocket, opened +a work-box which stood on the dressing-table, and in it she hid the +miniature of her mother. Then she turned, and confronted Amiria.</p> + +<p>The dark girl’s black hair, loosened by riding, had escaped from +its fastenings, and now fell rippling down her back.</p> + +<p>“It’s a great trouble,” she said. “Nothing will hold it—it is like +wire. The pins drop out, and down it all comes.”</p> + +<p>Rose was combing and brushing the glossy, black tresses. “I’ll +try <em>my</em> hand,” said she. “The secret is plenty of pins; you don’t use +enough of them. Pins, I expect, are scarce in the <em>pa</em>.” She had +fastened up one long coil, and was holding another in place with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +her white fingers, when a gruff voice roared through the house:—</p> + +<p>“Rosebud, my gal! Rosebud, I say! What’s taken the child?”</p> + +<p>Whilst the two girls had been in the bedroom, three figures had +come into sight round the bend of the beach-road. They walked +slowly, with heavy steps and swaying gait, after the manner of +sailor-men. As they ascended the winding pathway leading to the +house, they argued loudly.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so, Cap’n Summerhayes,” said the short, thick-set man, +with a blanket wrapped round him in lieu of a coat, to the big +burly man on his left, “I stood off and on, West-Nor’-West and +East-Sou’-East, waiting for the gale to wear down and let me get +into your tuppeny little port. Now <em>you</em> are pilot, I reckon. What +would <em>you</em> ha’ done?”</p> + +<p>“What would I ha’ done, Sartoris?” asked the bulky man +gruffly. “Why, damme, I’d ha’ beat behind Guardian Point, and +took shelter.”</p> + +<p>“In the dark?”</p> + +<p>“In the dark, I tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Then most likely, Pilot, you’d ha’ run <em>The Witch</em> on the Three +Sisters’ reefs, or Frenchman’s Island. I stood off an’ on, back’ard +an’ forrard.”</p> + +<p>“An’ shot yourself on to the rocks.”</p> + +<p>The third man said nothing. He was looking at the Pilot’s +house and the flowers while the two captains paused to argue, and +fidgeted with the blanket he wore over his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Well, come in, come in,” said the Pilot. “We’ll finish the +argyment over a glass an’ a snack.” And then it was that he had +roared for his daughter, who, leaving Amiria to finish her toilet, +tripped downstairs to meet her father.</p> + +<p>“Why, Rosebud, my gal, I’ve been calling this half-hour,” exclaimed +the gruff old Pilot. “An’ here’s two gentlemen I’ve brought +you, two shipwrecked sailors—Cap’n Sartoris, of <em>The Mersey Witch</em>, +and Mr. Scarlett.” His voice sounded like the rattling of nails in +a keg, and his manner was as rough as his voice.</p> + +<p>Each blanketed man stepped awkwardly forward and shook +hands with the girl, first the captain, and then the tall, uncomfortable-looking, +younger man, who turned the colour indicated by his +name.</p> + +<p>“What they want is a rig-out,” rumbled the Pilot of Timber +Town; “some coats, Rosebud; some shirts, and a good feed.” The +grizzled old mariner’s face broke into a grim smile. “I’m Cap’n +Summerhayes, an’t I? I’m Pilot o’ this port, an’t I?—an’ Harbour +Master, in a manner o’ speaking? Very good, my gal. In all those +capacities—regardless that I’m your dad—I tell you to make these +gen’lemen comfortable, as if they were at home; for you never know, +Rosebud, when you may be entertaining a husband unawares. You +never know.” And, chuckling, the old fellow led the shipwrecked +men into his bedroom.</p> + +<p>When they had been provided with suits belonging to the Pilot, +they were shown into the parlour, where they sat with their host +upon oak chairs round a battered, polished table, with no cloth +upon it.</p> + +<p>Captain Sartoris was a moderately good-looking man, if a trifle +weather-beaten, but dressed in the Pilot’s clothes he was in danger +of being lost and smothered; and Scarlett bore himself like one who +laboured under a load of misery almost too great to be borne, but +he had wisely rejected the voluminous coat proffered by his benefactor, +and appeared in waistcoat and trousers which gave him the +appearance of a growing boy dressed in his father’s cast-off apparel.</p> + +<p>Such was the guise of the shipwrecked men as they sat hiding +as much of themselves as possible under the Pilot’s table, whilst +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +Rose Summerhayes bustled about the room. She took glasses from +the sideboard and a decanter from a dumb-waiter which stood +against the wall, and placed them on the table.</p> + +<p>“And Rosebud, my gal,” said the Pilot, “as it’s quite two hours +to dinner, we’ll have a morsel of bread and cheese.”</p> + +<p>The French window stood open, and from the garden was blown +the scent of flowers.</p> + +<p>Rose brought the bread and cheese, and stood with her hands +folded upon her snowy apron, alert to supply any further wants of +the guests.</p> + +<p>“And whose horse is that on the drive?” asked the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“Amiria’s,” replied his daughter.</p> + +<p>“Good: that’s a gal after my heart. I’m glad she’s come.”</p> + +<p>“Take a chair, miss,” said Captain Sartoris from the depths of +the vast garments that encumbered him.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” replied Rose, “but I’ve the dinner to cook.”</p> + +<p>“Most domestic, I’m sure,” continued Sartoris, trying hard to +say the correct thing. “Most right an’ proper. Personally, I like +to see young ladies attend to home dooties.”</p> + +<p>Rose laughed. “Which is to say the comfort of you men.”</p> + +<p>“My gal,” said her father sternly, “we have all we want. Me +an’ these gen’lemen will be quite happy till dinner-time.”</p> + +<p>Rose stooped to pick up the boots which her father had discarded +for a pair of carpet-slippers, and rustled out of the room.</p> + +<p>“Gen’lemen,” said the Pilot of Timber Town, “we’ll drink to +better luck next time.”</p> + +<p>The three men carefully filled their glasses, emptied them in +solemn silence, and put them almost simultaneously with a rattle on +the polished table.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed the Pilot, after a long-drawn breath. “Four +over proof. Soft as milk, an’t it? Goes down like oil, don’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Most superior tipple,” replied the skipper, “but you had your +losses in <em>The Witch</em>, same as me and the owners. I had aboard +six cases of the finest port as ever you tasted, sent out for you +by your brother; senior partner of the firm, Mr. Scarlett. ‘Cap’n +Sartoris,’ he says, ‘I wish you good luck and a prosperous voyage, +but take care o’ that port wine for my brother. There’s dukes +couldn’t buy it.’ ‘No, sir,’ I says to him, ‘but shipowners an’ dukes +are different. Shipowners usually get the pick of a cargo.’ He +laughed, an’ I laughed: which we wouldn’t ha’ done had we known +<em>The Witch</em> was going to be piled up on this confounded coast.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot had risen to his feet. His face was crimson with +excitement, and his brow dark with passion.</p> + +<p>“Cap’n Sartoris!” he exclaimed, as he brought his fist with a +bang upon the table, so that the decanter and tumblers rattled, +“every sea-faring man hates to see a good ship wrecked, whoever +the owner may be. None’s more sorry than me to see the bones of +your ship piled on that reef. But when you talk about bringing me +a present o’ wine from my brother, you make my blood boil. To +Hell with him and all his ships!” With another bang upon the +table, he paced up and down, breathing deeply, and trembling with +passion still unvented.</p> + +<p>Sartoris and Scarlett looked with astonishment at the suddenly +infuriated man.</p> + +<p>“As for his cursed port wine,” continued the Pilot, “let him +keep it. <em>I</em> wouldn’t drink it.”</p> + +<p>“In which case,” said the skipper, “if I’d ha’ got into port, I’d +ha’ been most happy to have drank it myself.”</p> + +<p>“I’d have lent you a hand, Captain,” said Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“Most happy,” replied Sartoris. “We’d ha’ drank the firm’s +health, and the reconciliation o’ these two brothers. But, Pilot, let +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +me ask a question. What on this earth could your brother, Mr. +Summerhayes, ha’ done to make you reject six cases o’ port—reject +’em with scorn: six cases o’ the best port as was ever shipped to this +or any other country? Now, that’s what puzzles me.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Cap’n Sartoris—without any ill-feeling to you, though +I do disagree with your handling o’ that ship—I say you’ll have to +puzzle it out. But I ask this: If <em>you</em> had a brother who was the +greatest blackguard unhung, would <em>you</em> drink his port wine?”</p> + +<p>“It would largely depend on the quality,” said the skipper—“the +quality of the wine, not o’ the man.”</p> + +<p>“The senior partner of your firm is my brother.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. I don’t deny it.”</p> + +<p>“If he hadn’t been my brother I’d ha’ killed him as sure as God +made little apples. He’d a’ bin dead this twenty year. It was the +temptation to do it that drove me out of England; and I vowed I’d +never set foot there while he lived. And he sends me presents of +port wine. I wish it may choke him! I wish he may drink himself +to death with it! Look you here, Sartoris: you bring back the +anger I thought was buried this long while; you open the wound that +twelve thousand miles of sea and this new country were healing. +But—but I thank God I never touched him. I thank God I never +proved as big a blackguard as he. But don’t mention his name to +me. If you think so much of him that you must be talking, talk to +my gal, Rosebud. Tell her what a fine man she’s got for an uncle, +how rich he is, how generous—but <em>I</em> shall never mention his name. +I’m a straight-spoken man. If I was to tell my gal what I thought of +him, I should fill her with shame that such a man should be kindred +flesh and blood.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot had stood still to deliver this harangue, and he now +sat down, and buried his face in his hands. When he again raised +his head, the skipper without a ship was helping himself sorrowfully +to more of the whisky that was four over proof.</p> + +<p>Slowly the rugged Pilot rose, and passed out of the French +window into the garden of roses and the sunlight.</p> + +<p>“I think,” said Sartoris, passing the decanter to Scarlett, “that +another drop o’ this will p’raps straighten us up a bit, and help us +to see what we’ve gone an’ done. For myself, I own I’ve lost my +bearings and run into a fog-bank. I’d be glad if some one would +help me out.”</p> + +<p>“The old man’s a powder-magazine, to which you managed to +put a match. That’s how it is, Captain. These many years he’s +been a sleeping volcano, which has broken suddenly into violent +eruption.”</p> + +<p>Both men, figures comical enough for a pantomime, looked +seriously at each other; but not so Amiria, whose face appeared in the +doorway.</p> + +<p>“It’s a mystery, a blessed puzzle; but I’d give half-a-crown for +a smoke,” said Sartoris, looking wistfully at the Pilot’s tobacco-pipes +on the mantelpiece. “I wonder if the young lady would object if +I had a draw.”</p> + +<p>There was an audible titter in the passage.</p> + +<p>“A man doesn’t realise how poor he can be till he gets shipwrecked,” +said Scarlett: “then he knows what the loss of his pipe +and ’baccy means.”</p> + +<p>There was a scuffling outside the door, and the young lady with +the brown eyes was forcibly pushed into the room.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rose, I’m ashamed,” exclaimed the Maori girl, as the +Pilot’s daughter pushed her forward. “But you two men are so +funny and miserable, that I can’t help myself,”—she laughed good-naturedly—“and +there’s Captain Summerhayes, fretting and fuming +in the garden, as if he’d lost a thousand pounds.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +The scarecrows had risen respectfully to their feet, when +suddenly the humour of the situation struck them, and they laughed +in unison; and Amiria, shaking with merriment, collapsed upon the +sofa, and hid her mirth in its cushions.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said the skipper, “it’s not the clo’es that make +the man. Thank God for that, Scarlett. Clo’es can’t make a man +a bigger rogue than he is.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God for this.” Scarlett tapped his waist. “I’ve got +here what will rig you out to look less like a Guy Fawkes. You had +your money in your cabin when the ship struck; mine is in my belt.”</p> + +<p>“I wondered, when I pulled you ashore,” said the Maori girl, +“what it was you had round your waist.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett looked intently at the girl on the sofa.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean <em>you</em> are the girl that saved me? You have +metamorphosed yourself. Do you dress for a new character every +day? Does she make a practice of this sort of thing, Miss Summerhayes—one +day, a girl in the <em>pa</em>; the next, a young lady of Timber +Town?”</p> + +<p>“Amiria is two people in one,” replied Rose, “and I have not +found out which of them I like most, and I have known them both +for ten years.”</p> + +<p>“Most interesting,” said Captain Sartoris, shambling forward in +his marvellous garb, and taking hold of the Maori girl’s hand. “The +privilege of a man old enough to be your father, my dear. I was +glad to meet you on the beach—no one could ha’ been gladder—but +I’m proud to meet you in the house of my old friend, Cap’n +Summerhayes, and in the company of this young lady.” There +could be no doubt that the over-proof spirit was going to the skipper’s +head. “But how did you get here, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“I rode,” replied Amiria, rising from the sofa. “My horse is on +the drive. Come and see him.”</p> + +<p>She led the way through the French-window, and linked arms +with Rose, whilst the two strange figures followed like a couple of +characters in a comic opera.</p> + +<p>On the drive stood the Pilot, who held Amiria’s big bay horse +as if it were some wild animal that might bite. He had passed round +the creature’s neck a piece of tarred rope, which he was making fast +to the tethering-post, while he exclaimed, “Whoa, my beauty. Stand +still, stand still. Who’s going to hurt you?”</p> + +<p>The Maori girl, holding her skirt in one hand, tripped merrily +forward and took the rope from the old seaman’s grasp.</p> + +<p>“Really, Captain,” she said, laughing, “why didn’t you tie his +legs together, and then lash him to the post? There, there, Robin.” +She patted the horse’s neck. “You don’t care about eating pilots, +or salt fish, do you, Robin?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll turn him into the paddock up the hill,” said Rose. “Dinner’s +ready, and I’m sure the horse is not more hungry than some +of us.”</p> + +<p>“None more so than Mr. Scarlett an’ myself,” said Sartoris, +“—— we’ve not had a sit-down meal since we were wrecked.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Rachel Varnhagen.</strong></p> + + +<p>He sat on a wool-bale in his “store,” amid bags of sugar, chests of +tea, boxes of tobacco, octaves of spirits, coils of fencing-wire, bales +of hops, rolls of carpets and floor-cloth, piles of factory-made clothes, +and a miscellaneous collection of merchandise.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +Old Varnhagen was a general merchant who, with equal complacency, +would sell a cask of whisky, or purchase the entire wool-clip +of a “run” as big as an English county. Raising his eyes from +a keg of nails, he glanced lovingly round upon his abundant stock +in trade; rubbed his fat hands together; chuckled; placed one great +hand on his capacious stomach to support himself as his laughter +vibrated through his ponderous body, and then he said, “’Tear me, +’tear me, it all com’ to this. ’Tear, ’tear, how it make me laff. It +jus’ com’ to this: the Maoris have got his cargo. All Mr. Cookenden’s +scheming to beat me gifs me the pull over him. ’Tear me, it +make me ill with laffing. If I believed in a God, I should say Jehovah +haf after all turn his face from the Gentile, and fight for his Chosen +People. The cargo is outside the port: a breath of wind, and it is +strewn along the shore. Now, that’s what I call an intervention of +Providence.”</p> + +<p>He got off the wool-bale much in the manner in which a big seal +clumsily takes the water, and walked up and down his store; hands in +pockets, hat on the back of his head, and a complacent smile overspreading +his face. As he paused at the end of the long alleyway, +formed by his piles of merchandise, and turned again to traverse the +length of the warehouse, he struck an attitude of contemplation.</p> + +<p>“Ah! but the insurance?” he exclaimed. As he stood, with bent +head and grave looks, he was the typical Jew of the Ghetto; crafty, +timid, watchful, cynical, cruel; his grizzled hair, close-clipped, crisp, +and curly; his face pensive, and yellow as a lemon.</p> + +<p>“But he will haf seen to that: I gif him that much credit. But +in the meantime he is without his goods, and the money won’t be +paid for months. That gif me a six-months’ pull over him.”</p> + +<p>The old smile came back, and he began to pace the store once +more.</p> + +<p>There was a rippling laugh at the further end of the building +where Varnhagen’s private office, partitioned off with glass and +boards from the rest of the store, opened on the street. It was a +laugh the old man knew well, for he hopped behind a big pile of +bales like a boy playing hide-and-seek, and held his breath in expectation.</p> + +<p>Presently, there bustled into the warehouse a vision of muslin +and ribbons. Her face was the face of an angel. It did not contain +a feature that might not have been a Madonna’s. She had a lemon-yellow +complexion, brightened by a flush of carmine in the cheeks; +her eyes were like two large, lustrous, black pearls; her hair, parted +in the middle, was glossy and waving; her eyebrows were pencilled +and black; her lips were as red as the petals of the geranium. But +though this galaxy of beauties attracted, it was the exquisite moulding +of the face that riveted the attention of Packett, the Jew’s storeman, +who had conducted the dream of loveliness to the scene.</p> + +<p>She tapped the floor impatiently with her parasol.</p> + +<p>“Fa-ther!”</p> + +<p>She stamped her dainty foot in pretty anger.</p> + +<p>“The aggravating old bird! I expect he’s hiding somewhere.”</p> + +<p>There came a gurgling chuckle from amid the piled-up bales.</p> + +<p>The girl stood, listening. “Come out of that!” she cried. But +there was never another sound—the chuckling had ceased.</p> + +<p>She skirmished down a by-alley, and stormed a kopje of rugs +and linoleums; but found nothing except the store tom-cat in hiding +on the top. Having climbed down the further side, she found herself +in a difficult country of enamelled ware and wooden buckets, but +successfully extricating herself from this entanglement she ascended a +spur of carpet-rolls, and triumphantly crowned the summit of the +lofty mountain of wool-bales. The country round lay at her feet, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +and half-concealed behind a barrel of Portland cement she saw the +crouching form of the enemy.</p> + +<p>Her head was up among the timbers of the roof, and hanging +to nails in the cross-beams were countless twisted lengths of clothesline, +and with these dangerous projectiles she began to harass the +foe. Amid the hail of hempen missiles the white flag was hoisted, +and the enemy surrendered.</p> + +<p>“Rachel! Rachel! Come down, my girl. You’ll break your +peautiful neck. Packett, what you stand there for like a wooden +verandah-post? Go up, and help Miss Varnhagen down. Take care!—my +’tear Rachel!—look out for that bucket!—mind that coil of +rubber-belting! Pe careful! That bale of hops is ofer! My ’tear +child, stand still, I tell you; wait till I get the ladder.”</p> + +<p>With Packett in a position to cut off retreat, and the precipice +of wool-bales in front, Rachel sat down and shook with laughter.</p> + +<p>Varnhagen naturally argued that his pretty daughter’s foot, now +that the tables were so suddenly turned upon her, would with the +storeman’s assistance be quickly set upon the top rung of the ladder +which was now in position. But he had not yet learned all Rachel’s +stratagems.</p> + +<p>“No!” she cried. “I think I’ll stay here.”</p> + +<p>“My child, my Rachel, you will fall!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no: it’s as firm as a rock. No, Packett, you can go +down. I shall stay here.”</p> + +<p>“But, my ’tear Rachel, you’ll be killed! Come down, I beg.”</p> + +<p>“Will you promise to do what I want?”</p> + +<p>“My ’tear daughter, let us talk afterwards. I can think of +nothing while you are in danger of being killed in a moment!”</p> + +<p>“I want that gold watch in Tresco’s window. I sha’n’t come +down till you say I can have it.”</p> + +<p>“My peautiful Rachel, it is too expensive. I will import you +one for half the price. Come down before it is too late.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the good of watches in London? I want that watch +at Tresco’s, to wear going calling. Consent, father, before it is too +late.”</p> + +<p>“My loafly, how much was the watch?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-five pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that is too much. First, you will ruin me, and kill yourself +afterwards to spite my poverty. Rachel, you make your poor old +father quite ill.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am to have the watch?”</p> + +<p>“Nefer mind the watch. Some other time talk to me of the +watch. Come down safe to your old father, before you get killed.”</p> + +<p>“But I <em>do</em> mind the watch. It’s what I came for. I shall stay +here till you consent.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rachel, you haf no heart. You don’t loaf your father.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t love your daughter, else you’d give me what I want.”</p> + +<p>“I not loaf you, Rachel! Didn’t I gif you that ring last week, +and the red silk dress the week pefore? Come down, my child, and +next birthday you shall have a better watch than in all Tresco’s +shop. My ’tear Rachel, my ’tear child, you’ll be killed; and what +good will be your father’s money to him then? Oh! that bale moved. +Rachel! sit still.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’ll give me the watch?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes. You shall have the watch. Come down now, while +Packett holds your hand.”</p> + +<p>“Can I have it to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Be careful, Packett. Oh! that bale is almost ofer.”</p> + +<p>“Will you give it me this morning, father?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Before I go home to dinner?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +“Yes, pefore dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Packett, give me your hand. I will come down.”</p> + +<p>The dainty victress placed her little foot firmly on the uppermost +rung; and while Packett held the top, and the merchant the +bottom, of the ladder, the dream of muslin and ribbons descended to +the floor.</p> + +<p>Old Varnhagen gave a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>“You’ll nefer do that again, Rachel?”</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall never need to.”</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t upset your poor old father like that, Rachel.”</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t drive me to use such means to make you do your +duty.”</p> + +<p>“My duty!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, to give me that watch.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, the watch. I forgot it.”</p> + +<p>“I shall go now, and get it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my child, get it.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll say you will pay at the end of the month.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will pay—perhaps at the end of the month, perhaps it +will go towards a contra account for watches I shall supply to +Tresco. We shall see.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, father.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Rachel; but won’t you gif your old father a kiss +pefore you go?”</p> + +<p>The vision of muslin and ribbons laid her parasol upon an upturned +barrel, and came towards the portly Jew. Her soft dress +was crumpled by his fat hand, and her pretty head was nestled on +his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Ah! my ’tear Rachel. Ah! my peautiful. You loaf your old +father. My liddle taughter, I gif you everything; and you loaf me +very moch, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I do. And won’t it look well with a brand-new gold +chain to match?”</p> + +<p>“Next time my child wants something, she won’t climb on the +wool-bales and nearly kill herself?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. I shall wear it this afternoon when I go out +calling.”</p> + +<p>“Now kiss me, and run away while I make some more money for +my liddle Rachel.”</p> + +<p>The saintly face raised itself, and looked with a smile into the +face of the old Jew; and then the bright red lips fixed themselves +upon his wrinkled cheek.</p> + +<p>“You are a good girl; you are my own child; you shall have +everything you ask; you shall have all I’ve got to give.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, father. Thanks awfully much.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Rachel.”</p> + +<p>The girl turned; the little heels tapped regularly on the floor; +the pigeon-like walk was resumed; and Rachel Varnhagen, watched +by the loving eyes of her father, passed into the street.</p> + +<p>The gold-buying clerk at the Kangaroo Bank was an immaculately +dressed young man with a taste for jewelry. In his tie he wore a +pearl, in a gold setting shaped like a diminutive human hand; his +watch-chain was of gold, wrought in a wonderful and extravagant +design. As he stepped through the swinging, glazed doors of the +Bank, and stood on the broad step without, at the witching hour of +twelve, he twirled his small black moustache so as to display to +advantage the sparkling diamond ring which encircled the little +finger of his left hand. His Semitic features wore an expression of +great self-satisfaction, and his knowing air betokened intimate knowledge +of the world and all that therein is. He nodded familiarly to +a couple of young men who passed by, and glanced with the appreciative +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +eye of a connoisseur at the shop-girls who were walking +briskly to their dinners.</p> + +<p>Loitering across the pavement he stood upon the curbing, and +looked wistfully up and down the street. Presently there hove in +sight a figure that riveted his attention: it was Rachel Varnhagen, +with muslins blowing in the breeze and ribbons which streamed behind, +approaching like a ship in full sail.</p> + +<p>The gold-clerk crossed over the street to meet her, and raised his +hat.</p> + +<p>“You’re in an awful hurry. Where bound, Rachel?”</p> + +<p>“If <em>your</em> old Dad told <em>you</em> to go and buy a gold watch and chain, +<em>you’d</em> be in a hurry, lest he might change his mind.”</p> + +<p>“My soul hankers after something dearer than watches and +chains. If your Dad would give me leave, I’d annex his most precious +jewel before he could say, ‘Knife!’ He’d never get a chance to +change his mind. But he always says, ‘My boy, you wait till you’re +a manager, and can give me a big overdraft.’ At that rate we shall +have to wait till Doomsday.”</p> + +<p>“The watch is at Tresco’s. Come along: help me turn the shop +upside down to find the dandiest.”</p> + +<p>“How d’you manage to get round the Governor, Rachel? I’d +like to know the dodge.”</p> + +<p>“He wouldn’t mind if <em>you</em> fell off a stack of bales and broke your +neck. He’d say, ‘Thank God! that solves that liddle difficulty.’”</p> + +<p>“Wool bales? Has wool gone up? I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you don’t, stupid. If you were on the top of a pile +of swaying bales, old Podge would say, ‘Packett, take away the +ladder: that nice young man must stay there. It’s better for him to +die than marry Rachel—she’d drive him mad with bills in a month.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that wouldn’t trouble me—I’d draw on <em>him</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, would you?” Rachel laughed sceptically. “You don’t know +the Gov. if you think that. You couldn’t bluff him into paying a +shilling. But <em>I</em> manage him all right. <em>I</em> can get what I want, from +a trip to Sydney to a gold watch, dear boy.”</p> + +<p>“Then why don’t you squeeze a honeymoon out of him?—that +would be something new, Rachel.”</p> + +<p>She actually paused in her haste.</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t it be splendid!” she exclaimed, putting her parasol +well back behind her head, so that the glow of its crimson silk formed +a telling background to her face. “Wouldn’t it be gorgeous? But +as soon as I’m married he will say, ‘No, Rachel, my dear child, your +poor old father is supplanted—your husband now has the sole privilege +of satisfying your expensive tastes. Depend on him for everything +you want.’ What a magnificent time I should have on your +twelve notes a month!”</p> + +<p>The spruce bank-clerk was subdued in a moment, in the twinkling +of one of Rachel’s beautiful black eyes—his matrimonial +intentions had been rudely reduced to a basis of pounds, shillings +and pence.</p> + +<p>But just at this embarrassing point of the conversation they +turned into Tresco’s doorway, and confronted the rubicund goldsmith, +whose beaming smile seemed to fill the whole shop.</p> + +<p>“I saw an awf’ly jolly watch in your window,” said Rachel.</p> + +<p>“Probably. Nothing more likely, Miss Varnhagen,” replied +Benjamin. “Gold or silver?”</p> + +<p>“Gold, of course! Let me see what you’ve got.”</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly.” Tresco took gold watches from the window, +from the glass case on the counter, from the glass cupboard that +stood against the wall, from the depths of the great iron safe, +from everywhere, and placed them in front of the pretty Jewess. +Then he glanced with self-approval at the bank-clerk, and said: +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +“I guarantee them to keep perfect time. And, after all, there’s +nothing like a good watch—a young lady cannot keep her appointments, +or a young man be on time, without a watch. Most important: +no one should be without it.”</p> + +<p>Rachel was examining the chronometers, one by one; opening and +shutting their cases, examining their dials, peering into their mysterious +works. She had taken off her gloves, and her pretty hands, +ornamented with dainty rings, were displayed in all their shapeliness +and delicacy.</p> + +<p>“What’s the price?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Prices to suit all buyers,” said Tresco. “They go from ten +pounds upwards. This is the one I recommend—it carries a guarantee +for five years—jewelled throughout, in good, strong case—duplex +escapement—compensation balance. Price £25.” He held +up a gold chronometer in a case which was flat and square, with +rounded corners, and engraved elaborately—a watch which would +catch the eye and induce comment.</p> + +<p>The jeweller had gauged the taste of his fair customer.</p> + +<p>“Oh! the duck.”</p> + +<p>“The identical article, the ideal lady’s watch,” said Tresco, +unctuously.</p> + +<p>“And now the chain,” said Rachel.</p> + +<p>Benjamin took a dozen lady’s watch-guards from a blue velvet +pad, and handed them to the girl.</p> + +<p>The gold clerk of the Kangaroo Bank stood by, and watched, as +Rachel held the dainty chains, one by one, across her bust.</p> + +<p>“Quite right, sir, quite right,” remarked the goldsmith. “When +a gentleman makes a present to a lady, let him do the thing handsome. +Them’s my sentiments.”</p> + +<p>The girl looked at Tresco, and laughed.</p> + +<p>“This is to be booked to my father,” she said. “There, that’s +the one I like best.” She held out an elaborate chain, with a round +bauble hanging from it. “If you had to depend on Mr. Zahn, here, +you’d have to wait till the cows came home.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin was wrapping up the watch in a quantity of tissue +paper.</p> + +<p>“No, no. I’ll wear it,” exclaimed Rachel. One dainty hand +stretched forward and took the watch, while the other held the +chain. “There,” she said, as she handed the precious purchase to +her sweetheart, “fix it on.”</p> + +<p>She threw her head back, laid her hand lightly on the young +man’s arm, and allowed him to tuck the watch into her bodice and +fasten the chain around her neck.</p> + +<p>He lingered long over the process.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I would,” said the voice from behind the counter. “I most +certainly should give her one on the cheek, as a reward. Don’t +mind me; I’ve done it myself when I was young, before I lost my +looks.”</p> + +<p>The young man stepped back, and Rachel, after the manner of +a pouter pigeon, nestled her chin on her breast, in her endeavour to +see how the watch looked in wearing. Then she tapped the floor +with the toe of her shoe indignantly, and said, looking straight at +the goldsmith: “You lost your looks? What a find they must have +been for the man who picked them up. If I were you, I’d advertise +for them, and offer a handsome a reward—they must be +valuable.”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly, they were,” replied Benjamin, his smile spreading +across his broad countenance, “they were the talk of all my +lady friends and the envy of my rivals.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +“I expect it was the rivals that spoilt them. But don’t cry +over spilt milk, old gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not, most decidedly not—there are compensations. The +price of the watch and chain is £33.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind the price. <em>I</em> don’t want to know the price—that’ll +interest my Dad. Send the account to him, and make yourself +happy.”</p> + +<p>And, touching her sweetheart’s arm as a signal for departure, +the dazzling vision of muslins and ribbons vanished from the shop.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Bill the Prospector.</strong></p> + + +<p>He came down the street like a dog that has strayed into church +during sermon-time; a masterless man without a domicile. He was +unkempt and travel-stained; his moleskin trousers, held up by a +strap buckled round his waist, were trodden down at the heels; +under the hem of his coat, a thing of rents and patches, protruded +the brass end of a knife-sheath. His back was bent under the +weight of his neat, compact swag, which contained his six-by-eight +tent and the blankets and gear necessary to a bushman. He helped +his weary steps with a long <em>manuka</em> stick, to which still clung the +rough red bark, and looking neither to left nor right, he steadfastly +trudged along the middle of the road. What with his ragged black +beard which grew almost to his eyes, and the brim of his slouch +hat, which had once been black, but was now green with age and +weather, only the point of his rather characterless nose and his +two bright black eyes were visible. But though to all appearances +he was a desperate ruffian, capable of robbery and cold-blooded +murder, his was a welcome figure in Timber Town. Men turned +to look at him as he tramped past in his heavy, mud-stained +blucher boots. One man, standing outside The Lucky Digger, asked +him if he had “struck it rich.” But the “swagger” looked at the +man, without replying.</p> + +<p>“Come and have a drink, mate,” said another.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t thirsty,” replied the “swagger.”</p> + +<p>“Let ’im alone,” said a third. “Can’t you see he’s bin working +a ‘duffer’?”</p> + +<p>Benjamin Tresco, standing on the curb of the pavement, watched +the advent of the prospector with an altogether remarkable interest, +which rose to positive restlessness when he saw the digger pause +before the entrance of the Kangaroo Bank.</p> + +<p>The ill-clad, dirty stranger pushed through the swinging, glass +door, stood with his hobnailed boots on the tesselated pavement inside +the bank, and contemplated the Semitic face of the spruce clerk +who, with the glittering gold-scales by his side, stood behind the +polished mahogany counter.</p> + +<p>But either the place looked too grand and expensive, or else +the clerk’s appearance offended, but the “swagger” backed out +of the building, and stood once more upon the asphalt, wearing the +air of a stray dog with no home or friends.</p> + +<p>Tresco crossed the street. With extended hand, portly mien, and +benign countenance, he approached the digger, after the manner of +a benevolent sidesman in a church.</p> + +<p>“Selling gold, mate?” He spoke in his most confidential manner. +“Come this way. <em>I</em> will help you.”</p> + +<p>Down the street he took the derelict, like a ship in full sail +towing a battered, mastless craft into a haven of safety.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +Having brought the “swagger” to a safe anchorage inside his +shop, Tresco shut the door, to the exclusion of all intruders; took +his gold-scales from a shelf where they had stood, unused and dusty, +for many a month; stepped behind the counter, and said, in his +best business manner: “Now, sir.”</p> + +<p>The digger unhitched his swag and dropped it unceremoniously +on the floor, stood his long <em>manuka</em> stick against the wall, thrust +his hand inside his “jumper,” looked at the goldsmith’s rubicund +face, drew out a long canvas bag which was tied at the neck +with a leather boot-lace, and said, in a hoarse whisper, “There, mister, +that’s my pile.”</p> + +<p>Tresco balanced the bag in his hand.</p> + +<p>“You’ve kind o’ struck it,” he said, as he looked at the digger +with a blandness which could not have been equalled.</p> + +<p>The digger may have grinned, or he may have scowled—Tresco +could not tell—but, to all intents and purposes, he remained imperturbable, +for his wilderness of hair and beard, aided by his hat, +covered the landscape of his face.</p> + +<p>“Ja-ake!” roared the goldsmith, in his rasping, raucous voice, +as though the apprentice were quarter of a mile away. “Come here, +you young limb!”</p> + +<p>The shock-headed, rat-faced youth shot like a shrapnel shell from +the workshop, and burst upon the astonished digger’s gaze.</p> + +<p>“Take this bob and a jug,” said the goldsmith, “and fetch a +quart. We’ll drink your health,” he added, turning to the man +with the gold, “and a continual run of good luck.”</p> + +<p>The digger for the first time found his full voice. It was +as though the silent company of the wood-hens in the “bush” had +caused the hinges of his speech to become rusty. His words jerked +themselves spasmodically from behind his beard, and his sentences +halted, half-finished.</p> + +<p>“Yes. That’s so. If you ask me. Nice pile? Oh, yes. Good +streak o’ luck. Good streak, as you say. Yes. Ha, ha! Ho, ho!” +He actually broke into a laugh.</p> + +<p>Tresco polished the brass dish of his scales, which had grown +dim and dirty with disuse; then he untied the bag of gold, and +poured the rich contents into the dish. The gold lay in a lovely, +dull yellow heap.</p> + +<p>“Clean, rough gold,” said Tresco, peering closely at the precious +mound, and stirring it with his grimy forefinger. “It’ll go £3 15s. +You’re in luck, mister. You’ve struck it rich, and”—he assumed his +most benignant expression—“there’s plenty more where this came +from, eh?”</p> + +<p>“You bet,” said the digger. “Oh, yes, any Gawd’s quantity.” He +laughed again. “You must think me pretty green, mister.” He continued +to laugh. “How much for the lot?”</p> + +<p>Tresco spread the gold over the surface of the dish in a layer, and, +puffing gently but adroitly, he winnowed it with his nicotine-ladened +breath till no particle of sand remained with the gold. Then he put +the dish on the scales, and weighed the digger’s “find.”</p> + +<p>“Eighty-two ounces ten pennyweights six grains,” he said, with infinite +deliberation, and began to figure on a piece of paper. Seemingly, +the goldsmith’s arithmetic was as rusty as the digger’s speech, for the +sum took so long to work out that the owner of the gold had time to +cut a “fill” of tobacco from a black plug, charge his pipe, and smoke +for fully five minutes, before Tresco proclaimed the total. This he +did with a triumphant wave of the pen.</p> + +<p>“Three hundred and nine pounds seven shillings and elevenpence +farthing. That’s as near as I can get it. Nice clean gold, mister.”</p> + +<p>He looked at the digger; the digger looked at him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +“What name?” asked Tresco. “To whom shall I draw the +cheque?”</p> + +<p>“That’s good! My name?” laughed the digger. “I s’pose it’s +usual, eh?”</p> + +<p>“De-cidedly.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes they call me Bill the Prospector, sometimes Bill the +Hatter. I ain’t particular. I’ve got no choice. Take which you +like.”</p> + +<p>“‘Pay Bill the Prospector, or Order, three hundred and nine +pounds.’ No, sir, that will hardlee do. I want your real name, your +proper legal title.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds grand, don’t it? ‘Legal title,’ eh? But if you must +have it—though it ar’n’t hardly ever used—put me down Bill +Wurcott. That suit, eh?—Bill Wurcott?”</p> + +<p>Tresco began to draw the cheque.</p> + +<p>“Never mind the silver,” said the digger. “Make it three hundred +an’ nine quid.” And just then Jake entered with the quart +jug, tripped over the digger’s swag, spilt half-a-pint of beer on the +floor, recovered himself in time to save the balance, and exclaimed, +“Holee smoke!”</p> + +<p>“Tell yer what,” said the digger. “Let the young feller have +the change. Good idea, eh?”</p> + +<p>Jake grinned—he grasped the situation in a split second.</p> + +<p>The digger took the cheque from Tresco, looked at it upside-down, +and said, “That’s all right,” folded it up, put it in his breeches’ +pocket just as if it had been a common one-pound note, and remarked, +“Well, I must make a git. So-long.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said the goldsmith. “There is the beer: here are the +men. No, sir; not thus must you depart. Refresh the inner man. +Follow me. We must drink your health and continued good fortune.”</p> + +<p>Carefully carrying the beer, Tresco led the way to his workshop, +placed the jug on his bench, and soon the amber-coloured liquor +foamed in two long glasses.</p> + +<p>The digger put his pint to his hairy lips, said, “<em>Kia ora.</em> Here’s +fun,” drank deep and gasped—the froth ornamenting his moustache. +“The first drop I’ve tasted this three months.”</p> + +<p>“You must ha’ come from way back, where there’re no shanties,” +risked Tresco.</p> + +<p>“From way back,” acknowledged the digger.</p> + +<p>“Twelve solid weeks? You <em>must</em> have a thirst.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty fair, you bet.” The digger groped about in the depth +of his pocket, and drew forth a fine nugget. “Look at that,” he said, +with his usual chuckle.</p> + +<p>Tresco balanced the lump of gold in his deft hand.</p> + +<p>“Three ounces?”</p> + +<p>“Three, six.”</p> + +<p>“’Nother little cheque. Turn out your pockets, mister. I’ll buy +all you’ve got.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the lot,” said the digger, taking back the nugget and +fingering it lovingly. “I don’t sell that—it’s my lucky bit; the first +I found.” Another chuckle. “Tell you what. Some day you can +make me something outer this, something to wear for a charm. No +alloy, you understand; all pure gold. And use the whole nugget.”</p> + +<p>Tresco pursed his lips, and looked contemplative.</p> + +<p>“A three-ounce charm, worn round the neck, might strangle a +digger in a swollen creek. Where’d his luck be then? But how about +your missis? Can’t you divide it?”</p> + +<p>The digger laughed his loudest.</p> + +<p>“Give it the missis! That’s good. The missis’d want more’n an +ounce and a half for her share. Mister, wimmen’s expensive.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you got no kid to share the charm with?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +“Now you’re gettin’ at me”—the chuckle again—“worse ’an ever. +You’re gettin’ at me fine. Look ’ere, I’m goin’ to quit: I’m off.”</p> + +<p>“But, in the meantime, what am I to do with this nice piece of +gold? I could make a ring for each of your fingers, and some for +your toes. I could pretty near make you a collarette, to wear when +you go to evening parties in a low-necked dress, or a watch chain +more massive than the bloomin’ Mayor’s. There’s twelve pounds’ +worth of gold in that piece.”</p> + +<p>The digger looked perplexed. The problem puzzled him.</p> + +<p>“How’d an amulet suit you?” suggested the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>“A what?”</p> + +<p>“A circle for the arm, with a charm device chased on it.”</p> + +<p>“A bit like a woman, that—eh, mister?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. The Prince o’ Wales, an’ the Dook o’ York, an’ all +the <em>elite</em> wears ’em. It’d be quite the fashion.”</p> + +<p>The digger returned the nugget to his pocket. “I call you a dam’ +amusin’ cuss, I do that. You’re a goer. There ain’t no keepin’ up +with the likes o’ <em>you</em>. You shall make what you blame well please—we’ll +talk about it by-and-by. But for the present, where’s the best +pub?”</p> + +<p>“The Lucky Digger,” said Jake, without hesitation.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” reiterated Tresco. “You’ll pass it on your way to +the Bank.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so-long,” said the digger. “See you later.” And, shouldering +his swag, he held out his horny hand.</p> + +<p>“I reckon,” said the goldsmith. “Eight o’clock this evening. So-long.” +And the digger went out.</p> + +<p>Tresco stood on his doorstep, and with half-shut eyes watched +the prospector to the door of The Lucky Digger.</p> + +<p>“Can’t locate it,” he mused, “and I know where all the gold, +sold in this town, comes from. Nor I can’t locate <em>him</em>. But he’s struck +it, and struck it rich.”</p> + +<p>There were birch twigs caught in the straps of the digger’s +“swag,” and he had a bit of <em>rata</em> flower stuck in the band of his hat. +“That’s where he’s come from!” Tresco pointed in the direction of +the great range of mountains which could be seen distinctly through +the window of his workshop.</p> + +<p>“What’s it worth?” asked Jake, who stood beside his master.</p> + +<p>“The gold? Not a penny less than £3/17/-an ounce, my son.”</p> + +<p>“An’ you give £3/15/-. Good business, boss.”</p> + +<p>“I drew him a cheque for three hundred pounds, and I haven’t +credit at the bank for three hundred shillings. So I must go and sell +this gold before he has time to present my cheque. Pretty close sailing, +Jake.</p> + +<p>“But mark me, young shaver. There’s better times to come. +If the discovery of this galoot don’t mean a gold boom in Timber +Town, you may send the crier round and call me a flathead. Things +is goin’ to hum.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Father of Timber Town.</strong></p> + + +<p>“I never heard the like of it!” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. “You say, +eighty-two ounces of gold? You say it came from within fifty miles +of Timber Town? Why, sir, the matter must be looked into.” The +old gentleman’s voice rose to a shrill treble. “Yes, indeed, it <em>must</em>.”</p> + +<p>They were sitting in the Timber Town Club: the ancient Mr. +Crewe, Scarlett, and Cathro, a little man who rejoiced in the company +of the rich octogenarian.</p> + +<p>“I’m new at this sort of thing,” said Scarlett: “I’ve just come off +the sea. But when the digger took a big bit of gold from his pocket, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +I looked at it, open-eyed—I can tell you that. I called the landlord, +and ordered drinks—I thought that the right thing to do. And, by +George! it was. The ruffianly-looking digger drank his beer, insisted +on calling for more, and then locked the door.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe was watching the speaker closely, and hung on every +word he uttered. Glancing at the lean and wizened Cathro, he said, +“You hear that, Cathro? He locked the door, sir. Did you ever hear +the like?”</p> + +<p>“From inside his shirt,” Scarlett continued, “he drew a fat bundle +of bank notes, which he placed upon the table. Taking a crisp one-pound +note from the pile, he folded it into a paper-light, and said, +‘I could light my pipe with this an’ never feel it.’</p> + +<p>"‘Don’t think of such a thing,’ I said, and placed a sovereign on +the table, ‘I’ll toss you for it.’</p> + +<p>“‘Right!’ said my hairy friend. ‘Sudden death?’</p> + +<p>“‘Sudden death,’ I said.</p> + +<p>“‘Heads,’ said he.”</p> + +<p>“Think of that, now!” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. “The true digger, +Cathro, the true digger, I know the <em>genus</em>—there’s no mistaking it. +Most interesting. Go on, sir.”</p> + +<p>“The coin came down tails, and I pocketed the bank-note.</p> + +<p>“‘Lookyer here, mate,’ said my affluent friend. ‘That don’t +matter. We’ll see if I can’t get it back,’ and he put another note on +the table. I won that, too. He doubled the stakes, and still I won.</p> + +<p>“‘You had luck on the gold-fields,’ I said, ‘but when you come to +town things go dead against you.’</p> + +<p>“‘Luck!’ he cried. ‘Now watch me. If I lost the whole of thisyer +bloomin’ pile, I could start off to-morrer mornin’ an, before nightfall, +I’d be on ground where a week’s work would give me back all I’d lost. +An’ never a soul in this blank, blank town knows where the claim +is.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” gasped old Mr. Crewe; his body bent forward, and +his eyes peering into Scarlett’s face. “I’ve lived here since the settlement +was founded. I got here when the people lived in nothing better +than Maori <em>whares</em> and tents, when the ground on which this very +club stands was a flax-swamp. I have seen this town grow, sir, from +a camp to the principal town of a province. I know every man and +boy living in it, do I not, Cathro? I know every hill and creek within +fifty miles of it; I’ve explored every part of the bush, and I tell you +I never saw payable gold in any stream nearer than Maori Gully, to +reach which you must go by sea.”</p> + +<p>“What about the man’s mates?” asked Cathro.</p> + +<p>“I asked him about them,” replied Scarlett. “I said, ‘You have +partners in this thing, I suppose.’ ‘You mean pals,’ he said. ‘No, +sir. I’m a hatter—no one knows the place but me. I’m sole possessor +of hundreds of thousands of ounces of gold. There’s my +Miner’s Right.’ He threw a dirty parchment document on the table, +drawn out in the name of William Wurcott.”</p> + +<p>“Wurcott? Wurcott?” repeated Mr. Crewe, contemplatively. “I +don’t know the name. The man doesn’t belong to Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>“You speak as though you thought no one but a Timber Town +man should get these good things.” Cathro smiled as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” retorted the old gentleman, testily. “I said no such +thing, sir. I simply said he did not belong to this town. But you +must agree with me, it’s a precious strange thing that we men of +this place have for years been searching the country round here for +gold, and, by Jupiter! a stranger, an outsider, a mere interloper, +a miserable ‘hatter’ from God knows where, discovers gold two days’ +journey from the town, and brings in over eighty ounces?” The old +man’s voice ran up to a falsetto, he stroked his nose with his forefinger +and thumb, he broke into the shrill laugh of an octogenarian. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +“And the rascal boasts he can get a hundred ounces more in a week +or two! We must look into the matter—we must see what it means.”</p> + +<p>The three men smoked silently and solemnly.</p> + +<p>“Scarlett, here, owns the man’s personal acquaintance,” said +Cathro. “The game is to go mates with him—Scarlett, the ‘hatter,’ +and myself.”</p> + +<p>All three of them sat silent, and thought hard.</p> + +<p>“But what if your ‘hatter’ won’t fraternize?” asked Mr. Crewe. +“You young men are naturally sanguine, but I know these diggers. +They may be communicative enough over a glass, but next day the +rack and thumbscrews wouldn’t extract a syllable from them.”</p> + +<p>“All the more reason why we should go, and see the digger +what time Scarlett deems him to be happy in his cups.” This was +Cathro’s suggestion, and he added, “If he won’t take us as mates, we +may at least learn the locality of his discovery. With your knowledge +of the country, Mr. Crewe, the rest should be easy.”</p> + +<p>“It all sounds very simple,” replied the venerable gentleman, +“but experience has taught me that big stakes are not won quite +so easily. However, we shall see. When our friend, Scarlett, is +ready, <em>we</em> are ready; and when I say I take up a matter of this +kind, you know I mean to go through with it, even if I have to visit +the spot myself and prospect on my own account. For believe me, +gentlemen, this may be the biggest event in the history of Timber +Town.” Mr. Crewe had risen to his feet, and was walking to and +fro in front of the younger men. “If payable gold were found in +these hills, this town would double its population in three months, +business would flourish, and everybody would have his pockets lined +with gold. I don’t talk apocryphally. I have seen such things repeatedly, +upon the Coast. I have seen small townships literally +flooded with gold, and yet a pair of boots, a tweed coat, and the +commonest necessaries of life, could not be procured there for love +or money.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Cut-throat Euchre.</strong></p> + + +<p>“Give the stranger time to sort his cards,” said the thin American, +with the close-cropped head.</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly, certainly,” replied the big and bloated Englishman, +who sat opposite. “Well, my noble, what will you do?”</p> + +<p>The Prospector, who was the third player, looked up from his +“hand” and drummed the table with the ends of his dirty fingers.</p> + +<p>“What do I make it? Why, I turn it down.”</p> + +<p>“Pass again,” said the American.</p> + +<p>“Ditto,” said the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Then this time I make it ‘Spades,’” said the digger, bearded to +the eyes; his tangled thatch of black hair hiding his forehead, and +his clothes such as would have hardly tempted a rag-picker.</p> + +<p>“You make it ‘next,’ eh?” It was the Englishman who spoke.</p> + +<p>“We’ll put you through, siree,” said the American, who was a +small man, without an atom of superfluous flesh on his bones. His +hair stood upright on his head, his dough-coloured face wore a perpetual +smile, and he was the happy possessor of a gold eye-tooth with +which he constantly bit his moustache. The player who had come to +aid him in plucking the pigeon was a big man with a florid complexion +and heavy, sensuous features, which, however, wore a good-natured +expression.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +The game was cut-throat euchre; one pound points. So that each +of the three players contributed five pounds to the pool, which lay, +gold, silver and bank-notes, in a tempting pile in the middle of the +table.</p> + +<p>“Left Bower, gen’lemen,” said the digger, placing the Knave of +Clubs on the table.</p> + +<p>“The deuce!” exclaimed the florid man.</p> + +<p>“Can’t help you, partner,” said the man with the gold tooth, playing +a low card.</p> + +<p>“One trick,” said the digger, and he put down the Knave of +Spades. “There’s his mate.”</p> + +<p>“Right Bower, egad!” exclaimed the big man, who was evidently +minus trumps.</p> + +<p>The pasty-faced American played the Ace of Spades without saying +a word.</p> + +<p>“A blanky march!” cried the digger. “Look-a-here. How’s that +for high?” and he placed on the table his three remaining cards—the +King, Queen, and ten of trumps.</p> + +<p>The other players showed their hands, which were full of red +cards.</p> + +<p>“Up, and one to spare,” exclaimed the digger, and took the pool.</p> + +<p>About fifty pounds, divided into three unequal piles, lay on the +table, and beside each player’s money stood a glass.</p> + +<p>The florid man was shuffling the pack, and the other two were +arranging their marking cards, when the door opened slowly, and the +Father of Timber Town, followed by Cathro and Scarlett, entered +the room.</p> + +<p>“Well, well. Hard at it, eh, Garsett?” said the genial old gentleman, +addressing himself to the Englishman. “Cut-throat euchre, by +Jupiter! A ruinous game, Mr. Lichfield,”—to the man with the gold +tooth—“but your opponent”—pointing with his stick to the digger—“seems +to have all the luck. Look at his pile, Cathro. Your digger +friend, eh, Scarlett? Look at his pile—the man’s winning.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett nodded.</p> + +<p>“He’s in luck again,” said Mr. Crewe; “in luck again, by all +that’s mighty.”</p> + +<p>The pool was made up, the cards were dealt, and the game continued. +The nine of Hearts was the “turn-up” card.</p> + +<p>“Pass,” said Lichfield.</p> + +<p>“Then I order you up,” said the digger.</p> + +<p>The burly Garsett drew a card from his “hand,” placed it under +the pack, and said, “Go ahead. Hearts are trumps.”</p> + +<p>The gentleman with the gold tooth played the King of Hearts, +the digger a small trump, and Garsett his turn-up card.</p> + +<p>“Ace of Spades,” said Lichfield, playing that card.</p> + +<p>“Trump,” said the digger, as he put down the Queen of Hearts.</p> + +<p>“Ace of trumps!” exclaimed Garsett, and took the trick.</p> + +<p>“’Strewth!” cried the man from the “bush.” “But let’s see +your next.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t a hope,” said the big gambler. “Two to one in +notes we euchre you.”</p> + +<p>“Done,” replied the digger, and he took a dirty one-pound bank-note +from his heap of money.</p> + +<p>“Most exciting,” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. “Quite spirited. The +trumps must all be out, Cathro. Let us see what all this betting +means.”</p> + +<p>“Right Bower,” said the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Ho-ho! stranger,” the American cried. “I guess that pound +belongs to Mr. Garsett.”</p> + +<p>The digger put the Knave of Diamonds on the table, and handed +the money to his florid antagonist.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +“Your friend is set back two points, Scarlett.” It was Mr. +Crewe that spoke. “England and America divide the pool.”</p> + +<p>The digger looked up at the Father of Timber Town.</p> + +<p>“If you gen’l’men wish to bet on the game, well and good,” he +said, somewhat heatedly. “But if you’re not game to back your +opinion, then keep your blanky mouths shut!”</p> + +<p>Old Mr. Crewe was as nettled at this unlooked-for attack as if +a battery of artillery had suddenly opened upon him.</p> + +<p>“Heh! What?” he exclaimed. “You hear that, Cathro? Scarlett, +you hear what your friend says? He wants to bet on the game, +and that after being euchred and losing his pound to Mr. Garsett. +Why, certainly, sir. I’ll back my opinion with the greatest pleasure. +I’ll stake a five-pound note on it. You’ll lose this game, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Done,” said the digger, and he counted out five sovereigns and +placed them in a little heap by themselves.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe had not come prepared for a “night out with the +boys.” He found some silver in his pocket and two pounds in his +sovereign-case.</p> + +<p>“Hah! no matter,” he said. “Cathro, call the landlord. I take +your bet, sir”—to the digger—“most certainly I take it, but one +minute, give me one minute.”</p> + +<p>“If there’s any difficulty in raising the cash,” said the digger, +fingering his pile of money, “I won’t press the matter. <em>I</em> don’t want +your blanky coin. I can easy do without it.”</p> + +<p>The portly, rubicund landlord of the Lucky Digger entered the +room.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Townson,” said old Mr. Crewe, “good evening. We have +a little bet on, Townson, a little bet between this gentleman from +away back and myself, and I find I’m without the necessary cash. I +want five pounds. I’ll give you my IOU.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” replied the landlord, in a small high voice, totally +surprising as issuing from such a portly person, “no IOU. I’ll +gladly let you have twenty.”</p> + +<p>“Five is all I want, Townson; and I expect to double it immediately, +and then I shall be quite in funds.”</p> + +<p>The landlord disappeared and came back with a small tray, on +which was a bundle of bank-notes, some dirty, some clean and crisp. +The Father of Timber Town counted the money. “Twenty pounds, +Townson. Very well. You shall have it in the morning. Remind +me, Cathro, that I owe Mr. Townson twenty pounds.”</p> + +<p>The digger looked with surprise at the man who could conjure +money from a publican.</p> + +<p>“Who in Hades are <em>you</em>?” he asked, as Mr. Crewe placed his +£5 beside the digger’s. “D’you own the blanky pub?”</p> + +<p>“No, he owns the town,” interposed Garsett.</p> + +<p>The digger was upon his feet in a moment.</p> + +<p>“Proud to meet you, mister,” he cried. “Glad to have this bet +with you. I like to bet with a gen’l’man. Make it ten, sir, and I +shall be happier still.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” replied the ancient Mr. Crewe. “You said five, and +five it shall be. That’s quite enough for you to lose on one game.”</p> + +<p>“You think so? That’s your blanky opinion? See that?” The +digger pointed to his heap of money. “Where that come from there’s +enough to buy your tin-pot town three times over.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said Mr. Crewe. “I’m glad to hear it. Bring your +money, and you shall have the town.”</p> + +<p>“Order, gentlemen, order,” cried the dough-faced man. “I guess +we’re here to play cards, and cards we’re going to play. If you +three gentlemen cann’t watch the game peaceably, it’ll be my disagreeable +duty to fire you out—and that right smart.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +And just at this interesting moment entered Gentle Annie. She +walked with little steps; propelling her plenitude silently but for +the rustle of her silk skirt. In her hand she held a scented handkerchief, +like any lady in a drawing-room; her hair, black at the roots +and auburn at the ends, was wreathed, coil on coil, upon the top +of her head; her face, which gave away all her secrets, was saucy, +expressive of self-satisfaction, petulance, and vanity. And yet it was +a handsome face; but it lacked mobility, the chin was too strong, +the grey eyes wanted expression, though they were ever on the watch +for an admiring glance.</p> + +<p>“The angel has come to pour oil upon the troubled waters,” said +the flabby, florid man, looking up from his cards at the splendid +bar-maid.</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie regarded the speaker boldly, smiled, and coloured +with pleasure.</p> + +<p>“To pour whisky down your throats,” she said, laughing—“that +would be nearer the mark.”</p> + +<p>“And produce a more pleasing effect,” said Garsett.</p> + +<p>“Attend to the game,” said the American. “Spades are trumps.”</p> + +<p>“Pass,” said the digger.</p> + +<p>“Then down she goes,” said the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Pass again,” said the American.</p> + +<p>“I make it Diamonds, and cross the blanky suit,” said the +digger.</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie turned to the Father of Timber Town.</p> + +<p>“There’s a gentleman wants to see you, Mr. Crewe,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Very good, very good; bring him in—he has as much right +here as I.”</p> + +<p>“He said he’d wait for you in the bar-parlour.”</p> + +<p>“But, my girl, I must watch the game: I have a five-pound note +on it. Yes, a five-pound note!”</p> + +<p>“Think of that, now,” said Gentle Annie, running her bejewelled +hand over her face. “You’ll be bankrupt before morning. +But never mind, old gentleman,”—she deftly corrected the set of +Mr. Crewe’s coat, and fastened its top button—“you’ll always find +a friend and protector in <em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>“My good girl, what a future! The tender mercies of bar-maids +are cruel. ‘The daughter of the horse-leech’—he! he!—where +did you get all those rings from?—I don’t often quote Scripture, but +I find it knows all about women. Cathro, you must watch the game +for me: I have to see a party in the bar. Watch the game, Cathro, +watch the game.”</p> + +<p>The old gentleman, leaning heavily upon his stick, walked slowly +to the door, and Gentle Annie, humming a tune, walked briskly before, +in all the glory of exuberant health and youth.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Crewe entered the bar-parlour he was confronted by +the bulky figure of Benjamin Tresco, who was enjoying a glass of +beer and the last issue of <em>The Pioneer Bushman</em>. Between the goldsmith’s +lips was the amber mouthpiece of a straight-stemmed briar +pipe, a smile of contentment played over the breadth of his ruddy +countenance, and his ejaculations were made under some deep and +pleasurable excitement.</p> + +<p>“By the living hokey! What times, eh?” He slapped his thigh +with his heavy hand. “The town won’t know itself! We’ll all be +bloomin’ millionaires. Ah! good evening, Mr. Crewe. Auspicious +occasion. Happy to meet you, sir.” Benjamin had risen, and was +motioning the Father of Timber Town to a seat upon the couch, where +he himself had been sitting. “You will perceive that I am enjoying +a light refresher. Have something yourself at my expense, I beg.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe’s manner was very stiff. He knew Tresco well. It +was not so much that he resented the goldsmith’s familiar manner, as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +that, with the instinct of his <em>genus</em>, he suspected the unfolding of +some money-making scheme for which he was to find the capital. +Therefore he fairly bristled with caution.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, nothing.” He spoke with great dignity. “You sent +for me. What do you wish to say, sir?”</p> + +<p>Benjamin looked at the rich man through his spectacles, without +which he found it impossible to read the masterpieces of the editor +of <em>The Pioneer Bushman</em>; pursed his lips, to indicate that he hardly +relished the old gentleman’s manner; scrutinised the columns of the +newspaper for a desired paragraph, on which, when found, he placed +a substantial forefinger; and then, glancing at Mr. Crewe, he said +abruptly, “Read that, boss,” and puffed furiously at his pipe, while +he watched the old man’s face through a thick cloud of tobacco smoke.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe read the paragraph; folded up the paper, and placed +it on the couch beside him; looked at the ceiling; glanced round the +room; turned his keen eyes on Tresco, and said:—</p> + +<p>“Well, what of that? I saw that an hour ago. It’s very fine, +if true; very fine, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“True, mister? <em>I</em> bought the gold <em>myself</em>! <em>I</em> gave the information +to the ‘buster’! Now, here is my plan. I know this gold is +<em>new</em> gold—it’s no relation to any gold I ever bought before. It comes +from a virgin field. By the special knowledge I possess as a gold-buyer, +I am able to say that; and you know when a virgin field +yields readily as much as eighty-two ounces, the odds are in favour +of it yielding thousands. Look at the Golden Bar. You remember +that?—eight thousand ounces in two days, and the field’s been worked +ever since. Then there was Greenstone Gully—a man came into +town with fifty ounces, and the party that tracked him made two +thousand ounces within a month. Those finds were at a distance, but +this one is a local affair. How do I know?—my special knowledge, +mister; my intuitive reading of signs which prognosticate coming +events; my knowledge of the characters and ways of diggers. All +this I am willing to place at your disposal, on one condition, Mr. +Crewe; and that condition is that we are partners in the speculation. +I find the field—otherwise the partnership lapses—and you find me +£200 and the little capital required. I engage to do my part within +a week.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe stroked his nose with his forefinger and thumb, as +was his habit when in deep contemplation.</p> + +<p>“But—ah—what if I were to tell you that I can find the field +entirely by my own exertions? What do you say to that, Mr. +Tresco? What do you say to that?”</p> + +<p>“I say, sir, without the least hesitation, that you <em>never</em> will find +it. I say that you will spend money and valuable time in a wild-goose +chase, whereas <em>I</em> shall be entirely successful.”</p> + +<p>“We shall see,” said Mr. Crewe, rising from his seat, “we shall +see. Don’t try to coerce me, sir; don’t try to coerce <em>me</em>!”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the least desire in that direction.” Benjamin’s face +assumed the expression of a cherub. “Nothing is further from my +thoughts. I know of a good thing—my special knowledge qualifies +me to make the most of it; I offer you the refusal of ‘chipping in’ +with me, and you, I understand, refuse. Very well, Mr. Crewe, <em>I</em> +am satisfied; <em>you</em> are satisfied; all is amicably settled. I go to +place my offer where it will be accepted. Good evening, sir.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin put his nondescript, weather-worn hat on his semi-bald +head, and departed with as much dignity as his ponderous person +could assume.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said Mr. Crewe to himself, as the departing figure +of the goldsmith disappeared, “we will go and see the result of our +little bet; we will see whether we have lost or gained the sum of five +pounds.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +The old man, taking his stick firmly in his hand, stumped down +the passage to the door of the room where the gamblers played, and, +as he turned the handle, he was greeted with a torrent of shouts, +high words, and the noise of a falling table.</p> + +<p>There, on the floor, lay gold and bank notes, scattered in every +direction amid broken chairs, playing cards, and struggling men.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe paused on the threshold. In the whirl and dust of +the tumult he could discern the digger’s wilderness of hair, the +bulky form of Garsett, and the thin American, in a tangled, writhing +mass. His friend Cathro was looking on with open mouth and +trembling hands, ineffectual, inactive. But Scarlett, making a sudden +rush into the melee, seized the lucky digger, and dragged him, infuriated, +struggling, swearing, from the unwieldy Garsett, on whose +throat his grimy fingers were tightly fixed.</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. “Landlord! landlord! Scarlett, +be careful—you’ll strangle that man!”</p> + +<p>Scarlett pinioned the digger’s arms from behind, and rendered +him harmless; Garsett sat on the floor fingering his throat, and gasping; +while Lichfield lay unconscious, with his head under the broken +table.</p> + +<p>“Fair play!” shouted the digger. “I’ve bin robbed. Le’me get +at him. I’ll break his blanky neck. Cheat a gen’leman at cards, will +you? Le’me get at him. Le’go, I tell yer—who’s quarrelling with +<em>you</em>?” But he struggled in vain, for Scarlett’s hold on him was +tighter than a vice’s.</p> + +<p>“Stand quiet, man,” he expostulated. “There was no cheating.”</p> + +<p>“The fat bloke fudged a card. I was pickin’ up a quid from +the floor—he fudged a card. Le’go o’ me, an’ I’ll fight you fair.”</p> + +<p>“Stand quiet, I tell you, or you’ll be handed over to the police.”</p> + +<p>The digger turned his hairy visage round, and glanced angrily +into Jack’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“You’ll call in the traps?—you long-legged swine!” With a +mighty back-kick, the Prospector lodged the heel of his heavy boot +fairly on Scarlett’s shin. In a moment he had struggled free, and +faced round.</p> + +<p>“Put up your fists!” he cried. “I fight fair, I fight fair.”</p> + +<p>There was a whirlwind of blows, and then a figure fell to the +floor with a thud like that of a felled tree. It was the lucky digger, +and he lay still and quiet amid the wreckage of the fight.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said Cathro, handing Mr. Crewe ten pounds. “Take +your money—our friend the digger lost the game.”</p> + +<p>“This is most unfortunate, Cathro.” But as he spoke, the Father +of Timber Town pocketed the gold. “Did I not see Scarlett knock +that man down? This is extremely unfortunate. I have just refused +the offer of a man who avers—who avers, mind you—that he can put +us on this new gold-field in a week, but I trusted to Scarlett’s diplomacy +with the digger: I come back, and what do I see? I see my +friend Scarlett knock the man down! There he lies as insensible as +a log.”</p> + +<p>“It looks,” said Cathro, “as if our little plan had fallen through.”</p> + +<p>“Fallen through? We have made the unhappy error of interfering +in a game of cards. We should have stood off, sir, and when +a quarrel arose—I know these diggers; I have been one of them +myself, and I understand them, Cathro—when a quarrel arose we +should have interposed on behalf of the digger, and he would have +been our friend for ever. Now all the gold in the country wouldn’t +bribe him to have dealings with us.”</p> + +<p>The noise of the fight had brought upon the scene all the +occupants of the bar. They stood in a group, silent and expectant, +just inside the room. The landlord, who was with them, came forward, +and bent over the inanimate form of the Prospector. “I think +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +this is likely to be a case for the police,” said he, as he rose, and +stood erect. “The man may be alive, or he may be dead—I’m not +a doctor: I can’t tell—but there’s likely to be trouble in store for +the gentlemen in the room at the time of the fight.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly an energetic figure pushed its way through the group +of spectators, and Benjamin Tresco, wearing an air of supreme +wisdom, and with a manner which would not have disgraced a medico +celebrated for his “good bedside manner,” commenced to examine the +prostrate man. First, he unbuttoned the insensible digger’s waistcoat, +and placed his hand over his heart; next, he felt his pulse. “This +man,” he said deliberately, like an oracle, “has been grossly manhandled; +he is seriously injured, but with care we shall pull him +round. My dear”—to Gentle Annie, who stood at his elbow, in her +silks and jewels, the personification of Folly at a funeral—“a drop +of your very best brandy—real cognac, mind you, and be as quick +as you possibly can.”</p> + +<p>With the help of Scarlett, Tresco placed the digger upon the +couch. In the midst of this operation the big card-player and his +attenuated accomplice, whose unconsciousness had been more feigned +than actual, were about to slip from the room, when Mr. Crewe’s +voice was heard loudly above the chatter, “Stop! stop those men, +there!” The old gentleman’s stick was pointed dramatically towards +the retreating figures. “They know more about this affair than is +good for them.”</p> + +<p>Four or five men immediately seized Garsett and Lichfield, led +them back to the centre of the room, and stood guard over them.</p> + +<p>At this moment, Gentle Annie re-entered with the <em>eau de vie</em>; and +Tresco, who was bustling importantly about his patient, administrated +the restorative dexterously to the unconscious digger, and +then awaited results. He stood, with one hand on the man’s forehead +and the other he held free to gesticulate with, in emphasis of +his speech:—</p> + +<p>“This gentleman is going to recover—with proper care, and in +skilled hands. He has received a severe contusion on the cranium, +but apart from that he is not much the worse for his ‘scrap.’ See, +he opens his eyes. Ah! they are closed again. There!—they open +again. He is coming round. In a few minutes he will be his old, +breathing, pulsating self. The least that can be expected in the +circumstances, is that the gentlemen implicated, who have thus been +saved most disagreeable consequences by the timely interference of +skilled hands, the least they can do is to shout drinks for the crowd.”</p> + +<p>He paused, and a seraphic smile lighted his broad face.</p> + +<p>“Hear, hear!” cried a voice from behind the spectators by the +door.</p> + +<p>“Just what the doctor ordered,” said another.</p> + +<p>“There’s enough money on the floor,” remarked a third, “for +the whole lot of us to swim in champagne.”</p> + +<p>“My eye’s on it,” said Tresco. “It’s what gave me my inspiration. +The lady will pick it up while you name your drinks to the +landlord. Mine’s this liqueur brandy, neat. Let the lady pick up +those notes there: a lady has a soul above suspicion—let her collect +the money, and we’ll hold a court of enquiry when this gentleman +here is able to give his evidence.”</p> + +<p>The digger was now gazing in a befogged manner at the faces +around him; and Gentle Annie, having collected all the money of the +gamblers in a tray, placed it on the small table which stood against +the wall.</p> + +<p>“Now, doctor,” said a tall man with a tawny beard, “take your +fee; it’s you restored the gent. Take your fee: is it two guineas, or +do you make it five?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +“‘Doctor,’ did you say? No, Moonlight, my respected friend, +I scorn the title. Doctors are a brood that batten on the ills of +others. First day: ‘A pain internally, madam? Very serious. I +will send you some medicine. Two guineas. Yes, the sum of two +guineas.’ Next day: ‘Ah, the pain is no better, madam? Go on +taking the medicine. Fee? Two guineas, <em>if</em> you please.’ And so on +till the pain cures itself. If not, the patient grows worse, dies, is +buried, and the doctor’s fees accrue proportionately. But we will +suppose that the patient has some incurable tumour. The doctor +comes, examines, looks wise, shakes his head, says the only chance is +to operate; but it will be touch and go, just a toss up. He gets +his knives, opens up the patient, and by good luck touches no vital +part. Then the patient is saved, and it’s ‘My work, gentlemen, +entirely my work. That’s what skill will do. My fee is forty-five +guineas.’ That’s how he makes up for the folks that don’t pay. +Doctor, <em>me</em>? No, Moonlight, my friend, I am a practitioner who +treats for love. No fee; no fee at all. But, Annie, my dear, I’ll +trouble you for that glass of brandy.”</p> + +<p>The digger was contemplating Tresco’s face with a look of +bewildered astonishment. “An’ who the blanky blank are <em>you</em>?” he +exclaimed, with all his native uncouthness. “What the blank do +you want to take my clo’es off of me for? Who the blue infernal——” +All eyes were fixed on his contused countenance and the enormous +bump on his temple. “Ah! there’s the gent that shook me of five +quid. I’ll remember you, old party. An’ as for you two spielers—you +thought to fleece me. I’ll give you what for! An’ there’s the +other toff, ’im that biffed me. Fancy bein’ flattened out by a toney +remittance man! Wonderful. I call it British pluck, real bull-dog +courage—three to one, an’ me the littlest of the lot, bar one. Oh, +it’s grand. It pays a man to keep his mouth shut, when he comes +to Timber Town with money in his pocket.”</p> + +<p>The eyes of the spectators began to turn angrily upon Lichfield +and Garsett, who, looking guilty as thieves, stood uneasy and apart; +but Scarlett stepped forward, and was about to speak in self-defence, +when Mr. Crewe offered to explain the situation.</p> + +<p>“I ask you to listen to me for one moment,” he said; “I ask +you to take my explanation as that of a disinterested party, a mere +looker on. These three gentlemen”—he pointed to the three euchre +players—“were having a game of cards, quite a friendly game of +cards, in which a considerable sum of money was changing hands. +My friend Scarlett, here, was looking on with me, when for some +cause a quarrel arose. Next thing, the gentleman here on the +sofa was attacking his opponents in the game with an empty bottle—you +can see the pieces of broken glass amongst the cards upon +the floor. Now, a bottle is a very dangerous weapon, a very dangerous +weapon indeed; I might say a deadly weapon. Then it was +that Mr. Scarlett interfered. He pulled off our friend, and was +attacked—I saw this with my own eyes—attacked violently, and in +self-defence he struck this gentleman, and inadvertently stunned him. +That, I assure you, is exactly how the case stands. No great damage +is done. The difference is settled, and, of course, the game is over.”</p> + +<p>“An’ ’<em>e</em>,” said the digger, raising himself to a sitting posture, +“’<em>e</em> shook me for five quid. The wily ol’e serpint. ’E never done +nothin’—’e only shook me for five quid.”</p> + +<p>“Count the money into three equal parts, landlord,” said the +Father of Timber Town. “It’s perfectly true, I <em>did</em> relieve the gentleman +of five pounds; but it was the result of a bet, of a bet he +himself insisted on. He would have made it even heavier, had I +allowed him. But here is the money—he can have it back. I return +it. I bet with no man who begrudges to pay money he fairly loses; +but I have no further dealings with such a man.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +“Oh, you think I want the blanky money, do you?” cried the +digger. “You’re the ol’e gen’leman as is said to own the crimson +town, ain’t you? Well, keep that five quid, an’ ’elp to paint it +crimsoner. <em>I</em> don’t want the money. <em>I</em> can get plenty more where +it came from, just for the pickin’ of it up. You keep it, ol’e feller, +an’ by an’ by I’ll come and buy the town clean over your head.”</p> + +<p>“Give the patient some more brandy, my dear.” Tresco’s voice +sounded as sonorous as a parson’s. “Now he’s talkin’. And what +will you do with the town when you’ve bought it, my enterprising +friend?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll turn the present crowd out—they’re too mean to live. I’ll +sell it to a set of Chinamen, or niggers. I’d prefer ’em.”</p> + +<p>“These are the ravings of delirium,” said Tresco. “I ask you +to pay no attention to such expressions. We frequently hear things +of this sort in the profession, but we let them pass. He’ll be better +in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“Is the money divided?” asked Mr. Crewe.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the landlord. “One hundred and twenty-five pounds +and sixpence in each lot.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Garsett,” said the Father of Timber Town, the tone of +command in his voice, “come and take your money. Mr. Lichfield, +take yours, sir.”</p> + +<p>Still agitated and confused, the two gamblers came forward, took +their shares, and pocketed notes and gold with trembling hands.</p> + +<p>“Give your friend his, Tresco,” said the venerable arbitrator.</p> + +<p>“Here’s your winnings, or your losings,” said the goldsmith to +the digger. “It don’t matter what name you call ’em by, but tuck +it safely away agin your brisket. And when next you strike it rich, +take my advice: put it in the bank, an’ keep it there.”</p> + +<p>The digger took the money in his open hands, placed scoopwise +together, and said, “All this mine, is it? You’re too kind. What do +<em>I</em> want the blanky money for, eh? Didn’t I tell you I could get money +for the pickin’ of it up? Well, you’re all a pretty measly crowd, all +as poor as church rats, by the manners of yer. Well, <em>you</em> pick it +up.” And he flung the money among the crowd, lay back on the +couch, and closed his eyes.</p> + +<p>There was a scurry, and a scrambling on the floor, in the doorway, +and in the passage outside.</p> + +<p>Amid the tumult, Garsett and the American slunk off unperceived, +while Tresco and Mr. Crewe, the landlord, Gentle Annie and +Scarlett remained spectators of the scene.</p> + +<p>Soon all was hushed and still, and they were left alone with the +eccentric digger; but presently the tall figure of Moonlight, the man +with the tawny beard, reappeared.</p> + +<p>“Here’s fifty pound, anyway,” he said, placing a quantity of +notes and gold in the landlord’s hands. “Some I picked up myself, +some I took off a blackguard I knocked over in the passage. Take the +lot, and give it back to this semi-lunatic when he suffers his recovery +in the morning. Good-night, gentlemen; I wish you the pleasures of +the evening.” So saying, the man with the tawny beard disappeared, +and it was not long before Tresco was left alone with his patient.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Yellow Flag.</strong></p> + + +<p>The harbour of Timber Town was formed by a low-lying island +shaped like a long lizard, which stretched itself across an indentation +in the coast-line, and the tail of which joined the mainland at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +low tide, while the channel between its head and the opposing cliffs +was deep, practicable, and safe.</p> + +<p>Immediately opposite this end of the island the wharves and quays +of Timber Town stretched along the shore, backed by hills which +were dotted with painted wooden houses, nestling amid bowers of +trees. Beyond these hills lay Timber Town itself, invisible, sheltered, +at the bottom of its basin.</p> + +<p>The day was hot, clear and still; the water lapped the shore +lazily, and the refracted atmosphere shimmered with heat, wherever +the sea touched the land.</p> + +<p>A little dingey put off from the shore. It contained two men, +one of whom sat in the stern while the other pulled. Silently over +the surface of the calm, blue water the little craft skimmed. It +passed through a small fleet of yachts and pleasure-boats moored +under the lee of the protecting island, and presently touched the +pebbles of a miniature beach.</p> + +<p>Out stepped the Pilot of Timber Town and Captain Sartoris.</p> + +<p>“An’ you call this blazin’ climate o’ yours temperate,” exclaimed +the shipwrecked mariner.</p> + +<p>“Heat?” said the Pilot, making the painter of the boat fast to +some rusty bits of iron that lay on the shore; “you call this heat, +with the sea-breeze risin’, and the island cooling like a bottle of +champagne in an ice-chest. It’s plain to see, Sartoris, you’re a +packet-rat that never sailed nowhere except across the Western +Ocean, in an’ out o’ Liverpool and New York.” They had approached +the end of the island, and overlooked the harbour entrance. “Now, +this is where I intend to place the beacon. What do you think of it?” +Sartoris assumed the manner and expression of supreme interest, +but said nothing. “Them two leading lights are all very well in +their way, but this beacon, with the near one, will give a line that +will take you outside o’ that sunken reef which stretches a’most into +the fairway; and a vessel ’ll be able to come in, scientific and safe, +just like a lady into a drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>With a seaman’s eye Sartoris took in the situation at a glance. +“Very pretty,” he said, “very neat. A lovely little toy port, such +as you see at the theayter. It only wants the chorus o’ fisher girls +warbling on that there beach road, and the pirate brig bringing-to +just opposite, an’ the thing would be complete.”</p> + +<p>“Eh! What?” ejaculated the Pilot. “What’s this play-goin’ +gammon? You talk like a schoolboy that’s fed on jam tarts and +novelettes, Sartoris. Let’s talk sense. Have you ever heard of an +occulting light?”</p> + +<p>“No, certainly not; not by that name, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“D’you know what an apparent light is?”</p> + +<p>“No, but I know plenty of apparent fools.”</p> + +<p>“An apparent light is a most ingenious contraption.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve no doubt.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a optical delusion, and makes two lights o’ one—one on +shore, which is the real one, and one here, which is the deception.” +But while the Pilot went on to talk of base plates, lewis bats, and +all the paraphernalia of his craft, the skipper’s eye was fixed on a +string of little islands which stood off the end of the western arm +of the great bay outside.</p> + +<p>“Now, I never saw those when I was coming in,” said he. “Where +did you get them islands from, Summerhayes? Are they occulting, +real, or apparent? Changing your landmarks, like this, is deceiving.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot, forgetting the technicalities of his profession, looked +at the phenomenon which puzzled the skipper, and said, as gruffly as a +bear, “That’s no islands: it’s but a bit of a mirage. Sometimes +there’s only one island, sometimes three, sometimes more—it’s accordin’ +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +to circumstances. But what’s this craft coming down the +bay? Barque or ship, Sartoris?—I’ve forgot me glass.”</p> + +<p>Both men stood on the seaward edge of the island, and looked +long and hard at the approaching vessel.</p> + +<p>“Barque,” said Sartoris, whose eyes were keener than the older +man’s.</p> + +<p>“There’s no barque due at this port for a month,” said the Pilot. +“The consignees keep me posted up, for to encourage a sharp lookout. +The <em>Ida Bell</em> should arrive from London towards the middle of +next month, but <em>she</em> is a ship. This must be a stranger, putting in +for water or stores; or maybe she’s short-handed.”</p> + +<p>For a long time they watched the big craft, sailing before the +breeze.</p> + +<p>“Sartoris, she’s clewing up her courses and pulling down her +head-sails.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t she a trifle far out, Pilot?”</p> + +<p>“It’s good holding-ground out there—stiff clay that would hold +anything. What did I tell you?—there you are—coming-to. She’s +got starn-board. There goes the anchor!”</p> + +<p>The skipper had hitherto displayed but little interest in the +strange vessel, but now he was shouting and gesticulating, as a flag +was run up to her fore-truck.</p> + +<p>“Look at that, Summerhayes!” he exclaimed. “If you ain’t blind, +tell me what that flag is. Sure as I’m a master without a ship, it’s +the currantine flag.”</p> + +<p>“So it is, so it is. That means the Health Officer, Sartoris.” +And the gruff old Pilot hastened down to the dingey.</p> + +<p>As the two seamen put off from the island, the skipper, who was +in the stern of the little boat, could see Summerhayes’s crew standing +about on the slip of the pilot-shed; and by the time the dingey had +reached the shore, the Pilot’s big whale-boat lay by the landing-stage.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the doctor?” roared Summerhayes. “Is he goin’ to make +us hunt for him when he’s required for the first time this six weeks?”</p> + +<p>“All right, all right,” called a clear voice from inside the great +shed. “I’m ready before you are this time, Pilot.”</p> + +<p>“An’ well you are,” growled the gruff old barnacle. “That +furrin’-lookin’ barque outside has hoisted the yellow flag. Get aboard, +lads, get aboard.”</p> + +<p>“Your men discovered the fact half an hour ago, by the aid of +your telescope.” The doctor came slowly down the slip, carrying a +leather hand-bag.</p> + +<p>“If you’ve any mercy,” said the Pilot, “you’ll spare ’em the use +o’ that. Men die fast enough without physic.”</p> + +<p>“Next time you get the sciatica, Summerhayes, I’ll give you a +double dose.”</p> + +<p>“An’ charge me a double fee. I know you. Shove her off, +Johnson.”</p> + +<p>The grim old Pilot stood with the steering-oar in his hand; the +skipper and the doctor sitting on either hand of him, and the crew +pulling as only a trained crew can.</p> + +<p>“Steady, men,” said the Pilot: “it’s only half tide, and there’s +plenty of water coming in at the entrance. Keep your wind for that, +Hendricson.”</p> + +<p>With one hand he unbuttoned the flap of his capacious trouser-pocket, +and took out a small bunch of keys, which he handed to +Sartoris.</p> + +<p>“Examine the locker,” he said. “It’s the middle-sized key.” The +captain, in a moment, had opened the padlock which fastened the +locker under the Pilot’s seat.</p> + +<p>“Is there half-a-dozen of beer—quarts?” asked Summerhayes.</p> + +<p>“There is,” replied Sartoris.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +“Two bottles of rum?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Glasses?”</p> + +<p>“Four.”</p> + +<p>“An’ a corkscrew?”</p> + +<p>“It’s here.”</p> + +<p>“Then we’ve just what the doctor ordered: not this doctor—make +no mistake o’ that. An’ them sons o’ sea cooks, forrard there, haven’t +yet found a duplicate key to my locker. Wonderful! wonderful!”</p> + +<p>The crew grinned, and put their backs into every stroke, for +they knew “the old man” meant that they shouldn’t go dry.</p> + +<p>“I’m the Pilot o’ this here port, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly,” said the doctor.</p> + +<p>“An’ Harbour Master, in a manner o’ speaking?”</p> + +<p>“That’s so.”</p> + +<p>“And captain o’ this here boat?”</p> + +<p>They were hugging the shore of the island, where the strength +of the incoming tide began to be felt in the narrow tortuous channel. +The bluff old Pilot put the steering-oar to port, and brought his boat +round to starboard, in order to keep her out of the strongest part +of the current.</p> + +<p>“Now, lads, shake her up!” he shouted.</p> + +<p>The men strained every nerve, and the boat was forced slowly +against the tide. With another sudden movement of the steering-oar +Summerhayes brought the boat into an eddy under the island, and +she shot forward.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said; “it’s acknowledged that I’m all that—Pilot, +Harbour Master, and skipper o’ this boat. Then let me tell +you that I’m ship’s doctor as well, and in that capacity, since we’re +outside and there’s easy going now under sail, I prescribe a good +stiff glass all round, as a preventive against plague, Yellow Jack, +small-pox, or whatever disease it is they’ve got on yonder barque.”</p> + +<p>Sartoris uncorked a bottle, and handed a glass to the doctor.</p> + +<p>“And a very good prescription, too,” said the tall, thin medico, +who had a colourless complexion and eyes that glittered like black +beads; “but where’s the water?”</p> + +<p>“Who drinks on my boat,” growled the Pilot, “drinks his liquor +neat. I drown no man and no rum with water. If a man must +needs spoil his liquor, let him bring his own water: there’s none +in my locker.”</p> + +<p>The doctor took the old seaman’s medicine, but not without a +wry face; Sartoris followed suit, and then the Pilot. The boat was +now under sail, and the crew laid in their oars and “spliced the main +brace.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the only medicine we favour in this boat or in this +service,” said the Pilot, as he returned the key of the locker to his +pocket, “an’ we’ve never yet found it to fail. Before encount’ring +plague, or after encount’ring dirty weather, a glass all round: at +other times the locker is kept securely fastened, and I keep the key.” +Saying which, he buttoned the flap of his pocket, and fixed his eyes +on the strange barque, to which they were now drawing near.</p> + +<p>It could be seen that she was a long time “out”; her sails, not +yet all furled, were old and weather-worn; her sides badly needed +paint; and as she rose and fell with the swell, she showed barnacles +and “grass” below the water-line. At her mizzen-peak flew the +American ensign, and at the fore-truck the ominous quarantine flag.</p> + +<p>As the boat passed under the stern, the name of the vessel could +be seen—“<em>Fred P. Lincoln</em>, New York”—and a sickly brown man +looked over the side. Soon he was joined by more men, brown and +yellow, who jabbered like monkeys, but did nothing.</p> + +<p>“Seems they’ve got a menag’ry aboard,” commented Sartoris.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +Presently a white face appeared at the side.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the captain?” asked the Health Officer.</p> + +<p>“With the mate, who’s dying.”</p> + +<p>“Then who are you?”</p> + +<p>“Cap’n’s servant.”</p> + +<p>“But where’s the other mate?”</p> + +<p>“He died a week ago.”</p> + +<p>“What’s wrong on board?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know, sir. Ten men are dead, and three are sick.”</p> + +<p>“Where are you from?”</p> + +<p>“Canton.”</p> + +<p>“Canton? Have you got plague aboard?”</p> + +<p>“Not bubonic. The men go off quiet and gradual, after being +sick a long time. I guess you’d better come aboard, and see for +yourself.”</p> + +<p>The ladder was put over the side, and soon the doctor had +clambered on board.</p> + +<p>The men in the boat sat quiet and full of contemplation.</p> + +<p>“This is a good time for a smoke,” said the Pilot, filling his +pipe and passing his tobacco tin forrard. “And I think, Sartoris, +all hands ’d be none the worse for another dose o’ my medicine.” +Again his capacious hand went into his more capacious pocket, and +the key of the locker was handed to Sartoris.</p> + +<p>“Some foolish people are teetotal,” continued Summerhayes, “and +would make a man believe as how every blessed drop o’ grog he +drinks shortens his life by a day or a week, as the case may be. +But give me a glass o’ liquor an’ rob me of a month, rather than +the plagues o’ China strike me dead to-morrer. Some folks have no +more sense than barn-door fowls.”</p> + +<p>A yellow man, more loquacious than his fellows, had attracted +the attention of Sartoris.</p> + +<p>“Heh! John. What’s the name of your skipper?”</p> + +<p>The Chinaman’s reply was unintelligible. “I can make nothing +of him,” said Sartoris. But, just at that moment, the man who had +described himself as the captain’s servant reappeared at the side +of the ship.</p> + +<p>“My man,” said Summerhayes, “who’s your captain?”</p> + +<p>“Cap’n Starbruck.”</p> + +<p>“Starbruck!” exclaimed Sartoris. “I know him.” In a moment +he was half-way up the ladder.</p> + +<p>“Hi! Sartoris,” roared the Pilot. “If you go aboard that vessel, +you’ll stay there till she’s got a clean bill o’ health.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to help my old shipmate,” answered Sartoris from +the top of the ladder. “Turn and turn about, I says. He stood by +me in the West Indies, when I had Yellow Jack; and I stand by him +now.” As he spoke his foot was on the main-rail. He jumped into +the waist of the quarantined barque, and was lost to sight.</p> + +<p>“Whew!” said the Pilot to the vessel’s side. “Here’s a man just +saved from shipwreck, and he must plunge into a fever-den in order +to be happy. I wash my hands of such foolishness. Let ’im go, +let ’im go.”</p> + +<p>The thin, neat doctor appeared, standing on the main-rail. He +handed his bag to one of the boat’s crew, and slowly descended the +ladder.</p> + +<p>“An’ what have you done with Sartoris?” asked the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“He’s aboard,” replied the doctor, “and there he stops. That’s +all I can say.”</p> + +<p>“And what’s the sickness?”</p> + +<p>“Ten men are dead, five more are down—two women, Chinese, +and three men. I should call it fever, a kind of barbiers or beri-beri. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +But in the meanwhile, I’ll take another drop of your excellent +liquor.”</p> + +<p>The doctor drank the Pilot’s medicine in complete silence.</p> + +<p>“Let go that rope!” roared Summerhayes. “Shove her off. Up +with your sail.” The trim boat shot towards the sunny port of Timber +Town, and Sartoris was left aboard the fever-ship.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>What Looked Like Courting.</strong></p> + + +<p>On the terrace of the Pilot’s house was a garden-seat, on which sat +Rose Summerhayes and Scarlett.</p> + +<p>Rose was looking at her dainty shoe, the point of which protruded +from beneath her skirt; while Scarlett’s eyes were fixed on +the magnificent panorama of mountains which stretched north and +south as far as he could see.</p> + +<p>Behind the grass-covered foot-hills, at whose base crouched the +little town, there stood bolder and more rugged heights. In rear of +these rose the twin forest-clad tops of an enormous mountain mass, +on either side of which stretched pinnacled ranges covered with +primeval “bush.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett was counting hill and mountain summits. His enumeration +had reached twenty distinct heights, when, losing count, he turned +to his companion.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lovely picture to have in front of your door,” he said, +“a picture that never tires the eye.”</p> + +<p>A break in the centre of the foot-hills suddenly attracted his attention. +It was the gorge through which a rippling, sparkling river +escaped from the mountain rampart and flowed through the town to +the tidal waters of the harbour.</p> + +<p>“That valley will take us into the heart of the hills,” he said. +“We start to-morrow morning, soon after dawn—Moonlight and I. +Do you know him?”</p> + +<p>The girl looked up from her shoe, and smiled. “I can’t cultivate +the acquaintance of every digger in the town,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Don’t speak disparagingly of diggers. <em>I</em> become one to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Then, mind you bring me a big nugget when you come back,” +said the girl.</p> + +<p>“That’s asking me to command good luck. Give me that, and +you shall have the nugget.”</p> + +<p>“Does luck go by a girl’s favour? If it did, you would be sure +to have it.”</p> + +<p>“I never had it on the voyage out, did I?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you never had the other either.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true—I left England through lack of it.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t have guessed that. Perhaps you’ll gain it in this +country.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett looked at her, but her eyes were again fixed on the +point of her shoe.</p> + +<p>“Well, Rosebud—flirting as usual?” Captain Summerhayes, +clad in blue serge, with his peaked cap on the back of his head, came +labouring up the path, and sat heavily on the garden-seat. “I never +see such a gal—always with the boys when she ought to be cooking +the dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Father!” exclaimed Rose, flushing red, though she well knew +the form that the Pilot’s chaff usually took. “How <em>can</em> you tell such +fibs? You forget that Mr. Scarlett is not one of the old cronies who +understand your fun.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +“There, there, my gal.” The Pilot laid his great brown hand on +his daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t be ruffled. Let an old sailor have +his joke: it won’t hurt, God bless us; it won’t hurt more’n the +buzzing of a blue-bottle fly. But you’re that prim and proper, that +staid and straight-laced, you make me tease you, just to rouse you +up. Oh! them calm ones, Mr. Scarlett, beware of ’em. It takes a lot +to goad ’em to it, but once their hair’s on end, it’s time a sailor went +to sea, and a landsman took to the bush. It’s simply terrible. Them +mild ’uns, Mr. Scarlett, beware of ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Father, do stop!” cried Rose, slapping the Pilot’s broad back +with her soft, white hand.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said her father, shrinking from her in mock dread; +“stop that hammerin’.”</p> + +<p>“Tell us about the fever-ship, and what they’re doing with +Sartoris,” said Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“Lor’, she’s knocked the breath out of a man’s body. I’m just +in dread o’ me life. Sit t’other end o’ the seat, gal; and do you, Mr. +Scarlett, sit in between us, and keep the peace. It’s fearful, this +livin’ alone with a dar’ter that thumps me.” The old fellow chuckled +internally, and threatened to explode with suppressed merriment. +“Some day I shall die o’ laffing,” he said, as he pulled himself +together. “But you was asking about Sartoris.” He had now got +himself well in hand. “Sartoris is like a pet monkey in a cage, along +o’ Chinamen, Malays, Seedee boys, and all them sort of animals. +Laff? You should ha’ seen me standing up in the boat, hollerin’ at +Sartoris, and laffin’ so as I couldn’t hardly keep me feet. ‘Sartoris,’ +I says, ‘when do the animals feed?’ An’ he looks over the rail, just +like a stuffed owl in a glass case, and says nothing. I took a bottle +from the boat’s locker, and held it up. ‘What wouldn’t you give for +a drop o’ that!’ I shouts. But he shook his fist, and said something +disrespectful about port wine; but I was that roused up with the +humour o’ the thing, I laffed so as I had to set down. A prisoner +for full four weeks, or durin’ the pleasure o’ the Health Officer, that’s +Sartoris. Lord! <em>what</em> a trap to be caught in.”</p> + +<p>“But what’s the disease they’ve on board?” asked Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“That’s where it is,” replied the Pilot—“nobody seems to know. +The Health Officer he says one thing, and then, first one medical and +then another must put his oar in, and say it’s something else—dengey +fever, break-bone, spirrilum fever, beri-beri, or anything you like. +One doctor says the ship shouldn’t ha’ bin currantined, and another +says she should, and so they go on quarrelling like a lot o’ cats in a +sack.”</p> + +<p>“But there have been deaths on board,” said Rose.</p> + +<p>“Deaths, my dear? The first mate’s gone, and more’n half the +piebald crew. This morning we buried the Chinese cook. You +won’t see Sartoris, not this month or more.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Scarlett is going into the bush, father. He’s not likely to be +back till after the ship is out of quarantine.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? What? Goin’ bush-whacking? I thought you was town-bred. +Well, well, so you’re goin’ to help chop down trees.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett smiled. “You’ve heard of this gold that’s been found, +Pilot?”</p> + +<p>“I see it in the paper.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to try if I can find where it comes from.”</p> + +<p>“Lord love ’ee, but you’ve no luck, lad. This gold-finding is just +a matter o’ luck, and luck goes by streaks. You’re in a bad streak, +just at present; and you won’t never find that gold till you’re out o’ +that streak. You can try, but you won’t get it. You see, Sartoris +is in the same streak—no sooner does he get wrecked than he is shut +up aboard this fever-ship. And s’far as I can see, he’ll get on no +better till he’s out o’ his streak too. You be careful how you go about +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +for the next six months or so, for as sure as you’re born, if you put +yourself in the way of it, you’ll have some worse misfortune than +any you’ve yet met with. Luck’s like the tide—you can do nothing +agin it; but when it turns, you’ve got everything in your favour. +Wait till the tide of your luck turns, young man, before you attempt +anything rash. That’s my advice, and I’ve seen proof of it in every +quarter of the globe.”</p> + +<p>“Father is full of all sorts of sailor-superstitions. He hates to +take a ship out of port on a Friday, and wouldn’t kill an albatross +for anything.”</p> + +<p>“We caught three on the voyage out,” said Scarlett; “a Wandering +Albatross, after sighting the Cape of Good Hope, and two sooty +ones near the Campbell Islands. I kept the wing-bones, and would +have given you one for a pipe-stem, Captain, if the ship had reached +port.”</p> + +<p>“But she didn’t, my lad,” growled the Pilot, “and that’s where +the point comes in. Why sailors can’t leave them birds alone astonishes +me: they don’t hurt nobody, and they don’t molest the ship, +but sail along out of pure love o’ company. On the strength o’ that +you must kill ’em, just for a few feathers and stems for tobacco-pipes. +And you got wrecked. P’r’aps you’ll leave ’em alone next +voyage.”</p> + +<p>During the last part of the conversation, Rose had risen, and +entered the house. She now returned with a small leather case in +her hand.</p> + +<p>“This, at any rate, will be proof against bad luck,” she said, as +she undid the case, and drew out a prismatic compass. She adjusted +the eye-piece, in which was a slit and a glass prism and lifted the +sight-vane, down the centre of which a horsehair stretched perpendicularly +to the card of the compass. Putting the instrument to her +eye, Rose took the bearing of one of the twin forest-clad heights, and +said, “Eighty degrees East—is that right?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got the magnetic bearing,” said Scarlett, taking the instrument +from the girl’s hand. “To find the real bearing, you must +allow for the variation between the magnetic and true North.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed; “that’s too dreadfully technical. But +take the compass: it should keep you from being lost in the bush, +anyway.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Jack. “It will be very useful. It’s a proper +mining-compass.”</p> + +<p>“I hope its needle will guide you to untold gold, and that the +mine you are looking for will act on it like a loadstone.”</p> + +<p>“Practical and sentimental—that’s Rosebud,” said the Pilot, from +the further end of the seat. “And you’ll always notice, Scarlett, that +it’s the practical that comes first with her. Once upon a time she +give me a cardigan jacket to wear under my coat. She’d knitted it +herself. She said it would keep me warm on frosty nights, and +prevent me gettin’ cold and all that; and when I gets into the boat one +night, and was feeling for a match, bless you if I didn’t find a piece +o’ paper, folded up, in the pocket o’ that there cardigan jacket. I took +it out and read it by the lantern. It was from my own dar’ter, jest +as if I’d ha’ been her sweetheart, and in it was all manner o’ lovey-dovey +things just fit to turn her old dad’s head. Practical first, sentimental +afterwards—that’s Rosebud. Very practical over the makin’ +of an apple-pie—very sentimental over the eatin’ of it, ain’t you, my +gal?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about the sentiment,” said Rose, “but I am sure +about the pie. If that were missing at dinner-time I know who +would grumble. So I’ll go, and attend to my duties.” She had risen, +and was confronting Scarlett. “Good-bye,” she said, “and good fortune.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +Jack took her proffered hand. “Thank you,” he said.</p> + +<p>She had walked a few steps towards the house, when she looked +over her shoulder. “Don’t forget the nuggets,” she said with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t forget,” he replied. “If I get them, you shall have +them. I hope I may get them, for <em>your</em> sake.”</p> + +<p>“Now, ain’t that a wee bit mushy, for talk?” said the old Pilot, +as his daughter disappeared. “You might give a gal a few pennyweights, +or even an ounce, but when you say you hope you may find +gold for her sake, ain’t that just a trifle flabby? But don’t think you +can deceive my gal with talk such as that. She may be sentimental +and stoopid with her old dad, but I never yet see the man she couldn’t +run rings round at a bargain. And as for gettin’ soft on a chap, he +ain’t come along yet; and when he does, like as not I’ll chuck him +over this here bank, and break his impident neck. When my gal +Rosebud takes a fancy, that’s another matter. If she <em>should</em> have a +leanin’ towards some partic’lar chap, why, then I’d open the door, and +lug him in by the collar if he didn’t come natural and responsive. I’ve +got my own ideas about a girl marrying—I had my own experience, +and I say, give a girl the choice, an’ she’ll make a good wife. That’s +my theory. So if my gal is set agin a man, I’m set agin him. If +she likes a partic’lar man, I’ll like him too. She won’t cotton to any +miserable, fish-backed beach-comber, I can promise you. So mushy, +flabby talk don’t count with Rose; you can make your mind clear on +that point.”</p> + +<p>The young man burst into a laugh.</p> + +<p>“Keep her tight, Pilot,” he said, in a voice loud with merriment. +“When you know you’ve got a good daughter, stick to her. Chuck +every interloper over the bank. I should do so myself. But don’t +treat <em>me</em> so when I come with the nuggets.”</p> + +<p>“Now, look ’ee here,” said the Pilot, as he rose cumbersomely, +and took Scarlett by the arm. “I’ve said you’re in a bad streak o’ +luck, and I believe it. But, mark me here: nothing would please me +better than for you to return with a hatful of gold. All I say is, if +you’re bent on going, be careful; and, being in a bad streak, don’t +expect great things.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” said Scarlett. “I’m in a bad streak? All right. +When I work out of that you’ll be the first man I’ll come to see.”</p> + +<p>“An’ no one’ll be gladder to see you.”</p> + +<p>Captain Summerhayes took Scarlett’s hand, and shook it warmly. +“Good-bye,” he said. “Good luck, and damn the bad streak.”</p> + +<p>Jack laughed, and walked down the winding path.</p> + +<p>The Pilot stood on the bank, and looked after him.</p> + +<p>“Hearten him up: that’s the way,” he said to himself, as he +watched the retreating figure; “but, for all that, he’s like a young +‘more-pork’ in the bush, with all his troubles to come.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Hocussed.</strong></p> + + +<p>In a small inner room in The Lucky Digger sat Benjamin Tresco +and the Prospector.</p> + +<p>The goldsmith was happy. His glass was before him, between +his teeth was the stem of his pipe, and in consequence his face beamed +with contentment, pleasure, good humour, and indolence.</p> + +<p>The digger, on the other hand, looked serious, not to say +anxious, and his manner was full of uneasiness. His glass stood +untouched, his half-finished pipe had gone out, and he could not sit +still, but began to pace backwards and forwards restlessly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +“I’ve put my foot in it,” he said, pulling nervously at his bushy +beard. “I’ve quarrelled with the toffs of the town, and the best thing +I can do is to make a git. I’ll start for the bush to-morrer.”</p> + +<p>“Now you’re talking bunkum,” said Tresco, as the smoke from +his pipe wreathed above his head. “I know those men—two bigger +rogues never breathed. They simply wanted to fleece you, and instead +of that you gave ’em one in the eye. More power to you: it was +immense! As for old Mr. Crewe and his crowd, they were on the +make too; but they are out of court—there’s no chance of them trying +to renew your acquaintance. Now, what you must do is to enjoy +yourself quietly, and by-and-by get back to your claim. But, for +to-night, we’ll have a good time—a little liquor, a quiet game of +cards, a bit of a talk, and perhaps a better understanding.”</p> + +<p>“To speak the blanky truth,” said the digger, “you’re the whitest +man I’ve met. True, I’ve give myself away a bit, but you’re the only +man ain’t tried to do the pump-handle business with me.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll buy all the gold you like to bring to town.”</p> + +<p>“Right! Here’s my fist: you shall ’ave all I git.”</p> + +<p>The two men solemnly shook hands.</p> + +<p>“Drink your liquor,” said Tresco. “It’ll do you good.”</p> + +<p>The digger drank, and re-lit his pipe.</p> + +<p>“Now, what I says is that there’s men I like to put in the way +of a good thing.”</p> + +<p>“Same here,” said Benjamin.</p> + +<p>“An’ I say you’ve dealt honest by me, and I’ll deal fair and +open with you.”</p> + +<p>“What I should expect,” said Benjamin.</p> + +<p>“I’ve found a good thing—more than I could ever want myself, +if I lived a hundred years. I intend to do the handsome to a few +o’ my pals.”</p> + +<p>“I’m one.”</p> + +<p>“You’re one. First, I shall go back and do a bit more prospecting, +and see if I can better my claim. Then I shall come to town, and +let my mates into the know.”</p> + +<p>“Just so.”</p> + +<p>“By-and-by we’ll slip out o’ town, an’ no man any the wiser. +You can’t track <em>me</em>—I’m too smart, by long chalks.”</p> + +<p>Tresco’s glass stood empty.</p> + +<p>“We’ll drink to it,” he said, and rang the little hand-bell that +stood on the table.</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie entered, with that regal air common to bar-maids +who rule their soggy realms absolutely.</p> + +<p>“Well, old gentleman, same old tipple, I suppose,” said she to +Tresco.</p> + +<p>“My dear, the usual; and see that it’s out of the wood, the real +Mackay. And bring in some dice.”</p> + +<p>The two men sat quietly till the bar-maid returned.</p> + +<p>Tresco rattled the dice, and threw a pair of fours. “No deception,” +he said. “Are these the house’s dice, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“They’re out of the bar,” replied Gentle Annie.</p> + +<p>“Are they in common use for throwing for drinks?”</p> + +<p>“What d’you take me for? D’you think I know how to load +dice?”</p> + +<p>“My dear, this gentleman must know everything’s square when +he plays with me. When we ring again, just bring in the usual. +Adieu. Au revoir. Haere ra, which is Maori. Parting is such sweet +sorrow.”</p> + +<p>As the bar-maid disappeared the digger placed a pile of bank-notes +on the table, and Tresco looked at them with feigned astonishment. +“If you think, mister, that I can set even money again that, +you over-estimate my influence with my banker. A modest tenner or +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +two is about my height. But who knows?—before the evening is far +spent perhaps my capital may have increased. Besides, there are +always plenty of matches for counters—a match for a pound.”</p> + +<p>“What shall it be?” asked the digger.</p> + +<p>“‘Kitty,’” answered Tresco. “A pound a throw, best of three.”</p> + +<p>“I’m agreeable,” said the digger.</p> + +<p>“Throw for first ‘go,’” said Tresco.</p> + +<p>The digger nodded, took the dice, and threw “eight.”</p> + +<p>The goldsmith followed with six, and said, “You go first.”</p> + +<p>The Prospector put three pounds in the centre of the table beside +Tresco’s stake, and began to play. His highest throw was ten. +Tresco’s was nine, and the digger took the pool.</p> + +<p>“Well, you got me there,” said the goldsmith. “We’ll have +another ‘go.’”</p> + +<p>Again the pool was made up, and this time Tresco threw first. +His highest throw was “eleven,” which the digger failed to beat.</p> + +<p>“She’s mine: come to me, my dear.” Taking the pool, the goldsmith +added, “We’re quits, but should this sort of thing continue, I +have a remedy—double every alternate ‘Kitty.’”</p> + +<p>The game continued, with fluctuations of luck which were usually +in the digger’s favour.</p> + +<p>But the rattling of the dice had attracted attention in the bar, +and, lured by that illusive music, four men approached the room +where the gamblers sat.</p> + +<p>“No intrusion, I hope,” said the leader of the gang, pushing open +the door.</p> + +<p>“Come in, come in,” cried Tresco, barely glancing at the newcomers, +so intent was he on the game.</p> + +<p>They entered, and stood round the table: an ugly quartette. The +man who had spoken was short, thick-set, with a bullet head which +was bald on the top, mutton-chop whiskers, and a big lump under his +left ear. The second was a neat, handsome man, with black, glittering +eyes, over which the lids drooped shrewdly. The third was a young +fellow with a weak face, a long, thin neck and sloping shoulders; and +the fourth, a clean-shaven man of heavy build, possessed a face that +would have looked at home on the shoulders of a convict. He answered +to the name of Garstang.</p> + +<p>“Dolphin,” said he to the man with the lump, “cut in.”</p> + +<p>“No, no; let it be Carnac,” said Dolphin, looking at the keen-eyed +man, who replied, “I pass it on to young William.”</p> + +<p>“Gor’ bli’ me, why to me?” exclaimed the stripling. “I never +strike any luck. I hand the chanst back to you, Carny.”</p> + +<p>The man with the shrewd eyes sat down at the table, on which he +first placed some money. Then he said in a clear, pleasant voice:</p> + +<p>“You’ve no objection, I suppose, to a stranger joining you?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, not at all,” said the genial Benjamin.</p> + +<p>“If you’re meanin’ me”—the digger glanced at the company +generally—“all I’ve got to say is: the man as increases the stakes is +welcome.”</p> + +<p>They threw, and the digger won.</p> + +<p>“That’s the style,” said he, as he took the pool. “That’s just as +it oughter be. I shout for the crowd. Name your poisons, gentlemen.” +He rang the bell, and Gentle Annie appeared, radiant, and +supreme. She held a small tray in one hand, whilst the other, white +and shapely, hung at her side. As the men named their liquors, she +carefully repeated what they had ordered. When Carnac’s turn came, +and she said, “And yours?” the handsome gambler stretched out his +arm, and, drawing her in a familiar manner towards him, said, “You +see, boys, I know what’s better than any liquor.”</p> + +<p>In a moment Gentle Annie had pulled herself free, and was standing +off from the sinister-faced man.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +“Phaugh!” she said with disgust, “I draw the line at spielers.”</p> + +<p>“You draw the line at nothing that’s got money,” retorted the +owner of the glittering eyes, brutally.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” said Gentle Annie, with a touch of real dignity in +her manner, “I have your orders.” And she withdrew modestly, without +so much as another glance at Carnac.</p> + +<p>The play continued till her return. She handed round glasses +to all but the handsome gambler.</p> + +<p>“And where’s mine?” asked he.</p> + +<p>“You forgot to order it,” said she. “I’ll send the pot-boy to wait +on <em>you</em>.” In a perfectly affable manner she took the money from the +uncouth digger, and then, throwing a disdainful glance at Carnac, she +tossed her head defiantly, and went out.</p> + +<p>The game continued. Now Tresco’s pile of money was increased, +now it had dwindled to a few paltry pounds. The digger looked hot +and excited as he, too, lost. Carnac, wearing a fixed, inscrutable +smile, won almost every throw.</p> + +<p>The gambler’s feverish madness was beginning to seize Tresco +as it had already seized his friend, but at last he was stopped by lack +of funds.</p> + +<p>“How much have you on you, Bill?” he asked of the Prospector.</p> + +<p>“How much have I got, eh?” said Bill, emptying his pockets of a +large quantity of gold and bank-notes. “I reckon I’ve enough to see +this little game through and lend a mate a few pounds as well.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll trouble you for fifty,” said Tresco, who scribbled an IOU +for the amount mentioned on the back of an envelope, and handed it +to the digger.</p> + +<p>The man with the lump on his neck had seated himself at the +table.</p> + +<p>“I think, gents, I’ll stand in,” said he. “You two are pals, and me +and Carnac’s pals. Makes things equal.” He placed three pounds in +the pool.</p> + +<p>“Hold on,” Carnac interrupted. “I propose a rise. Make it £5 a +corner—that’ll form a Kitty worth winning—the game to be the total +of three throws.”</p> + +<p>“Consecutive?” Tresco asked.</p> + +<p>“Consecutive,” said the digger. “It avoids a shindy, and is more +straightfor’ard.”</p> + +<p>A pool of £20 was thus made up, and the play continued.</p> + +<p>The innocent youth who answered to the name of William stood +behind Tresco’s chair and winked at Garstang, whose loosely-made +mouth twitched with merriment.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be rash, Dolly,” remarked Young William to the man with +the hideous neck, who held the dice box. “Think of your wife an’ +kids in Sydney before you make yer throw. You’re spoilin’ my +morals.”</p> + +<p>“Go outside, and grow virtuous in the passage.” Dolphin made +his throws, which totalled twenty-six.</p> + +<p>Tresco followed with eighteen. The digger’s and Carnac’s chances +still remained.</p> + +<p>So lucky on the diggings, so unlucky in town, Bill the Prospector +took the box with a slightly trembling hand and rattled the dice. His +first throw was twelve, his second eleven. “Even money I beat you,” +he said to Dolphin.</p> + +<p>“Garn,” replied that polite worthy. “What yer givin’ us? D’you +take me for a flat?”</p> + +<p>The digger threw, and his score totalled thirty.</p> + +<p>“P’r’aps, mister,” he said, turning to Carnac, “you’d like to take +me up. Quid to quid you don’t beat me.”</p> + +<p>The glittering eyes fixed themselves on the digger. “You’re too +generous, sir,” said the gentlemanly Carnac. “Your score is hard to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +beat. Of course, I mean to try, but the odds are in your favour.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make it two to one,” said the digger.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you insist,” replied Carnac, “I’ll accommodate you.” +He placed his pound upon the table, and made his first throw—ten.</p> + +<p>“Shake ’er up, Carny,” cried Young William. “I back you. No +deception, gentlemen; a game which is nothing but luck.”</p> + +<p>The suave gambler’s next throw was eleven.</p> + +<p>“An even pound you lose, mister,” said William to the digger.</p> + +<p>“Done,” cried the Prospector. “Put out the money.”</p> + +<p>Carnac threw twelve, said, “The little lady’s mine,” and took +the pool.</p> + +<p>The digger handed two pounds to the winner and a pound note +to Young William who, crumpling his money in his palm, said, +“Oysters for supper and a bottle of fizz—there’ll be no end of a +spree.”</p> + +<p>The monotonous round of the game continued, till Tresco’s borrowed +money had dwindled to but five pounds, which was enough +for but one more chance with the dice.</p> + +<p>The Prospector had fared but little better. What with the +money he had staked, and side bets on individual throws, his pile +of money had been reduced to half.</p> + +<p>“There ain’t nothin’ mean about me,” he said, “but I’d be +obliged if some gen’leman would shout.”</p> + +<p>Dolphin touched the bell, and said, “I was beginning to feel that +way myself.”</p> + +<p>A very undersized young man, who had plastered his black hair +carefully and limped with one leg, appeared, and said in a very +shrill voice, “Yes, gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” asked Dolphin.</p> + +<p>“I’m the actin’-barman,” replied the young man, twirling the +japanned tray in his hands, and drawing himself up to his full height.</p> + +<p>“I should call you the blanky rouseabout,” said Dolphin. “We +want the bar-maid.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Quintal says she ain’t comin’,” said the important youth. +“To tell the truth, she’s a bit huffed with the ’ole lot of yer. What’s +your orders, gents?”</p> + +<p>He had hardly got the words out of his mouth, when Young +William rushed him from the room and along the passage.</p> + +<p>Dolphin rang the bell, but no one came to the door till Young +William himself reappeared.</p> + +<p>“I guess we won’t have no more trouble with that lot,” said he. +“I jammed ’im inter a cupboard under the stairs, along with the +brooms an’ dustpans. ’Ere’s the key. I’ll take your orders meself, +gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s the lovely bar-maid?” asked Dolphin.</p> + +<p>“She’s that took up with a gent that’s got a cast in his eye and +a red mustache,” replied William, “that she’s got no time fer this +crowd. What’s yours, Garstang? Look slippy. Don’t keep me all +night.”</p> + +<p>The men named their liquors, and Young William, taking three +shillings from Dolphin, returned to the bar.</p> + +<p>He was rather a long time away, and when he reappeared +Carnac remarked, “You’ve been deuced slow over it—you’ll have to +be sharper than that, if you want to be waiter in a hotel, my Sweet +William.”</p> + +<p>“You’re all very small potatoes in this room, you’re no class—you’re +not in it with wall-eyed blokes. Here’s yer drinks.”</p> + +<p>He went round the table, and carefully placed each individual’s +glass at his elbow; and the game continued.</p> + +<p>The pool fell to Carnac, and all Tresco’s money was gone.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +“Here’s luck,” said the Prospector, lifting his glass to Dolphin; +and when he had drunk he put his stake in the middle of the table.</p> + +<p>Carnac rattled the dice-box. “Hello!” he said. “Kitty is short +by five pounds. Who’s the defaulter?”</p> + +<p>“Me, I’m afraid, gentlemen,” said Tresco. “I’m cleaned out. +’Case of stone-broke.”</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” exclaimed the digger. “You ain’t got a stiver +left? Well, there ain’t nothing mean about me—here y’are.” He +roughly divided his money, and pushed one-half across the table to +Tresco.</p> + +<p>“Hear, hear!” cried Carnac, clapping his hands.</p> + +<p>“’Ere, ’ere!” echoed Sweet William. “Very ’an’some, most +magnanimous.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin reached out his hand for the money, and in so doing +overturned his glass, which broke into shivers on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Good liquor spilt,” he remarked as he counted the money and +drew another IOU for the amount loaned, which was sixty-seven +pounds.</p> + +<p>The play proceeded. “Here’s to you,” said Dolphin, as he drank +to Tresco. “Better luck—you deserve it.”</p> + +<p>The digger was filled with the gambler’s fever. His eyes were +wild, his face was hot; he drained his glass at a draught, and +drummed the table with his fingers.</p> + +<p>“Neck or nothin’, Tresco,” he said. “Make it ten pound a corner, +and let’s blanky well bust or win. Win, I say—double the stakes, +and see if that’ll change our luck.”</p> + +<p>“Anything to oblige you, gentlemen,” said Carnac. “Let it be +ten pounds, and you can withdraw as soon as you win your money +back. It’s a free country: you can have one throw, two, or any +number you please. But don’t say you were coerced, if you lose.”</p> + +<p>Tresco answered by putting his ten pounds in the pool.</p> + +<p>The situation seemed to amuse Young William. He stood behind +the goldsmith’s chair, holding his sides to suppress his laughter, and +making pantomimic signs to Garstang, who looked on with stolid +composure and an evil smile.</p> + +<p>The players made their throws, and Carnac won the pool.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” cried the Prospector, with strong expletives. +“There’s my stake—let me have another shy. Game to the finish.” +He rose to his feet, threw his money down on the table with a bang, +reeled as he stood, and sat down heavily.</p> + +<p>And so the game went on. No luck came to Tresco, and but a +few pounds remained in front of him. “One more Kitty, and that +finishes me,” he said, as he placed his stake in the pool.</p> + +<p>As usual, he lost.</p> + +<p>“Here’s seven pounds left,” he cried. “Even money all round, +and sudden death on a single throw.”</p> + +<p>The final pool was made up. The digger threw first—a paltry +seven. Dolphin followed with five. It was Tresco’s turn to play +next, and he threw eleven.</p> + +<p>Carnac dallied long with the dice. He was about to throw, +when the Prospector rose from his seat and, swaying, caught at the +suave gambler’s arm for support. With a rattle the dice-box fell. +Carnac uttered an oath. Before the players three dice lay upon +the table.</p> + +<p>Tresco swore deep and loud, and in a moment had fastened both +his hands upon the cheat’s throat. Carnac struggled, the table with +all its money fell with a crash, but the sinister Garstang made a +swift movement, and before Tresco’s face there glittered the barrel +of a revolver.</p> + +<p>“Drop him,” said Garstang hoarsely. “Loose hold, or you’re +dead.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +The goldsmith dropped his man, but Garstang still covered him +with his weapon.</p> + +<p>“Stow the loot, William,” said Dolphin, suiting the action to +the word; and while the two trusty comrades filled their pockets +with gold and bank-notes, Carnac slunk from the room. With a +heavy lurch the digger tumbled up against the wall, and then fell +heavily to the floor.</p> + +<p>“Don’t give so much as a squeak,” said Garstang to the goldsmith, +“or you’ll lie beside your mate, only much sounder.”</p> + +<p>Dolphin and Young William, laden with booty, now retired with +all speed, and Garstang, still covering his man, walked slowly backward +to the door. He made a sudden step and was gone; the door +shut with a bang; the key turned in the lock, and Benjamin Tresco +was left alone with the insensible form of Bill the Prospector.</p> + +<p>“Hocussed, by Heaven!” cried the goldsmith. “Fleeced and +drugged in one evening.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Temptation of the Devil.</strong></p> + + +<p>The atmosphere of the little room at the back of Tresco’s shop +was redolent of frying chops. The goldsmith was cooking his breakfast.</p> + +<p>As he sneezed and coughed, and watered at the eyes, he muttered, +“This is the time of all others that I feel the lack of Betsy +Jane or a loving wife.”</p> + +<p>There was the sound of a foot on the narrow stairs, and Jake +Ruggles appeared, his hair still damp from his morning ablutions +and his face as clean as his muddy complexion would permit.</p> + +<p>“’Mornin’, boss.”</p> + +<p>“Good morning, my lad.”</p> + +<p>“Chops?”</p> + +<p>“Chops and repentance,” said the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>“Whatyer givin’ us?” asked Jake, indignant. “Who’s takin’ any +repentance this morning?—not me, you bet.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a game called Euchre, Jake—never play it. There is +likewise a game called Kitty, which is worse. You can lose more +money in one night at one of these games than you can earn in six +months.”</p> + +<p>“Speak f’yerself,” said the irreverent Jake. “I own I wasn’t +at a temp’rance meetin’ las’ night, but I was in bed long before you +come home.”</p> + +<p>“I was attending a sick friend,” said Benjamin, dishing up the +chops. “I confess I was kept out a little late.”</p> + +<p>“Must ’a’ bin the horrors—I hope ’e didn’t die.”</p> + +<p>“You are mistaken, my brilliant youth. But I own it was something +not unlike it. My friend was drugged while having a friendly +game of chance with men he deemed to be respectable. One of them +dosed his liquor, while another rooked him with loaded dice, and what +with one thing and another he was fleeced of all his cash, and was +hocussed into the bargain.”</p> + +<p>“An’ what was <em>you</em> doin’ there?”</p> + +<p>“I? I was being rooked too, but either the drug was the wrong +sort to hocuss <em>me</em>, or I overturned my glass by accident, but I escaped +with the loss of a few pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Hocuss yer grandmother!” Jake’s ferret-like eyes looked unutterable +scorn. “Your bloomin’ hocuss was brandy.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +“The mind of Youth is perverse and foolish,” said the goldsmith, +as he poured out the tea. “When the voice of Experience and the +voice of Wisdom say, ‘Eschew cards, abjure dice, avoid men with +lumps on their necks and revolvers in their pockets,’ sapient Youth +says, ‘The old man’s goin’ dotty.’ But we shall see. Youth’s +innings will come, and I bet a fiver—no, no, what am I thinking of?—I +stake my honour that Youth’s middle stump gets bowled first ball.”</p> + +<p>Three years before Tresco had arrived in Timber Town, and had +started business on borrowed money. Everything had favoured him +but his own improvidence, and on the eve of what he believed to be +a financial boom, he found himself in what he described as “a cleft +stick.” The quarter’s rent was a fortnight overdue, the interest on +his mortgaged stock must be paid in a few days; and in addition to +this he was now saddled with a debt of honour which, if paid, would +leave him in a bankrupt condition.</p> + +<p>Rising from his half-finished meal, he put on his apron, went into +the workshop, and sat down at his bench.</p> + +<p>The money which he had held for satisfying the immediate +calls of his creditors was squandered, and in the course of the morning +he might expect a visit from his landlord, demanding payment.</p> + +<p>He might put the digger from his mind—a man drugged overnight +would not trouble him next day. The thought gave him relief, +and he took up his tool and began to engrave a monogram on a piece +of silver. The outlines of the letters were marked in pencil, and the +point of his graver deftly ploughed little furrows hither and thither, +till the beauty of the design displayed itself.</p> + +<p>Jake had opened the shop and taken down the shutters. The +goldsmith had lighted his pipe, and the workshop had assumed its +usual air of industry, when a rapping was heard on the glass case +which stood on the counter of the shop.</p> + +<p>Benjamin, glad to welcome so early a customer, rose with a beaming +face, and bustled out of the workshop.</p> + +<p>Bill the Prospector stood before him.</p> + +<p>“<em>Good</em> morning!” Tresco’s greeting was effusively delivered. “I +hope I see you well.”</p> + +<p>“A bit thick in the head, mate,” said the digger, “but not much +the worse, ’cept I ain’t got so much as a bean to get a breakfast with.”</p> + +<p>“Come in, come in,” exclaimed Benjamin, as he ushered the digger +into the back room, where such chops as had escaped the voracious +appetite of Jake Ruggles remained upon the table.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, my friend; eat, and be well filled,” said the goldsmith. +“I’ll brew another pot of tea, and soon our Richard will be himself +again.”</p> + +<p>The dissipated digger ate half a chop and a morsel of bread +and, when the tea was ready, he drank a cupful thirstily.</p> + +<p>“Try another,” suggested Tresco, holding the teapot in his hand. +“You’re a marvel at making a recovery.”</p> + +<p>The digger complied readily.</p> + +<p>“That’s the style,” said the goldsmith. “There’s nothing like +tea to counteract the effects of a little spree.”</p> + +<p>“Spree!” The digger’s face expressed indignation which he did +not feel equal to uttering. “The spree remained with the other +parties, likewise the dollars.” He emptied his cup, and drew a long +breath.</p> + +<p>“I reckon we struck a bit of a snag,” said Benjamin, “four of ’em +in a lump.”</p> + +<p>“They properly cleaned me out, anyway,” said the digger. “I +ain’t got so much as sixpence to jingle on a tombstone.”</p> + +<p>He fumbled in his pockets, and at length drew out two pieces of +crumpled paper. These he smoothed with his rough begrimed hands, +and then placed them on the table. They were Tresco’s IOUs.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +“I suppose you’ll fix these ’ere, mate,” said he.</p> + +<p>Benjamin scratched his head.</p> + +<p>“When I’ve squared up my hotel bill an’ a few odds and ends,” +explained the digger, “I’ll be makin’ tracks.”</p> + +<p>Tresco looked on this man as a veritable gold-mine, in that he +had discovered one of the richest diggings in the country. To +quarrel with him therefore would be calamitous: to pay him was impossible, +without recourse to financial suicide.</p> + +<p>“What does it amount to?” he asked, bending over the bits of +dirty paper. “H’m, £117—pretty stiff little bill to meet between 10 +p.m. and 10 a.m. Suppose I let you have fifty?”</p> + +<p>The digger looked at the goldsmith in astonishment.</p> + +<p>“If I didn’t want the money, I’d chuck these bits o’ paper in the +fire,” he exclaimed. “S’fer as <em>I’m</em> concerned the odd seventeen pound +would do <em>me</em>, but it’s the missis down in Otago. She <em>must</em> ’ave a clear +hundred. Women is expensive, I own, but they mustn’t be let starve. +So anty up like a white man.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try,” said Tresco.</p> + +<p>“If I was you I’d try blanky hard,” said the digger. “Act honest, +and I’ll peg you off a claim as good as my own. Act dishonest, an’ +you can go to the devil.”</p> + +<p>Tresco had taken off his apron, and was putting on his coat. +“I’ve no intention of doing that,” he said. “How would it be to get +the police to make those spielers disgorge?—you’d be square enough +then.”</p> + +<p>“Do that, and I’ll never speak to you again. I’ve no mind to +be guy’d in the papers as a new chum that was bested by a set of +lags.”</p> + +<p>“But I tell you they had loaded dice and six-shooters.”</p> + +<p>“The bigger fools we to set two minutes in their comp’ny.”</p> + +<p>“What if I say they drugged you?”</p> + +<p>“I own to bein’ drunk. But if you think to picture me to the +public as a greenhorn that can be drugged first and robbed afterwards, +you must think me a bigger fool’n I look.”</p> + +<p>Tresco held his hat in his hand.</p> + +<p>“I want this yer money <em>now</em>,” said the digger. “In three weeks +money’ll be no object to you or me, but what I lent you last night +must be paid to-day.”</p> + +<p>Tresco went to the door.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get it if I can,” he said. “Stay here till I come back, and +make yourself at home. You may rely on my best endeavours.” He +put on his hat, and went into the street.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crookenden sat in his office. He was a tubby man, with eyes +like boiled gooseberries. No one could guess from his face what +manner of man he might be, whether generous or mean, hot-tempered +or good-humoured, because all those marks which are supposed to +delineate character were in him obliterated by adipose tissue. You +had to take him as you found him. But for the rest he was a merchant +who owned a lucrative business and a few small blunt-nosed +steamers that traded along the coasts adjacent to Timber Town.</p> + +<p>As he sat in his office, glancing over the invoices of the wrecked +<em>Mersey Witch</em>, and trying to compute the difference between the value +of the cargo and the amount of its insurance, there was a knock at +the door, and Benjamin Tresco entered.</p> + +<p>“How d’e do, Tresco? Take a chair,” said the man of business. +“The little matter of your rent, eh? That’s right; pay your way, +Tresco, and fortune will simply chase you. That’s been <em>my</em> experience.”</p> + +<p>“Then I can only say, sir, it ain’t bin mine.”</p> + +<p>“But, Tresco, the reason of that is because you’re so long-winded. +Getting money from you is like drawing your eye-teeth. But, come, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +come; you’re improving, you’re getting accustomed to paying punctually. +That’s a great thing, a very great thing.”</p> + +<p>“To-day,” said the goldsmith, with the most deferential manner +of which he was capable, “I have <em>not</em> come to pay.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Tresco!”</p> + +<p>“But to get <em>you</em> to pay. I want a little additional loan.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible, absolutely impossible, Tresco.”</p> + +<p>“Owing to losses over an unfortunate investment, I find myself +in immediate need of £150. If that amount is not forthcoming, I fear +my brilliant future will become clouded and your rent will remain +unpaid indefinitely.”</p> + +<p>The fat man laughed wheezily.</p> + +<p>“That’s very good,” he said. “You borrow from me to pay my +rent. A very original idea, Tresco; but don’t you think it would be +as well as to borrow from some one else—Varnhagen, for instance?”</p> + +<p>“The Jews, Mr. Crookenden; I always try to avoid the Jews. To +go to the Jews means to go to the dogs. Keep me from the hands of +the Jews, I beg.”</p> + +<p>“But how would you propose to repay me?”</p> + +<p>“By assiduous application to business, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed. Then what have you been doing all this while?”</p> + +<p>“Suffering from bad luck.” The ghost of a smile flitted across +Benjamin’s face as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“But Varnhagen is simply swimming in money. He would gladly +oblige you.”</p> + +<p>“He did once, at something like 60 per cent. If I remember +rightly, you took over the liability.”</p> + +<p>“Did I, indeed? Do you know anything of Varnhagen’s business?”</p> + +<p>“No more than I do of the Devil’s.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t seem to like the firm of Varnhagen and Co.”</p> + +<p>“I have no reason to, except that the head of it buys a trinket +from me now and then, and makes me ‘take it out’ by ordering +through him.”</p> + +<p>“Just so. You would like to get even with him?”</p> + +<p>“Try me.”</p> + +<p>“Are you good in a boat, Tresco?”</p> + +<p>The goldsmith seemed to think, and his cogitation made him smile.</p> + +<p>“Tolerably,” he said. “I’m not exactly amphibious, but I’d float, +I’d float, I believe,” and he looked at his portly figure.</p> + +<p>“Are you good with an oar?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty moderate,” said Tresco, trying to think which end of +the boat he would face while pulling.</p> + +<p>“And you’ve got pluck, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“I hope,” said the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>“To be plain with you, Tresco, I’ve need of the services of such a +man as yourself, reliable, silent, staunch, and with just enough of +the devil in him to make him face the music.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin scratched his head, and wondered what was coming.</p> + +<p>“You want a hundred pounds,” said the merchant.</p> + +<p>“A hundred and fifty badly,” said the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>“We’ll call it a hundred,” said the merchant. “I’ve lost considerably +over this wreck—you can understand that?”</p> + +<p>“I can.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Varnhagen, who has long been a thorn in my side, and +has been threatening to start a line of boats in opposition to me, has +decided, I happen to hear, to take immediate advantage of my misfortune. +But I’ll checkmate him.”</p> + +<p>“You’re the man to do it.”</p> + +<p>“I hold a contract for delivering mails from shore. By a curious +juncture of circumstances, I have to take out the English mail to-morrow +night to the <em>Takariwa</em>, and bring an English mail ashore +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +from her. Both these mails are <em>via</em> Sydney, and I happen to know +that Varnhagen’s letters ordering his boats will be in the outgoing +mail, and that he is expecting correspondence referring to the matter +by the incoming mail. He must get neither. Do you understand?—neither.”</p> + +<p>Tresco remained silent.</p> + +<p>“You go on board my boat—it will be dark; nobody will recognise +you. Furthermore I shall give you written authority to do the work. +You can find your own crew, and I will pay them, through you, what +you think fit. But as to the way you effect my purpose, I am to +know nothing. You make your own plans, and keep them to yourself. +But bring me the correspondence, and you get your money.”</p> + +<p>“Make it £200. A hundred down and the balance afterwards. +This is an important matter. This is no child’s play.” The subtle +and criminal part of Benjamin’s mind began to see that the affair +would place his landlord and mortgagee in his power, and relieve him +for evermore from financial pressure. To his peculiar conscience it +was justifiable to overreach his grasping creditor, a right and proper +thing to upset the shrewd Varnhagen’s plans: a thought of the proposed +breach of the law, statutory and moral, did not occur to his +mind.</p> + +<p>“There may be some bother about the seals of the bags,” said +the merchant, “but we’ll pray it may be rough, and in that case +nothing is simpler—one bag at least can get lost, and the rest can +have their seals damaged, and so on. You will go out at ten to-morrow +night, and you will have pretty well till daylight to do the job. Do +you understand?”</p> + +<p>Benjamin had begun to reflect.</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it mean gaol if I’m caught?”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, man. How can you be caught? It’s <em>I</em> who take the +risk. <em>I</em> am responsible for the delivery of the mails, and if anything +goes wrong it’s <em>I</em> will have to suffer. You do your little bit, and +I’ll see that you get off scot-free. Here’s my hand on it.”</p> + +<p>The merchant held out his flabby hand, and Tresco took it.</p> + +<p>“It’s a bargain?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a bargain,” said Tresco.</p> + +<p>Crookenden reached for his cheque book, and wrote out a cheque +for fifty pounds.</p> + +<p>“Take this cheque to the bank, and cash it.”</p> + +<p>Tresco took the bit of signed paper, and looked at it.</p> + +<p>“Fifty?” he remarked. “I said a hundred down.”</p> + +<p>“You shall have the balance when you have done the work.”</p> + +<p>“And I can do it how I like, where I like, and when I like between +nightfall and dawn?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Then I think I can do it so that all the post office clerks in the +country couldn’t bowl me out.”</p> + +<p>But the merchant merely nodded in response to this braggadocio—he +was already giving his mind to other matters.</p> + +<p>Without another word the goldsmith left the office. He walked +quickly along the street, regarding neither the garish shops nor the +people he passed, and entered the doors of the Kangaroo Bank, where +the Semitic clerk stood behind the counter.</p> + +<p>“How will you take it?”</p> + +<p>The words were sweet to Benjamin’s ear.</p> + +<p>“Tens,” he said.</p> + +<p>The bank-notes were handed to him, and he went home quickly.</p> + +<p>The digger was sitting where Tresco had left him.</p> + +<p>“There’s your money,” said the goldsmith, throwing the notes +upon the table.</p> + +<p>The digger counted them.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +“That’s only fifty,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You shall have the balance in two days, but not an hour sooner,” +replied Tresco. “In the meanwhile, you can git. I’m busy.”</p> + +<p>Without more ceremony, he went into his workshop.</p> + +<p>“Jake, I give you a holiday for three days,” he said. “Go and +see your Aunt Maria, or your Uncle Sam, or whoever you like, but +don’t let me see your ugly face for three solid days.”</p> + +<p>The apprentice looked at his master open-mouthed.</p> + +<p>The goldsmith went to the safe which stood in a corner of the +shop, and took out some silver.</p> + +<p>“Here’s money,” he said. “Take it. Don’t come back till next +Friday. Make yourself scarce; d’you hear?”</p> + +<p>“Right, boss. Anythin’ else?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Go instanter.”</p> + +<p>Jake vanished as if the fiend were after him, and Tresco seated +himself at the bench.</p> + +<p>Out of a drawer immediately above the leather apron of the +bench he took the wax impression of something, and a square piece +of brass.</p> + +<p>“Fortune helps those who help themselves,” he muttered. “When +the Post Office sent me their seals to repair, I made this impression. +Now we will see if I can reproduce a duplicate which shall be a +facsimile, line for line.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Rock Cod and Macaroni.</strong></p> + + +<p>The small boat came alongside the pilot-shed with noise and fuss +out of all proportion to the insignificance of the occasion.</p> + +<p>It was full spring-tide, and the blue sea filled the whole harbour +and threatened to flood the very quay which stretched along the +shore of Timber Town.</p> + +<p>In the small boat were two fishermen, the one large and fat, the +other short and thick.</p> + +<p>“Stoppa, Rocka Codda!” cried the big man, who was of a very +dark complexion. “You son ’a barracouta, what I tella you? Why +you not stoppa ze boat?”</p> + +<p>“Stop ’er yourself, you dancin’, yelpin’ Dago.”</p> + +<p>“You calla me Dago? I calla you square-’ead. I calla you Russian-Finna. +I calla you mongrel dogga, Rocka Codda.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot’s crew, standing at the top of the slip, grinned broadly, +and fired at the fishermen a volley of chaff which diverted the +Italian’s attention from his mate in the boat.</p> + +<p>“Ah-ha!” His voice sounded as shrill as a dozen clarions, and +it carried half-a-mile along the quay. He sprang ashore. “Hi-ya!” +It was like the yell of a hundred cannibals, but the Pilot’s crew only +grinned. “You ze boys. I bringa you ze flounder for tea. Heh?” +In one moment the fat fisher was back in the boat, and in another +he had scrambled ashore with a number of fish, strung together +through the gills. Above the noise of the traffic on the quay his +voice rose, piercing. “I presenta. Flounder, all aliva. I give ze +fish. You giva”—with suddenness he comically lowered his voice—“tobacco, +rumma—what you like.” He lay the gift of flounders on +the wooden stage. “Where I get him? I catcha him. Where you +get ze tobacco, rumma? You catcha him. Heh?”</p> + +<p>Rock Cod, having made fast the boat, was now standing beside +his mate.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +A sailor picked up the flounders, and, turning back the gills of +one of them, said, “Fresh, eh, Macaroni?”</p> + +<p>The bulky Italian sidled up to the man. “Whata I tell you? +Where I catcha him? In ze sea. Where you catcha ze tobacco? In +ze sea. What you say? Heh?” He gave the sailor a dig in the ribs.</p> + +<p>By way of answer he received a push. His foot slipped on the +wet boards of the stage, and into the water he fell, amid shouts of +laughter.</p> + +<p>As buoyant as a cork, he soon came to the surface, and, scrambling +upon the stage, he seized a barracouta from the boat, and +rushed at his mate. “You laugha at me, Rocka Codda? I teacha +you laugh.” Taking the big fish by the tail, he belaboured his partner +in business with the scaly carcase, till the long spines of the fish’s +back caught in the fleshy part of his victim’s neck. But Rock Cod’s +screams only drew callous comment from his persecutor. “You +laugha at your mate? I teacha you. Rocka Codda, I teacha you +respecta Macaroni. Laugha now!”</p> + +<p>With a sudden jerk Rock Cod obtained his freedom, though not +without additional agony. He faced his partner, with revenge in +his wild eyes and curses on his tongue. But just at this moment, a +stoutly-built, red-faced sailor pushed his way through the Pilot’s +crew, and, snatching the barracouta from the Italian, he thrust himself +between the combatants.</p> + +<p>“Of all the mad-headed Dagoes that God A’mighty sent to curse +this earth you, Macaroni, are the maddest. Why, man, folks can +hear your yelling half the length of the quay.”</p> + +<p>“Looka!” cried the Italian. “Who are you? Why you come +’ere? Rocka Codda and Macaroni fighta, but ze ginger-headed son of +a cooka mus’ interfere. Jesu Christo! I teacha you too. I got ze +barracouta lef’.”</p> + +<p>He turned to seize another fish from the bottom of the boat, but +the sight of two men fighting on the slip with barracoutas for +weapons might detract too much from the dignity of the Pilot’s +crew. The Italian was seized, and forcibly prevented from causing +further strife.</p> + +<p>“D’you think I came here to save Rock Cod from spoiling your +ugly face?” asked the red-haired man. “No, siree. My boss, Mr. +Crookenden, sent me. He wants to see you up at his office; and I +reckon there’s money in it, though you deserve six months’ instead, +the pair of you.”</p> + +<p>“Heh? Your boss wanta me? I got plenty fisha, flounder, barracuda, +redda perch. Now then?”</p> + +<p>“He don’t want your fish: he wants you and Rock Cod,” said the +red-headed man.</p> + +<p>“Georgio”—the Italian was, in a moment, nothing but politeness +to the man he had termed “ginger”—“we go. Ze fisha?—I leava my +boat, all my fisha, here wit’ my frien’s. Georgio, conducta—we +follow.”</p> + +<p>Accompanied by the two fishermen, the red-headed peacemaker +walked up the quay.</p> + +<p>“What’s the trouble with your boss?” asked Rock Cod. “What’s +’e want?”</p> + +<p>“How can I tell? D’you think Mr. Crookenden consults <em>me</em> +about his business? I’m just sent to fetch you along, and along you +come.”</p> + +<p>“I know, I understanda,” said the Italian. “He have ze new +wine from Italia, my countree—he senda for Macaroni to tasta, and +tell ze qualitee. You too bloody about ze neck, Rocka Codda, to come +alonga me. You mus’ washa, or you go to sell ze fish.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +“Go an’ hawk the fish yourself,” retorted Rock Cod. “You’re +full o’ water as a sponge, an’ there’ll be a pool where you stand on +the gen’leman’s carpet.”</p> + +<p>Wrangling thus, they made their way towards the merchant’s +office.</p> + +<p>While this scene was being performed at the port of Timber +Town, Benjamin Tresco was in his workshop, making the duplicate +of the chief postmaster’s seal. With file and graver he worked, that +the counterfeit might be perfect. Half-a-dozen impressions of the +matrix lay before him, showing the progress his nefarious work was +making towards completion.</p> + +<p>“One struggle more and I am free,” muttered the goldsmith. +“The English seals, I happen to know, usually arrive in a melted or +broken condition. To restore them too perfectly would be to court +detection—a dab of sealing-wax, impressed with a key and sat upon +afterwards, will answer the purpose. But this robbing business—well, +it suits my temperament, if it doesn’t suit my conscience. Oh, +I like doing it—my instincts point that way. But the Sunday-school +training I had when a boy spoils the flavour of it. Why can’t folk +let a lad alone to enjoy his sins? Such a boy as I was commits ’em +anyway. An’ if he <em>must</em> commit ’em and be damned for ’em, why +spoil <em>both</em> his lives—at least they might leave him alone here. But +they ain’t practical, these parsonic folk.” He rose, and took a white, +broken-lipped jug from a shelf, and drank a deep draught. “Water,” +he murmured. “See? Water, air, sunshine, all here for me, in common +with the parson. P’r’aps I shall lack water in limbo, but so, too, +may the parson—anyway he and I are on the same footing here; +therefore, why should he torment me by stirring up my conscience? +He has a bad time here and—we’ll grant this for the sake of argument—a +good time afterwards. Now, I’ve <em>got</em> to have a bad time +with old Safety Matches down below. Why, then, should the parson +want to spoil my time here? It looks mean anyway. If I were a +parson, I’d make sure I had a good time in <em>this</em> world, and chance the +rest. Sometimes I’m almost persuaded to be converted, and take +the boss position in a bethel, all amongst the tea and wimmen-folk. +Lor’, wouldn’t I preach, wouldn’t I just ladle it out, and wouldn’t the +dears adore me?”</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the door. Instantly the +spurious seals and the fraudulent matrix were swept into the drawer +above the apron of the bench, and Benjamin Tresco rose, benignant, +to receive his visitors.</p> + +<p>He opened the door, and there entered the red-headed sailor, who +was closely followed by Rock Cod and Macaroni.</p> + +<p>Tresco drew himself up with dignity.</p> + +<p>“This is quite unexpected,” he said. “The honour is great. Who +do I see here but Fish-ho and his amiable mate? It is sad, gentlemen, +but I’m off flounders since the Chinaman, who died aboard the barque, +was buried in the bay. It is a great misfortune for Fish-ho to have +dead Chinamen buried on his fishing-grounds, but such is the undoubted +fact.”</p> + +<p>“You need have no fear on that score, mister,” said the red-headed +sailor. “They’ve not come to sell fish. Speak up, Macaroni.”</p> + +<p>“We come to tella you we come from Mr. Crookendena. We come +to you accepta ze service of Rocka Codda and Macaroni.”</p> + +<p>For one brief moment Tresco looked perplexed. Then his face +assumed its usual complacence. “Are you in the know, too?” he +asked of the seaman.</p> + +<p>“All I know is that I was told to pilot these two men to your +shop. That done, I say good-day.”</p> + +<p>“And the same to you,” said Tresco. “Happy to have met you, +sir, and I’m sorry there’s nothing to offer you in the jug but water.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +“There’s no bones broke anyway,” replied the sailor as he edged +towards the door. “But if you’ll say when the real old stingo is on +tap, I’ll show you how to use the water.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said Tresco. “Nothing will please me better. Good +afternoon. Sorry you must go so soon. Take great care of yourself. +Good men are scarce.”</p> + +<p>As the door closed behind the sailor the goldsmith turned to the +fishermen.</p> + +<p>“So you were sent to me by Mr. Crookenden?”</p> + +<p>“That’s so.” It was Rock Cod who answered. “He give us the +price of a drink, an’ says he, ‘There’ll be five pound each for you +if you do as Mr. Tresco tells you.’ We’re a-waitin’ orders; ain’t that +so, Macaroni?”</p> + +<p>“Rocka Codda spik alla right—he understanda ze Inglese. I +leave-a it to him.”</p> + +<p>“You are good men in a boat, I have no doubt. Very good.” The +goldsmith pursed his lips, and looked very important. “Mr. Crookenden +has entrusted me with a mission. You row the boat—I carry out +the mission. All you have to do is to bring your boat round to Mr. +Crookenden’s wharf at ten o’clock to-night, and the rest is simple. +Your money will be paid you in the morning, in full tale, up to the +handle, without fail. You understand? Five pounds a piece for a +few hours’ hire of your boat and services.”</p> + +<p>“We catch your drift all right,” said Rock Cod.</p> + +<p>“But, remember”—the goldsmith looked very serious—“mum’s the +word.”</p> + +<p>“I have ze mum,” said Macaroni. “I spik only to Rocka Codda, +he spik only to me—zat alla right?”</p> + +<p>“Quite so, but be punctual. We shall go out at ten o’clock, wet +or fine. Till then, adieu.”</p> + +<p>“Ze same to you,” said the Italian. “You ze fine fella.”</p> + +<p>“Take this, and drink success to my mission.” Tresco handed +them a silver coin.</p> + +<p>“That part of the business is easy,” remarked Rock Cod. “But +as to the job you’ve got in hand, well, the nature o’ that gets over <em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>“All you’re asked to do is to row,” said Tresco. “As to the +rest, that lies with me and my resourcefulness. Now git.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin opened the door, and pushed the fishermen out.</p> + +<p>“Remember,” he said, as they departed, “if I hear a word about +the matter in the bar of any hotel, our bargain is off and not a +cent will you get for your pains.”</p> + +<p>“Look ’ere, cap’n.” Rock Cod turned suddenly round. “We +passed you our word: ain’t that good enough?”</p> + +<p>“My trusty friend, it is. So-long. Go, and drink my health.”</p> + +<p>Without another word the fishermen went, and the goldsmith +returned to put the finishing touches to his fraudulent work.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>What the Bush Robin Saw.</strong></p> + + +<p>The Bush Robin had a pale yellow breast, and his dominion extended +from the waterfall, at the bottom of which lay a deep, dark, green +pool, to the place where the <em>rimu</em> tree had fallen across the creek.</p> + +<p>His life was made up of two things; hunting for big white grubs +in the rotten barrels of dead trees, and looking at the yellow pebbles +in the stream. This last was a habit that the wood-hen had taught +him. She was the most inquisitive creature in the forest, and knew +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +all that was going on beyond the great river, into which the creek +fell, and as far away as the Inaccessible Mountains, which were the +end of the world: not that she travelled far, but that all wood-hens live +in league, and spend their time in enquiring into other people’s +business.</p> + +<p>The <em>tui</em> and the bell-bird might sing in the tops of the tall trees, +but the Bush Robin hardly ever saw them, except when they came +down to drink at the creek. The pigeons might coo softly, and feed +on <em>tawa</em> berries till actually they were ready to burst, and could not +fly from the trees where they had gorged themselves—as great +gluttons as ever there were in Rome: but the Bush Robin hardly +knew them, and never spoke to them. He was a bird of the undergrowth, +a practical entomologist, with eyes for nothing but bugs, +beetles, larvæ, stick-insects, and the queer yellow things in the river.</p> + +<p>Being a perfectly inoffensive bird, he objected to noise, and for +that reason he eschewed the company of the kakas and paroquets who +ranged the forest in flocks, and spoilt all quietude by quarrelling and +screeching in the tree-tops. But for the <em>kakapo</em>, the green ground-parrot +who lived in a hollow <em>rata</em> tree and looked like a bunch of +maiden-hair fern, he had great respect. This was a night-bird who +interfered with no one, and knew all that went on in the forest +between dark and dawn.</p> + +<p>Then there was the red deer, the newest importation into those +woods. The Bush Robin never quite knew the reason of his own inquisitiveness, +and the roaming deer never quite knew why the little +bird took so much interest in his movements, but the fact remained +that whenever the antlered autocrat came to drink at the stream, +the Bush Robin would stand on a branch near by, and sing till the +big buck thought the little bird’s throat must crack. His thirst +quenched, the red deer would be escorted by the Bush Robin to the +confine of the little bird’s preserve, and with a last twitter of farewell, +Robin would fly back rapidly to tell the news to his mate.</p> + +<p>I had almost forgotten her. She was slightly bigger than Robin +himself, and possessed a paler breast. But no one saw them together; +and though they were the most devoted pair, none of the forest +folk ever guessed the fact, but rather treated their tender relationship +with a certain degree of scepticism.</p> + +<p>Therefore, these things having been set forth, it was not strange +that the Bush Robin, having eaten a full meal of fat white grubs, +should sit on a bough in the shade of a big <em>totara</em> tree and watch, with +good-natured interest begotten of the knowledge that he had dined, the +movements of the world around him. The broken ground, all banks +and holes and roots, was covered with dead leaves, moss, sticks, and +beds of ferns, and was overgrown with supple-jacks, birch-saplings +and lance-wood. On every side rose immense trees, whose dark +boughs, stretching overhead, shut out the sun from the gloomy shades +below.</p> + +<p>The Bush Robin, whose sense of hearing was keen and discriminating, +heard a strange sound which was as new as it was interesting +to him. He had heard the roaring of the stags and the screeching of +the parrots, but this new sound was different from either, though +somewhat like both. There it was again. He must go and see what +it could mean. In a moment, he was flitting beneath the trees, threading +his way through the leafy labyrinth, in the direction of the strange +noise. As he alighted on a tall rock, which reared itself abruptly +from the hurly-burly of broken ground, before him he saw two strange +objects, the like of which he had never seen, and of which his friend +the wood-hen, who travelled far and knew everything, had not so +much as told him. They must be a new kind of stag, but they had no +horns—yet perhaps those would grow in the spring. One had fallen +down a mossy bank, and the other, who was dangling a supple-jack +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +to assist his friend in climbing, was making the strange noise. The +creature upon the ground grunted like the wild pigs, from whose +rootings in the earth the Bush Robin was wont to derive immense profit +in the shape of a full diet of worms; but these new animals walked on +two feet, in a manner quite new to the little bird.</p> + +<p>Then the strange beings picked up from the ground queer things +which the Bush Robin failed to comprehend, and trudged on through +the forest. The one that led the way struck the trees with a glittering +thing, which left the boles marked and scarred, and both held in their +mouths sticks which gave off smoke, a thing beyond the comprehension +of the little bird, and more than interesting to his diminutive mind. +Here were new wonders, creatures who walked on two legs, but not as +birds—the one with the beard like a goat’s must be the husband of +the one who had none; and both breathed from their mouths the +vapour of the morning mist.</p> + +<p>The Bush Robin followed them, and when they paused to rest on +the soft couch of ferns beneath a <em>rimu</em> tree, the bird alighted on the +ground and hopped close to them.</p> + +<p>“I could catch the little beggar with my hand,” said one.</p> + +<p>“Don’t hurt him,” said the other, “he’ll bring us luck.”</p> + +<p>“Then give me a match—my pipe’s gone out.”</p> + +<p>The match was lighted, and the cloud of smoke from the re-lit +pipe floated up to the boughs overhead. The Bush Robin watched the +miracle, but it was the yellow flame which riveted his attention. The +lighted match had been thrown away, and before the smoker could put +his foot on it, the little bird darted forward, seized the white stem and, +with the burning match in his beak, flitted to the nearest bough.</p> + +<p>The men laughed, and watched to see what would happen.</p> + +<p>Pleased beyond expression with his new prize, the Bush Robin +held it in his beak till a fresh sensation was added to the new things +he was experiencing: there was a sudden shake of his little head, the +match fell, and went out.</p> + +<p>The men undid their swags and began to eat, and the Bush +Robin feasted with them on white crumbs which looked, like the match-stick, +as if they might be grubs, but tasted quite different.</p> + +<p>“Tucker’s good,” said the man with the beard, “but, I reckon, +what we want is a drink.”</p> + +<p>“The billy’s empty,” said the other—“I spilt it when I came that +cropper, and nearly broke my neck.”</p> + +<p>“Then there’s nothing for it but to wait till we come to a stream.”</p> + +<p>They rose, tied up their swags, and journeyed on; the bearded +man continuing to blaze the track, the younger man following him, +and the Bush Robin fluttering beside them.</p> + +<p>The creek was but a little way off. Soon the noise of its waters +greeted the ears of the travellers. The thirsty men hurried in the +direction of the sound, which grew louder and louder, till suddenly +pushing through a tangled screen of supple-jacks and the soft, green +fronds of a small forest of tree-ferns, they stood on the bank of a +clear stream, which rushed noisily over a bed of grey boulders.</p> + +<p>The bearded man stooped to drink: the other dipped the billy into +the water and drank, standing.</p> + +<p>The little bird had perched himself on a big rock which stood above +the surface of the swirling water.</p> + +<p>“Good,” said he with the beard. “There’s no water like bush +water.”</p> + +<p>“There’s that little beggar again,” said the other, watching the +bird upon the rock.</p> + +<p>“He’s following us around. This shall be named Bush Robin +Creek.”</p> + +<p>“Bush Robin Creek it is,” said the other. “Now take a prospect, +and see if you can get a colour.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +The older man turned over a few boulders, and exposed the sand +that lay beneath them. Half a shovelful of this he placed in a tin +dish, which he half-filled with water. Then squatting on his heels, he +rotated the dish with a cunning movement, which splashed little laps +of water over the side and carried off the lighter particles of sand and +dirt. When all the water in the dish was thus disposed of, he added +more and renewed the washing process, till but a tablespoonful of the +heaviest particles of grit remained at the bottom. This residue he +poked over with his forefinger, peering at it nearly.</p> + +<p>Apparently he saw nothing. More water was put into the dish, +and the washing process was continued till but a teaspoonful of grit +remained.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got the colour!” he exclaimed, after closely examining this +residue.</p> + +<p>His comrade knelt beside him, and looked at the “prospect.”</p> + +<p>A little more washing, and at the bottom of the dish lay a dozen +flakes of gold, with here and there a grain of sand.</p> + +<p>“We must go higher up,” said the bearded man. “This light stuff +has been carried over a bar, maybe, and the heavier gold has been +left behind.”</p> + +<p>Slowly and with difficulty they worked their way along the bank +of the creek, till at last they came to a gorge whose rocky sides stood +like mighty walls on either side.</p> + +<p>The gold-seekers were wading up to their waists in water, and +the Bush Robin was fluttering round them as they moved slowly up +the stream. Expecting to find the water deeper in the gorge, the +man in front went carefully. The rocky sides were full of crevices and +little ledges, on one of which, low down upon the water, the little +Robin perched.</p> + +<p>The man reached forward and placed his hand upon the ledge on +which the bird was perched; the Bush Robin fluttered overhead, and +then the man gave a cry of surprise. His hand had rested on a +layer of small nuggets and golden sand.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got it, Moonlight! There’s fully a couple of ounces on +this ledge alone.”</p> + +<p>The bearded man splashed through the water, and looked eagerly +at the gold lying just above the water-line.</p> + +<p>“My boy, where there’s that much on a ledge there’ll be hundreds +of ounces in the creek.”</p> + +<p>He rapidly pushed ahead, examining the crevices of the rock, +above and below the water-line.</p> + +<p>“It’s here in stacks,” he exclaimed, “only waiting to be scraped +out with the blade of a knife.”</p> + +<p>Drawing his sheath-knife from his belt, he suited the action to +the word; and standing in the water, the two men collected gold as +children gather shells on the shore.</p> + +<p>And the Bush Robin watched the gold-seekers take possession +of the treasured things, which he had looked upon as his own especial +property; fancying that they glittered merely for his delight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Robbery of the Mails.</strong></p> + + +<p>The night was pitch dark; the wind had gone to rest, and not a +ripple stirred the face of the black waters.</p> + +<p>“Ahoy! there.”</p> + +<p>“Comin’, comin’. I’ve only bin waitin’, this ’arf hour.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +The man standing at the horse’s head ran round to the back of +his “express”—a vehicle not unlike a square tray on four wheels—and, +letting down the tail-board, pulled out a number of mail-bags.</p> + +<p>With two of these under each arm, he made his way to the +wooden steps which led down to the water’s edge, and the men in +the boat heard the shuffling and scraping of his feet, as he felt with +his boot for the topmost step; his hands being fully occupied in +holding the bags.</p> + +<p>Slowly, step by step, he stumped down to the water, where +willing hands took his burden and stowed it in the bottom of the +boat.</p> + +<p>“Four,” said the carrier. “One more lot, and that lets me out.”</p> + +<p>As he reached the top of the wharf, on his return journey, the +bright lamps of his express dazzled his eyes, and somebody cannoned +against him at the back of the trap.</p> + +<p>“Now, then! Who’re yer shovin’ up agin?”</p> + +<p>“All right, my man. I’m not stealing any of the bags.”</p> + +<p>The express-man recognised the voice.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Mr. Crookenden? Beg pardon, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, get the mail aboard. My men don’t want to be +out in the boat all night.”</p> + +<p>The man carried down his last load of bags, and returned, +panting.</p> + +<p>“There’s only the paper to be signed,” he said, “and then they +can clear.”</p> + +<p>“Give <em>me</em> the form.”</p> + +<p>The man handed a piece of paper to the mail-contractor.</p> + +<p>“How many bags?”</p> + +<p>“Eight.”</p> + +<p>By the light of the lamps Crookenden signed the paper, and +handed it back to the carrier, who mounted to his seat, and drove +away.</p> + +<p>The merchant went to the edge of the wharf.</p> + +<p>“All right, down there?”</p> + +<p>“Aye, aye, sir,” replied a gruff voice.</p> + +<p>“Then cast off.”</p> + +<p>There was the noise of oars, and a dark object upon the waters +vanished into the night.</p> + +<p>“Good-night!”</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” answered the gruff voice faintly, and Crookenden +turned his steps towards home.</p> + +<p>“That’s all serene,” said the owner of the gruff voice, whose +modulations had suddenly assumed their accustomed timbre—the +rather rasping articulation of the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t have fallen out better if I’d arranged it myself. +Lay to! belay! you lazy lubbers, forrard—or whatever is the correct +nautical expression to make her jump. Put your backs into it, and +there’ll be five pounds apiece for you in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“Alla right, boss; we ze boys to pulla. Rocka Codda, you +asleep zere?—you maka Macaroni do alla ze work.”</p> + +<p>“Pull yerself, you lazy Dago. Anyone w’d think you was rowing +the bloomin’ boat by yourself. Why, man, I’m pulling you round +every dozen strokes. The skipper, aft there, is steerin’ all he knows +agin me.”</p> + +<p>The truth was that Benjamin’s manipulation of the tiller was +extraordinary and erratic, and it was not until the boat was well +past the wharves that he mastered its mysteries.</p> + +<p>The tide was ebbing, and when the boat was in the stream her +speed doubled, and there was no need for using the oars. Swiftly +and silently she drifted past the lights on the quay and the ghostly +houses which stood beside the water.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +The Pilot’s system of beacons was so perfect that with their +aid a tyro such as Tresco found no difficulty in steering his course out +of the harbour.</p> + +<p>Outside in the bay, the lights of two vessels could be seen: those +of the plague-ship and of the steamer which, unable to get into the +port in the teeth of the tide, was waiting for the mails.</p> + +<p>But Tresco pointed his boat’s nose straight for the long beach +which fringed the end of the bay.</p> + +<p>The rowers had seen the mail-bags put aboard the boat, and +they now wondered why they did not go straight to the steamer.</p> + +<p>“Hi! boss. The mail-steamer lies to starboard: that’s her lights +behind the barque’s.”</p> + +<p>“Right, my man,” replied Tresco; “but I have a little business +ashore here, before we pull out to her.”</p> + +<p>The boat was now nearing the beach. As soon as her keel +touched the sand, Tresco jumped into the water and, ordering the +fishermen to do the same, the boat was quickly pulled high and dry.</p> + +<p>“Take out the bags,” commanded the pseudo-skipper.</p> + +<p>The men demurred.</p> + +<p>“Why you do this? Santa Maria! is alla these mail go back to +town?”</p> + +<p>“<em>There’s</em> the steamer—<em>out there</em>!” exclaimed Rock Cod. “A +man’d think——”</p> + +<p>But he was cut short.</p> + +<p>“You saw Mr. Crookenden put the bags aboard. He’s the contractor—I’m +only acting under his instructions. Do you wish to +remain fishermen all your lives, or would you rather die rich?”</p> + +<p>“We know the value of dollars, you may bet that,” answered +Rock Cod.</p> + +<p>“Then lend a hand and get these bags ashore. And you, +Macaroni, collect driftwood for a fire.”</p> + +<p>When the mail-bags were all landed, Benjamin took a lantern +from the boat, lit it, and walked up the beach to where the fishermen +stood, nonplussed and wondering.</p> + +<p>“Your feet must be wet, Macaroni.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Si, signor.</em>”</p> + +<p>“Wet feet are bad, not to say dangerous. Go down to the boat, +and you’ll find a bottle of rum and a pannikin. Bring them here, +and we’ll have a dram all round.”</p> + +<p>Tresco placed the lantern on the sand, and waited.</p> + +<p>“You see, Rock Cod, there are some things in this world that +cut both ways. To do a great good we must do a little wrong—that’s +not quite my own phrase, though it expresses my sentiments—but +in anything you do, never do it by halves.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t ’ad no schoolin’ meself,” answered the fisherman. “I +don’t take much account of books; but when there’s a drop o’ rum +handy, I’m with you.”</p> + +<p>The Italian came up the beach with the liquor.</p> + +<p>“Here’s what’ll put us all in good nick,” said Tresco, as he +drew the cork of the bottle, and poured some of the spirit into the +pannikin. “Here’s luck,” and he drank his dram at a draught.</p> + +<p>He generously replenished the cup, and handed it to Rock Cod.</p> + +<p>“Well, cap’n,” said that puzzled barnacle, “there’s things I don’t +understand, but here’s fun.” He took his liquor at a gulp, and passed +the pannikin to his mate.</p> + +<p>It took the Italian no time to catch the drift that matters were +taking.</p> + +<p>“You expecta make me drunk, eh, signor? You steala ze mail +an’ carry him away, eh? Alla right, you try.”</p> + +<p>“Now, look here,” said Tresco; “it’s this way. These bags want +re-sorting—and I’m going to do it. If in the sorting I come across +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +anything of importance, that’s <em>my</em> business. If, on the other hand, +you happen across anything that you require, but which seems thrown +away on other folks, that’s <em>your</em> business. If you don’t like the bargain, +you can both go and sit in the boat.”</p> + +<p>Neither man moved. It was evident that Crookenden had chosen +his tools circumspectly.</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said Tresco, “you have the run of your fingers +over this mail when I have re-sorted it, provided you keep your +heads shut when you get back to town. Is it a bargain?”</p> + +<p>He held out his hand.</p> + +<p>Rock Cod was the first to take it. He said:—</p> + +<p>“It’s a bargain, boss.”</p> + +<p>Macaroni followed suit. “Alla right,” he said. “I reef in alonga +you an’ Rocka Codda. I no spik.”</p> + +<p>So the compact was made.</p> + +<p>Seizing the nearest bag, Tresco cut its fastenings, and emptied +its contents on the sand.</p> + +<p>“Now, as I pass them over to you,” said he, seating himself +beside the heap of letters, “you can open such as you think were +meant for you, but got misdirected by mistake to persons of no +account. But burn ’em afterwards.”</p> + +<p>He put a match to the driftwood collected by the Italian. “Those +that don’t interest you, gentlemen, be good enough to put back into +the bag.”</p> + +<p>His hands were quick, his eyes were quicker. He knew well +what to look for. As he glanced at the letters, he threw them over +to his accomplices, till in a short time there was in front of them +a bigger pile of correspondence than had been delivered to them +previously in the course of their conjoint lives.</p> + +<p>The goldsmith seldom opened a letter, and then only when he +was in doubt as to whether or not it was posted by the Jewish merchant. +The fishermen opened at random the missives in front of +them, in the hope of finding they knew not what, but always in +disappointment and disgust.</p> + +<p>At length, however, the Italian gave a cry of joy. “I have heem. +Whata zat, Rocka Codda?” He held a bank-note before his mate’s +eyes. “Zat five pound, my boy. Soon I get some more, eh? Alla +right.”</p> + +<p>Tresco put a letter into the breast-pocket of his coat. It’s envelope +bore on its back the printed legend, “Joseph Varnhagen, General +Merchant, Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>So the ransacking of the outgoing mail went forward. Now +another bag was opened, but, as it contained nothing else but newspapers +and small packages, the goldsmith desired to leave it intact. +But not so his accomplices. They therein saw the chief source of +their payment. Insisting on their right under the bargain, the sand +in front of them was soon strewn with litter.</p> + +<p>Tresco, in the meantime, had directed his attention to another +bag, which contained nothing but correspondence, and evidently he +had found what he was most earnestly in search of, for he frequently +expressed his delight as he happened across some document which he +thrust into his bosom.</p> + +<p>In this way the mail was soon rummaged, and without waiting +for the other two men to finish their search, the goldsmith began +to reseal the bags. First, he took from his pocket the counterfeit +matrix which had cost him so much labour to fashion. Next, he took +some string, similar to that which he had previously cut, and with +it he retied the necks of the bags he had opened. With the help of +a lighted match, he covered the knotted strings, first of one bag +and then of another, with melted sealing-wax, which he impressed with +the counterfeit seal.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +His companions watched the process with such interest that, +forgetting for a time their search amongst the chattels of other +people, they gave their whole attention to the process of resealing +the bags.</p> + +<p>“Very ’andy with his fingers, ain’t ’e, Macaroni?—even if ’e <em>is</em> +a bit un’andy in a boat.” Confederacy in crime had bred a familiarity +which brought the goldsmith down to the level of his co-operators.</p> + +<p>All the bags were now sealed up, excepting the one which the +fishermen had last ravaged, and the contents of which lay scattered +on the sand.</p> + +<p>“This one will be considerably smaller than it useter was,” remarked +Tresco, as he replaced the unopened packets in the bag.</p> + +<p>“Hi! stoppa!” cried Macaroni, “Rocka Codda an’ me wanta finish +him.”</p> + +<p>“And leave me to hand in an empty bag? Most sapient Macaroni, +under your own guidance you would not keep out of gaol a fortnight: +Nature did not equip you for a career in crime.”</p> + +<p>Tresco deftly sealed up the last bag, and then said, “Chuck all +the odds and ends into the fire, and be careful not to leave a scrap +unburned: then we will drink to our continued success.”</p> + +<p>The fire blazed up fiercely as the torn packages, envelopes, and +letters were thrown upon its embers. The goldsmith groped about, and +examined the sand for the least vestige of paper which might form +a clue to their crime, but when he was satisfied that everything had +been picked up, he returned to the fire, and watched the bright flames +as they leapt heavenwards.</p> + +<p>His comrades were dividing their spoil.</p> + +<p>“I think, boss,” said Rock Cod, “the best of the catch must ha’ +fell to your share: me and my mate don’t seem to have mor’n ten +pound between us, not countin’ truck worth p’r’aps another five.”</p> + +<p>“So far as <em>I</em> am concerned, my man,”—Tresco used the unction +of tone and the dignity of manner that he loved so well—“I am but +an agent. <em>I</em> take nothing except a few letters, some of which I have +not even opened.”</p> + +<p>The Italian burst out laughing. “You ze boss? You conducta +ze holy show, eh? Alla right. But you take nuzzing. Rocka Codda +an’ Macaroni get ten pound, fifteen pound; an’ you get nuzzing.”</p> + +<p>“Information is what I get,” said Tresco. “But, then, information +is the soul of business. Information is sometimes more valuable +than a gold-mine. Therefore, in getting, get information: it will +help you to untold wealth. My object, you see, is knowledge, for +which I hunger and thirst. I search for it by night as well as by +day. Therefore, gentlemen, before we quit the scene of our midnight +labours, let us drink to the acquisition of knowledge.”</p> + +<p>Rock Cod and Macaroni did not know what he meant, but they +drank rum from the pannikin with the greatest good-will. After +which, Benjamin scattered the embers of the fire, which quickly +died out, and then the three men shoved the boat off and pulled +towards the lights of the steamer.</p> + +<p>On board the barque Captain Sartoris paced the poop-deck in +solitude. Bored to death with the monotony of life in quarantine, +the smallest event was to him a matter of interest. He had marked +the fire on the beach, and had even noticed the figures which had +moved about it. How many men there were he could not tell, but +after the fire went out, and a boat passed to starboard of the barque +and made for the steamer which lay outside her, he remarked to +himself that it was very late at night for a boat to be pulling from +the shore. But at that moment a head was put out of the companion, +and a voice called him in pidgin English to go down. He went +below, and stood beside the sick captain, whose mind was wandering, +and whose spirit was restless in its lodging. He watched the gasping +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +form, and marked the nervous fingers as they clutched at the counterpane +as hour after hour went by, till just as the dawn was breaking +a quietness stole over the attenuated form, and with a slight tremour +the spirit broke from its imprisonment, and death lay before Sartoris +in the bunk. Then he went on deck, and breathed the pure air of the +morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Dealing Mostly with Money.</strong></p> + + +<p>Pilot Summerhayes stood in his garden, with that look on his face +which a guilty schoolboy wears when the eye of his master is upon +him.</p> + +<p>In his hand he held a letter, at which he glanced furtively, as +if he feared to be caught in the act of reading, although the only +eyes that possibly could have detected him were those of two sparrows +that were discussing the purple berries of the Portuguese laurel which +grew near by.</p> + +<p>“‘I enclose the usual half-yearly allowance of £250.’” The +Pilot was reading from the letter. “Damnation take him and his +allowance!” ejaculated the irascible old sailor, which was a strange +anathema to hurl at the giver of so substantial a sum of money. +“I suppose he thinks to make me beholden to him: I suppose he +thinks me as poor as a church-rat, and, therefore, I’m to be thankful +for mercies received—<em>his</em> mercies—and say what a benefactor he is, +what a generous brother. Bah! it makes me sicker than ever to +think of him.” He glanced at the letter, and read, “‘Hoping that this +small sum is sufficient for yourself and my very dear niece, to whom +I ask to be most kindly remembered, I remain your affectionate +brother, Silas Summerhayes.’” A most brotherly epistle, containing +filial expressions, and indicating a bountiful spirit; and yet upon +reading it the Pilot swore deep and dreadful oaths which cannot +be recorded.</p> + +<p>Every six months, for at least fifteen years, he had received a +similar letter, expressing in the same affectionate terms the love of +his brother Silas, which was accentuated by a like draft for £250, +and yet the Pilot had persistently cursed the receipt of each letter.</p> + +<p>There was a footstep on the verandah behind him. With a start +the old man thrust the epistle and draft into his pocket, and stood, +with a look on his face as black as thunder, confronting almost defiantly +his charming daughter.</p> + +<p>“Have you got your letters, father? I heard the postman’s knock.” +As she spoke, Rose looked rather anxiously at her frowning parent. +“Good news, I hope—the English mail arrived last night.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay it did, my gal,” growled the Pilot. “But I don’t see +what you and me have to do with England, seeing we’ve quit it these +fifteen years.”</p> + +<p>“But we were born there! Surely people should think affectionately +of their native country.”</p> + +<p>“But we won’t die there, please God—at least, <em>I</em> won’t, if I can +help it. You’ll not need to, I hope. We’re colonials: <em>this</em> is our +country.”</p> + +<p>The girl turned to go indoors, but, a sudden impulse seizing her, +she put her arms around the old man’s neck, and kissed his weather-beaten +cheek.</p> + +<p>“What’s been troubling you, father? <em>I’ll</em> drive the worry away.” +She held his rough hand in hers, and waited for him to speak.</p> + +<p>“You’re a good gal, Rosebud; you’re a great comfort. But, Lord +bless me, you’re as sensitive as a young fawn. There’s nothing the +matter with <em>me</em>, except when now and again I get a fit of the blues; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +but you’ve drove ’em away, da’rter; you’ve drove ’em clean away. +Now, just you run in and attend to your house; and leave me to +go into town, where I’ve a bit of business to attend to—there’s a +good gal.” He kissed his daughter’s smooth, white forehead, and she +ran indoors, smiling and happy.</p> + +<p>The Pilot resettled the peaked cap on his head, stumped down +the garden-path, and passed out of his gate and along the road. +His steps led him to the main street of the town, where he entered +the Kangaroo Bank, the glass doors of which swung noiselessly behind +him, and he stood in front of the exquisite clerk of Semitic +origin, who dealt out and received over the broad counter the enormous +wealth of the opulent institution.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Captain Summerhayes.”</p> + +<p>“’Mornin’,” said the Pilot, as he fumbled in the inside pocket of +his coat.</p> + +<p>At length he drew out the draft and handed it to the clerk, who +turned it over, and said, “Please endorse it.”</p> + +<p>The old sailor took a pen, and with infinite care wrote his name +on the back of the document.</p> + +<p>When the clerk was satisfied that everything was in order, he +said, “Two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. How will you take it, Captain?”</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> don’t want to take it,” answered the Pilot gruffly. “I’ll put it +along with the other.”</p> + +<p>“You wish to deposit it?” said the clerk. “Certainly. You’ll +need a form.”</p> + +<p>He drew a printed slip from a box on the counter, and filled it +in. “Sign here, please,” he said, indicating with his finger the place +of signature.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said the old man, evidently annoyed. “You’ve made +it out in <em>my</em> name. It should be in my da’rter’s, like all the rest +have been.” The clerk made the necessary alteration, and the Pilot +signed.</p> + +<p>“If you call in this afternoon, I’ll give you the deposit receipt,” +said the clerk.</p> + +<p>“Now, really, young man, an’t that a bit slow? D’you think +I’ve got nothing better to do than to dodge up and down from the +port, waitin’ for your precious receipts?”</p> + +<p>The clerk looked surprised that anyone should question his +dictum for one moment, but he immediately handed the signed form +to a neighbouring clerk for transmission to the manager, or to some +functionary only one degree less omnipotent.</p> + +<p>“And while we’re waiting,” said the Pilot, “I’d be much obliged +if you’d show me the book where you keep the record of all the monies +I’ve put into your bank.”</p> + +<p>The clerk conferred with another clerk, who went off somewhere +and returned with a heavy tome, which he placed with a bang on the +counter.</p> + +<p>The Jew turned over the broad leaves with a great rustling. +“This inspection of our books is purely optional with us, Captain, +but with an old customer like yourself we waive our prerogative.”</p> + +<p>“Very han’some of you, very han’some indeed. How does she +stand?”</p> + +<p>The clerk ran his fingers down a long column of figures, and +said, “There are a number of deposits in Miss Rose’s name. Shall I +read the amounts?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got the receipts in my strong-box. All I want is the total.”</p> + +<p>“Ten thousand, five hundred pounds,” said the clerk.</p> + +<p>“And there’s this here new lot,” said the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“Ten thousand, seven hundred and fifty altogether.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot drew the heavy account book towards him, and verified +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +the clerk’s statements. Then he made a note of the sum total, and +said, “I’ll take that last receipt now, if it’s ready.”</p> + +<p>The clerk reached over to a table, where the paper had been +placed by a fellow clerk, and handed it to the gruff old sailor.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Pilot Summerhayes. “Now I can verify the +whole caboodle at my leisure, though I hate figures as the devil hates +holy water.” He placed the receipt in his inside pocket and buttoned +up his coat. “Good-day,” he said, as he turned to go.</p> + +<p>“I wish you good morning, Captain.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot glanced back; his face wearing a look of amusement, +as though he thought the clerk’s effusiveness was too good to be true. +Then he nodded, gave a little chuckle, and walked out through the +swinging, glass doors.</p> + +<p>The Jew watched the bulky sailor as he moved slowly, like a +ship leaving port in heavy weather, with many a lurch and much +tacking against an adverse wind. By the expression on the Semitic +face you might have thought that Isaac Zahn was beholding some new +and interesting object of natural history, instead of a ponderous and +grumpy old sailor, who seemed to doubt somewhat the <em>bona fides</em> of +the Kangaroo Bank. But the truth was that the young man was +dazzled by the personality of one who might command such wealth; +it had suddenly dawned on his calculating mind that a large sum of +money was standing in the name of Rose Summerhayes; he realised +with the clearness of a revelation that there were other fish than +Rachel Varnhagen in the sea of matrimony.</p> + +<p>The witching hour of lunch was near at hand. Isaac glanced +at the clock, the hands of which pointed to five minutes to twelve. +As soon as the clock above the Post Office sounded the hour, he left +the counter, which was immediately occupied by another clerk, and +going to a little room in the rear of the big building, he titivated +his person before a small looking-glass that hung on the wall, and +then, putting on his immaculate hat, he turned his back upon the cares +of business for one hour.</p> + +<p>His steps led him not in the direction of his victuals, but towards +the warehouse of Joseph Varnhagen. There was no hurry in his +gait; he sauntered down the street, his eyes observing everything, +and with a look of patronising good humour on his dark face, as +though he would say, “Really, you people are most amusing. Your +style’s awful, but I put up with it because you know no better.”</p> + +<p>He reached the door of Varnhagen’s store in precisely the same +frame of mind. The grimy, match-lined walls of the merchant’s +untidy office, the litter of odds and ends upon the floor, the antiquated +safe which stood in one corner, all aroused his pity and contempt.</p> + +<p>The old Jew came waddling from the back of the store, his body +ovoid, his bald head perspiring with the exertion he had put himself +to in moving a chest of tea.</p> + +<p>“Well, my noble, vat you want to-day?” he asked, as he waddled +to his office-table, and placed upon it a packet of tea, intended for a +sample.</p> + +<p>“I just looked round to see how you were bobbing up.”</p> + +<p>“Bobbin’ up, vas it? I don’t bob up much better for seein’ <em>you</em>. +Good cracious! I vas almost dead, with Packett ill with fever or +sometings from that ship outside, and me doin’ all his vork and mine +as well. Don’t stand round in my vay, ven you see I’m pizzy!” Young +Isaac leisurely took a seat by the safe, lighted a cigarette, and +looked on amusedly at the merchant’s flurry.</p> + +<p>“You try to do too much,” he said. “You’re too anxious to save +wages. What you want is a partner to keep your books, a young man +with energy who will look after your interests—and his own. You’re +just wearing yourself to skin and bone; soon you’ll go into a decline, +and drop off the hooks.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +“Eh? Vat? A decline you call it? Me? Do I look like it?”</p> + +<p>The fat little man stood upright, and patted his rotund person.</p> + +<p>“It’s the wear and tear of mind that I fear will be fatal to you. +You have brain-tire written large over every feature. I think you +ought to see a doctor and get a nerve tonic. This fear of dying a +pauper is rapidly killing you, and who then will fill your shoes?”</p> + +<p>“My poy, there is one thing certain—<em>you</em> won’t. I got too much +sense. I know a smart feller when I see him, and <em>you’re</em> altogetter +too slow to please <em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>“The really energetic man is the one who works with his brains, +and leaves others to work with their hands.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! that’s it, eh? Qvite a young Solomon! Vell, <em>I</em> do both.”</p> + +<p>“And you lose money in consequence.”</p> + +<p>“I losing money?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, <em>you</em>. You’re dropping behind fast. Crookenden and Co. +are outstripping you in every line.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you see my books. Perhaps you see theirs.”</p> + +<p>“I see their accounts at the bank. I know what their turn-over +is; I know yours. You’re not in it.”</p> + +<p>“But they lose their cargo—the ship goes down.”</p> + +<p>“But they get the insurance, and send forward new orders and +make arrangements with us for the consignors to draw on them. +Why, they’re running rings round you.”</p> + +<p>“Vell, how can I help it? My mail never come—I don’t know +vat my beobles are doing. But I send orders, too.”</p> + +<p>“For how much?”</p> + +<p>“Dat’s <em>my</em> pizz’ness.”</p> + +<p>“And <em>this</em> is mine.” The clerk took a sheet of paper from his +pocket.</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> don’t want to know your pizz’ness.”</p> + +<p>“But you’d like to know C. and Co.’s.”</p> + +<p>“Qvite right. But <em>you</em> know it—perhaps you know the Devil’s +pizz’ness, too.”</p> + +<p>Young Zahn laughed.</p> + +<p>“I wish I did,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Vell, young mans, you’re getting pretty near it; you’re getting +on that vay.”</p> + +<p>“That’s why it would be wise to take me into <em>your</em> business.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say; but all you vant is to marry my taughter Rachel.”</p> + +<p>“I want to marry her, that’s true, but there are plenty of fish +in the sea.”</p> + +<p>“And there are plenty other pizz’ness besides mine. You haf +my answer.”</p> + +<p>The bank-clerk got up. “What I propose is for your good as +well as mine. <em>I</em> don’t want to ruin you; I want to see you prosper.”</p> + +<p>“<em>You</em> ruin me? How do you do that? If I change my bank, how +do <em>you</em> affect me?”</p> + +<p>“But you would have to pay off your overdraft first.”</p> + +<p>“That vill be ven the manager pleases—but as for his puppy +clerk, dressed like a voman’s tailor, get out of this!”</p> + +<p>The young man stood, smiling, by the door; but old Varnhagen, +enacting again the little drama of Luther and the Devil, hurled the +big office ink-pot at the scheming Isaac with full force.</p> + +<p>The clerk ducked his head and ran, but the missile had struck +him under the chin, and his immaculate person was bespattered from +shirt-collar to mouse-coloured spats with violet copying-ink. In this +deplorable state he was forced to pass through the streets, a spectacle +for tittering shop-girls and laughing tradesmen, that he might gain +the seclusion of his single room, which lay somewhere in the back +premises of the Kangaroo Bank.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Wages of Sin.</strong></p> + + +<p>As Pilot Summerhayes turned up the street, after having deposited +his money, he might well have passed the goldsmith, hurrying towards +the warehouse of Crookenden and Co. to receive the wages of his sin.</p> + +<p>In Tresco’s pocket was the intercepted correspondence, upon his +face was a look of happiness and self-contentment. He walked boldly +into the warehouse where, in a big office, glazed, partitioned, and +ramparted with a mighty counter, was a small army of clerks, who, +loyal to their master, stood ready to pillage the goldsmith of every +halfpenny he possessed.</p> + +<p>But, with his blandest smile, Benjamin asked one of these formidable +mercenaries whether Mr. Crookenden was within. He was +ushered immediately into the presence of that great personage, before +whom the conducting clerk was but as a crushed worm; and there, +with a self-possession truly remarkable, the goldsmith seated himself +in a comfortable chair and beamed cherubically at the merchant, +though in his sinful heart he felt much as if he were a cross between +a pirate and a forger.</p> + +<p>“Ah! you have brought my papers?” said the merchant.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought <em>my</em> papers,” said the goldsmith, still smiling.</p> + +<p>Crookenden chuckled. “Yes, yes,” he said, “quite right, quite +right. They are yours till you are paid for them. Let me see: I +gave you £50 in advance—there’s another £50 to follow, and then we +are quits.”</p> + +<p>“Another hundred-and-fifty,” said Tresco.</p> + +<p>“Eh? What? How’s that? We said a hundred, all told.”</p> + +<p>“Two hundred,” said Tresco.</p> + +<p>“No, no, sir. I tell you it was a hundred.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Tresco, “I shall retain possession of the letters, +which I can post by the next mail or return to Mr. Varnhagen, just +as I think fit.”</p> + +<p>The merchant rose in his chair, and glared at the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>“What!” cried Tresco. “You’ll turn dog? Complete your part +of the bargain. Do you think I’ve put my head into a noose on your +account for <em>nothing</em>? D’you think I went out last night because I +loved you? No, sir, I want my money. I happen to need money. +I’ve half a mind to make it two-hundred-and-fifty; and I would, if I +hadn’t that honour which is said to exist among thieves. We’ll say +one-hundred-and-fifty, and cry quits.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think you have me in your hands?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t <em>think</em>,” replied the cunning goldsmith. “I <em>know</em> I’ve got +you. But I’ll be magnanimous—I’ll take £150. No, £160—I must +pay the boatmen—and then I’ll say no more about the affair. It shall +be buried in the oblivion of my breast, it shall be forgotten with the +sins of my youth. I must ask you to be quick.”</p> + +<p>“Quick?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, as quick as you conveniently can.”</p> + +<p>“Would you order me about, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly that, but I would urge you on a little faster. I +would persuade you with the inevitable spur of fate.”</p> + +<p>The merchant put his hand on a bell which stood upon his table.</p> + +<p>“That would be of no use,” said Benjamin. “If you call fifty +clerks and forcibly rob me of my correspondence, you gain nothing. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +Listen! Every clerk in this building would turn against you the +moment he knew your true character; and before morning, every man, +woman and child in Timber Town would know. And where would +you be then? In gaol. D’you hear?—in gaol. Take up your pen. +An insignificant difference of a paltry hundred pounds will solve the +difficulty and give you all the comfort of a quiet mind.”</p> + +<p>“But what guarantee have I that after you have been paid you +won’t continue to blackmail me?”</p> + +<p>“You cannot possibly have such a guarantee—it wouldn’t be good +for you. This business is going to chasten your soul, and make you +mend your ways. It comes as a blessing in disguise. But so long as +you don’t refer to the matter, after you have paid me what you owe +me, I shall bury the hatchet. I simply give you my word for that. +If you don’t care to take it, leave it: it makes no difference to me.”</p> + +<p>The fat little merchant fiddled nervously with the writing +materials in front of him, and his hesitation seemed to have a most +irritating effect upon the goldsmith, who rose from his chair, took +his watch from his pocket, and walked to and fro.</p> + +<p>“It’s too much, too much,” petulantly reiterated Mr. Crookenden. +“It’s not worth it, not the half of it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not <em>my</em> affair,” retorted Tresco. “The bargain was for +£200. I want the balance due.”</p> + +<p>“But how do I know you have the letters?” whined the merchant.</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut! I’m surprised to hear such foolishness from an educated +man. What you want will be forthcoming when you’ve drawn +the cheque—take my word for that. But I’m tired of pottering round +here.” The goldsmith glanced at his watch. “I give you two minutes +in which to decide. If you can’t make up your mind, well, that’s your +funeral. At the end of that time I double the price of the letters, and +if you want them at the new figure then you can come and ask for +them.”</p> + +<p>He held his watch in his hand, and marked the fleeting moments.</p> + +<p>The merchant sat, staring stonily at the table in front of him.</p> + +<p>The brief moments soon passed; Tresco shut his watch with a +click, and returned it to his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Now,” he said, taking up his hat, “I’ll wish you good morning.”</p> + +<p>He was half-way to the door, when Crookenden cried, “Stop!” +and reached for a pen, which he dipped in the ink.</p> + +<p>“He, he!” he sniggered, “it’s all right, Tresco—I only wanted to +test you. You shall have the money. I can see you’re a staunch man +such as I can depend on.”</p> + +<p>He rose suddenly, and went to the big safe which stood against +the wall, and from it he took a cash-box, which he placed on the +table.</p> + +<p>“Upon consideration,” he said, “I have decided to pay you in +cash—it’s far safer for both parties.”</p> + +<p>He counted out a number of bank notes, which he handed to the +goldsmith.</p> + +<p>Tresco put down his hat, put on his spectacles, and counted the +money. “Ten tens are a hundred, ten fives are fifty, ten ones are ten,” +he said. “Perfectly correct.” He put his hand into the inner pocket +of his coat, and drew out a packet, which was tied roughly with a piece +of coarse string. “And here are the letters,” he added, as he placed +them on the table. Then he put the money into his pocket.</p> + +<p>Crookenden opened the packet, and glanced at the letters.</p> + +<p>Tresco had picked up his hat.</p> + +<p>“I am satisfied,” said the merchant. “Evidently you are a man +of resource. But don’t forget that in this matter we are dependent +upon each other. I rely thoroughly on you, Tresco, thoroughly. Let +us forget the little piece of play-acting of a few minutes ago. Let us +be friends, I might say comrades.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +“Certainly, sir. I do so with pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“But for the future,” continued Crookenden, “we had better not +appear too friendly in public, not for six months or so.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not, not too friendly in public,” Benjamin smiled his +blandest, “not for at least six months. But any communication sent +me by post will be sure to find me, unless it is intercepted by some +unscrupulous person. For six months, Mr. Crookenden, I bid you +adieu.”</p> + +<p>The merchant sniggered again, and Benjamin walked out of +the room.</p> + +<p>Then Crookenden rang his bell. To the clerk who answered it, +he said:</p> + +<p>“You saw that man go out of my office, Mr. Smithers?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“If ever he comes again to see me, tell him I’m engaged, or not +in. I won’t see him—he’s a bad stamp of man, a most ungrateful +man, a man I should be sorry to have any dealings with, a man who +is likely to get into serious trouble before he is done, a man whom +I advise all my young men to steer clear of, one of the most unsatisfactory +men it has been my misfortune to meet.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all, Mr. Smithers,” said the head of the firm. “I like +my young men to be kept from questionable associates; I like them +to have the benefit of my experience. I shall do my best to preserve +them from the evil influence of such persons as the man I have referred +to. That will do. You may go, Mr. Smithers.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Benjamin Tresco was striding down the street in the +direction of his shop; his speed accelerated by a wicked feeling of +triumph, and his face beaming with an acute appreciation of the +ridiculous scene in which he had played so prominent a part.</p> + +<p>“Hi-yi!” he exclaimed exultingly, as he burst into the little room +at the back of his shop, where the Prospector was waiting for him, +“the man with whips of money would outwit Benjamin, and the man +with the money-bags was forced to shell out. Bill, my most esteemed +pal, the rich man would rob the poor, but that poor man was Benjamin, +your redoubtable friend Benjamin Tresco, and the man who +was dripping with gold got, metaphorically speaking, biffed on the +boko. Observe, my esteemed and trusty pal, observe the proceeds of +my cunning.”</p> + +<p>He threw the whole of his money on the table.</p> + +<p>“Help yourself,” he cried. “Take as much as you please: all I ask +is the sum of ten pounds to settle a little account which will be very +pressing this evening at eight o’clock, when a gentleman named +Rock Cod and his estimable mate, Macaroni Joe, are dead sure to +roll up, expectant.”</p> + +<p>The digger, who, in spite of his return to the regions of civilisation, +retained his wildly hirsute appearance, slowly counted the notes.</p> + +<p>“I make it a hundred-and-sixty,” he said.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” said Tresco: “there’s sixty-seven for you, and +the balance for me.”</p> + +<p>Bill took out the two IOUs, and placed them on the table. They +totalled £117, of which Benjamin had paid £50.</p> + +<p>“I guess,” said the Prospector, “that sixty-seven’ll square it.” He +carefully counted out that sum, and put it in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Benjamin counted the balance, and made a mental calculation. +“Ninety-three pounds,” he said, “and ten of that goes to my respectable +friends, Rock Cod and Macaroni. That leaves me the enormous +sum of eighty-three pounds. After tearing round the town for three +solid days, raising the wind for all I’m worth and almost breaking +my credit, this is all I possess. That’s what comes of going out to +spend a quiet evening in the company of Fortunatus Bill; that’s what +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +comes of backing my luck against ruffians with loaded dice and lumps +on their necks.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen them devils since?” asked the Prospector.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been far too busy scrapin’ together this bit of cash to take +notice of folks,” said Benjamin, as he tore up the IOUs and threw +them into the fireplace. “It’s no good crying over spilt milk or money +lost at play. The thing is for you to go back to the bush, and make +good your promise.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to-morrow mornin’. I’ve got the missus’s money, +which I’ll send by draft, and then I’ll go and square up my bill at the +hotel.”</p> + +<p>“And then,” said Benjamin, “fetch your swag, and bunk here +to-night. It’ll be a most convenient plan.”</p> + +<p>“We’re mates,” said the Prospector. “You’ve stood by me and +done the ’an’some, an’ I’ll stand by you and return the compliment. +An’ it’s my hope we’ll both be rich men before many weeks are out.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” said Benjamin. “Your hand on it.”</p> + +<p>The digger held out his horny, begrimed paw, which the goldsmith +grasped with a solemnity befitting the occasion.</p> + +<p>“You’ll need a miner’s right,” said the digger.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got one,” said Tresco. “Number 76032, all in order, entitling +me to the richest claim in this country.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see, mate, that it’s as rich as my own, and that’s saying a +wonderful deal.”</p> + +<p>“Damme, I’ll come with you straight away!”</p> + +<p>“Right, mate; come along.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll start before dawn.”</p> + +<p>“Before dawn.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll shut the shop, and prospect along with you.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the way of it. You an’ me’ll be mates right through; +and we’ll paint this town red for a week when we’ve made our pile.”</p> + +<p>“Jake! Drat that boy; where is he? Jake, come here.”</p> + +<p>The shock-headed youth came running from the back yard, where +he was chopping wood.</p> + +<p>“Me and this gentleman,” said his master, “are going for a little +excursion. We start to-morrow morning. See? I was thinking of +closing the shop, but I’ve decided to leave you in charge till I return.”</p> + +<p>The lad stood with his hands in his pockets, and blew a long, +shrill whistle. “Of all the tight corners I was ever in,” he said, “this +takes the cake. I’ll want a rise in wages—look at the responsibility, +boss.”</p> + +<p>The goldsmith laughed. “All right,” he said. “You shall have +ten shillings a week extra while I’m away; and if we have luck, Jake, +I’ll make it a pound.”</p> + +<p>“Right-oh! I’ll take all the responsibility that comes along. I’ll +get fat on it. And when you come back, you’ll find the business +doubled, and the reputation of B. Tresco increased. It’ll probably +end in you taking me in as partner—but <em>I</em> don’t care: it’s all the same +to <em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>The goldsmith made an attempt to box the boy’s ear, but Jake +dodged his blow.</p> + +<p>“That’s your game, is it?” exclaimed the young rogue. “Bash me +about, will you? All right—I’ll set up in opposition!”</p> + +<p>He didn’t wait for the result of this remark, but with a sudden +dart he passed like a streak of lightning through the doorway, and +fled into the street.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Rachel’s Wiles.</strong></p> + + +<p>Rachel Varnhagen walked down the main street of Timber Town, +with the same bustling gait, the same radiant face, the same air of +possessing the whole earth, as when the reader first met her. As she +passed the Kangaroo Bank she paused, and peered through the glass +doors; but, receiving no responsive glance from the immaculately +attired Isaac, who stood at the counter counting out his money, she +continued her way towards her father’s place of business, where she +found the rotund merchant in a most unusual state of excitement.</p> + +<p>“Now, vat you come bothering me this morning, Rachel? Can’t +you see I’m pizzy?”</p> + +<p>“I want a cheque, father.”</p> + +<p>“You get no cheque from me this morning, my child. I’ve got +poor all of a sudden. I’ve got no cheques for nopody.”</p> + +<p>“But I have to get things for the house. We want a new gourmet +boiler—you know you won’t touch currie made in a frying-pan—a +steamer for potatoes, and half-a-dozen table-knives.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t we haff no credit? What goot is my name, if you can’t +get stew-pans without money? Here I am, with no invoices, my +orders ignored as if I was a pauper, and my whole piz’ness at a +standstill. Not one single letter do I get, not one. I want a hundred +thousand things. I send my orders months and months ago, and +I get no reply. My trade is all going to that tam feller, Crookenden! +And you come, and ask me for money. Vhen I go along to +the Post Master, he kvestion me like a criminal, and pring the Police +Sergeant as if I vas a thief. I tell him I nefer rob mail-bags. I +tell him if other peoples lose letters, I lose them too. I know nothing +aboudt it. I tell him the rascal man is Crookenden and Co.—he +should take <em>him</em> to prison: he contracts for mails and nefer delivers +my letters. I tell him Crookenden and Co. is the criminal, not me. +Then he laff, but that does not gif me my letters.”</p> + +<p>During this harangue, Rachel had stood, the mute but pretty +picture of astonishment.</p> + +<p>“But, father,” she said, “I want to go to the bank. I want to +speak to Isaac awfully, and how can I go in there without some +excuse!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll gif you the exguse to keep out! I tell you somethings which +will make you leave that young man alone. He nefer loaf you, +Rachel—he loaf only my money.”</p> + +<p>“Father! this worry about the mail has turned you silly.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I’m silly when I throw the ink-pot at him. I’ve gone +mad when I kick him out of my shop. You speak to that young man +nefer again, Rachel, my tear; you nefer look at him. Then, by-and-by, +I marry you to the mos’ peautiful young man with the mos’ loafly +moustache and whiskers. You leaf it to your poor old father. He’ll +choose you a good husband. When I was a young man I consult with +<em>my</em> father, and I marry your scharming mamma, and you, my tear +Rachel, are the peautiful result. Eh? my tear.”</p> + +<p>The old man took his daughter’s face between his fat hands, +and kissed her on both cheeks.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +“You silly old goose,” said Rachel, tenderly, “you seem to think +I have no sense. I’m not going to marry Isaac <em>yet</em>—there can’t be +any harm in speaking to him. I’m only engaged. Why should you +be frightened if I flirt a little with him? You seem to think a girl +should be made of cast-iron, and just wait till her father finds a +husband for her. You’re buried up to your eyes in invoices and +bills of lading and stupid, worrying things that drive you cranky, +and you never give a thought to my future. What’s to become of +me, if I don’t look out for myself? Goodness knows! there are few +enough men in the town that I <em>could</em> marry; and because I pick out +one for myself, you storm and rage as if I was thinking of marrying +a convict.”</p> + +<p>“Young Zahn is worse: he is the worst rogue I ever see. He +come in here to bully me into making him my partner. He threatens +to tell my piz’ness to Crookenden and Co. I tell him, ‘You do it, +my poy. I schange my account, and tell your manager why.’ That +young man’s too smart: soon he find himself in gaol. If my tear +little Rachel marries a criminal, what would become of her poor +old father? My tear, my tarling, you make me die with grief! But +wait till the right young man comes along, then I gif you my blessing +and two thousand pounds. But I gif you not von penny if you marry +young Zahn.”</p> + +<p>The tears were now standing in Rachel’s pretty eyes, and she +looked the picture of grief.</p> + +<p>“I never do <em>anything</em>, but you blame me,” she sobbed. “When +I wish to do a thing, you always say it’s bad. You don’t love me!” +And she burst into a flood of tears.</p> + +<p>“Rachel! Rachel! I gafe you the gold watch; and that bill came +to thirty-three pounds. I gif you everything, and when I tell you not +to run after a bad young feller, you say I nefer loaf you. Rachel, +you are cruel; you make your father’s heart bleed; you stab me +here”—he pointed with his fat forefinger to the middle of his waistcoat—“you +stab me here”—he placed his finger on his forehead. +“You show no loaf, no consideration. You make me most unhappy. +You’re a naughty girl!”</p> + +<p>The old fellow was almost crying. Rachel put her arms about +his neck, and pressed his corpulent person with affection.</p> + +<p>“Father, I’ll be good. I know I’m very bad. But I love you, +father. I’ll never cause you any sorrow again. I’ll do everything +you tell me. I won’t gad about so much; I’ll stop at home more. I +will, father; I really will.”</p> + +<p>“My tear Rachel! My loafly!” The old man was holding his +pretty daughter at arm’s length, and was gazing at her with parental +fondness. “You are my peautiful, tear, goot, little girl.”</p> + +<p>Again her arms were flung round his neck. Again she kissed his +bristly cheeks with her ruby-red lips. “You <em>are</em> an old dear,” she +exclaimed. “You’re the kindest old governor going.”</p> + +<p>“You loaf your old father?”</p> + +<p>“Of <em>course</em> I do. But I <em>do</em>—I <em>do</em> so want a small cheque. I +must have it for the house.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll always loaf your father, Rachel?”</p> + +<p>“Always.” She renewed her affectionate embraces.</p> + +<p>“You shall have a little one—not so big as when my ship comes +home, not so big as I’d like, but enough to show that I loaf you, +Rachel.”</p> + +<p>He let her lead him to his desk, and there he sat and wrote a +cheque which Rachel took gladly. She gave him one more kiss, and +said, “You dear, good, kind old party; your little Rachel’s <em>awfully</em> +pleased,” and gaily tripped from the dingy office into the sunny street.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Digging.</strong></p> + + +<p>Moonlight and Scarlett were glad with the delight of success, for +inside their tent, which was pitched beside Bush Robin Creek, lay +almost as much gold as one of them could conveniently carry to +Timber Town.</p> + +<p>They had searched the rocky sides of the gorge where they had +first found gold, and its ledges and crevices had proved to be exceedingly +rich. Next, they had examined the upper reaches of the +creek, and after selecting a place where the best “prospects” were +to be found, they had determined to work the bottom of the river-bed. +Their “claim” was pegged off, the water had been diverted, and +the dam had been strengthened with boulders taken from the river-bed, +and now, having placed their sluice-boxes in position, they were +about to have their first “washing up.”</p> + +<p>As they sat, and ate their simple fare—“damper” baked on the +red-hot embers of their fire, a pigeon which Scarlett had shot that +morning, and tea—their conversation was of their “claim.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think it will go?”</p> + +<p>“The dirt in the creek is rich enough, but what’s in the flat +nobody can say. There may be richer gold in some of the higher +terraces than down here. I’ve known such cases.”</p> + +<p>At the place where they were camped, the valley had been, at +some distant period, a lake which had subsided after depositing a rich +layer of silt, through which the stream had cut its way subsequently. +Over this rich alluvial deposit the forest had spread luxuriantly, +and it was only the skill of the experienced prospector that could +discover the possibilities of the enormous stretches of river silt which +Nature had so carefully hidden beneath the tangled, well-nigh impenetrable +forest.</p> + +<p>“The river is rich,” continued Moonlight, “that we know. Possibly +it deposited gold on these flats for ages. If that is so, this +valley will be one of the biggest ‘fields’ yet developed. What we must +do first is to test the bottom of the old lake; therefore, as soon as +we have taken the best of the gold out of the river, I propose to +‘sink’ on the terraces till I find the rich deposit.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps what we are getting now has come from the terraces +above,” said Jack.</p> + +<p>“I think not.”</p> + +<p>“Where does it come from then?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say, unless it is from some reef in the ranges. You +must not forget that there’s the lower end of the valley to be prospected +yet—we have done nothing below the gorge.”</p> + +<p>Talking thus, they ate their “damper” and stewed pigeon, and +drank their “billy” tea. Then they lit their pipes, and strolled towards +the scene of their labours.</p> + +<p>The place chosen for the workings was selected by circumstance +rather than by the diggers. At this particular point of its course +there had been some hesitation on the part of the river in choosing +its bed, and with but a little coaxing it had been diverted into an +old channel—which evident signs showed to be utilised as an overflow +in time of flood—and thus by a circuitous route it found its +way to the mouth of the gorge.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +All was ready for the momentous operation of washing up, and +the men’s minds were full of expectation.</p> + +<p>The bottom of fine silt, which had been laid bare when the +boulders had been removed, stood piled on the bank, so as to be out +of harm’s way in case the river burst through the dam. Into the +old bed a trickle of water ran through the sluice-boxes. These were +set in the dry bed of the stream, and were connected with the creek +by a water-race. They were each twelve feet in length, and consisted +of a bottom and two sides, into which fitted neatly a twelve-foot +board, pierced with a number of auger-holes. These boxes could +be joined one to another, and the line of them could thus be prolonged +indefinitely. The wash-dirt would be shovelled in at the top +end, and the water, flowing down the “race,” would carry it over +the boxes, till it was washed out at the lower end, leaving behind a +deposit of gold, which, owing to its specific gravity, would lodge in +the auger-holes.</p> + +<p>Moonlight went to the head of the “race,” down which presently +the water rushed, and rippled through the sluice-boxes. Next, he +threw a shovelful of wash-dirt into the lower part of the “race,” +and soon its particles were swept through the sluice, and another +shovelful followed.</p> + +<p>When Moonlight tired, Scarlett relieved him, and so, working +turn and turn about, after an hour they could see in the auger-holes +a small yellow deposit: in the uppermost holes an appreciable quantity, +and in the lower ones but a few grains.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,” said Moonlight, “we’ve struck it.” He looked +at the great heaps of wash-dirt on the bank, and his eyes shone with +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Do you think the dam will hold?” asked Scarlett of the experienced +digger.</p> + +<p>“It’s safe enough till we get a ‘fresh’,” was the reply. Moonlight +glanced at the dripping rampart, composed of tree-trunks and +stones. “But even if there does happen to be a flood, and the dam +bursts,” he added, “we’ve still got the ‘dirt’ high and dry. But we +shall have warning enough, I expect, to save the ‘race’ and sluice-boxes.”</p> + +<p>“It meant double handling to take out the wash-dirt before we +started to wash up,” said Scarlett, “but I’m glad we did it.”</p> + +<p>“Once, on the Greenstone,” said Moonlight, “we were working +from the bed of the creek. There came a real old-man flood which +carried everything away, and when we cleaned out the bed again, +there wasn’t so much as a barrowful of gold-bearing dirt left behind. +Once bitten, twice shy.”</p> + +<p>If the process was monotonous, it had the advantage of being +simple. The men slowly shovelled the earth into the last length of +the “race,” and the running water did the rest. In the evening, a +big pile of “tailings” was heaped up at the foot of the sluice, and +as some of the auger-holes were half-filled with gold, Moonlight gave +the word for cleaning out the boxes.</p> + +<p>The water from the dam was cut off, leaving but a trickle running +through the boxes. The false bottoms were then taken out of +the sluice, and upon the floors of the boxes innumerable little heaps +of gold lay exposed to the miners’ delighted eyes.</p> + +<p>The heavy gold, caught before it had reached the first sluice-box, +lay at the lower end of the “race.” To separate the small quantity +of grit that remained with the gold, the diggers held the rich little +heaps claw-wise with their fingers, while the rippling water ran +through them. Thus the gold was left pure, and with the blade of a +sheath-knife, it was easily transferred to the big tin dish.</p> + +<p>“What weight?” asked Jack, as he lifted the precious load.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +Moonlight solemnly took the “pan” from his mate. “One-fifty +to one-sixty ounces,” he said oracularly. His gaze wandered to the +heap of wash-dirt which remained. “We’ve washed about one-sixth,” +he said. “Six times one-fifty is nine hundred. We’ll say, roughly, +£4 an ounce: that gives us something like £3600 from that heap.”</p> + +<p>As night was now approaching, they walked slowly towards their +tent, carrying their richly-laden dish with them. Sitting in the tent-door, +with their backs to the dark forest and their heads bent over +the gold, they transferred the precious contents of the dish to a +strong chamois-leather bag. Moonlight held open the mouth of the +receptacle, and watched the process eagerly. About half the pleasant +task was done, when suddenly a voice behind them said, “Who the +blazes are <em>you</em>?”</p> + +<p>Turning quickly, they saw standing behind them two men who +had emerged from the forest.</p> + +<p>Seizing an axe which lay beside him, Moonlight assumed an +attitude of defence. Scarlett, who was weaponless, stood firm and +rigid, ready for an onslaught.</p> + +<p>“You seem to have struck it,” said the newcomer who had spoken, +his greedy eyes peering at the dish. “Do put down that axe, mate. +We ain’t bushrangers.”</p> + +<p>Moonlight lowered the head of his weapon, and said, “Yes, we’ve +got the colour.”</p> + +<p>“Blow me if it ain’t my friend Moonlight!” exclaimed the second +intruder, advancing towards the diggers. “How’s yerself?”</p> + +<p>“Nicely, thank you,” replied Moonlight. “Come far to-day?”</p> + +<p>“A matter of eight hours’ tramp—but not so fer; the bush is +mighty thick. This is my mate. Here, Ben, shake ’ands.”</p> + +<p>It was none other than Benjamin Tresco who came forward. As +he lowered his “swag” to the ground, he said, smiling urbanely, “How +de do? I reckon you’ve jumped our claim. But we bear no malice. +We’ll peg out another.”</p> + +<p>“This ain’t ours,” said the Prospector, “not by chalks. You’re +above the gorge, ain’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Moonlight, “I should reckon we must be a mile +above it.”</p> + +<p>“Where I worked,” continued Bill, “was more’n a mile below the +gorge. What are you makin’?”</p> + +<p>“A few pennyweights,” responded Moonlight.</p> + +<p>“It looks like it!” exclaimed the Prospector, glancing at the +richly-laden dish. “Look ’ere, Ben: a few pennyweights, that’s all—just +makin’ tucker. Poor devils!”</p> + +<p>Moonlight laughed, and so did Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“Well, we might do worse than put our pegs alongside theirs, +eh, Ben?”</p> + +<p>“Oceans worse,” replied Tresco.</p> + +<p>“Did you prospect the gorge?” asked Moonlight.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t never in the gorge,” said the Prospector. “The river +was too high, all the time I was working; but there’s been no rain +for six weeks, so she’s low now.”</p> + +<p>Tresco advanced with mock trepidation, and looked closely at +the gold in the chamois-leather bag, which he lifted with assumed difficulty. +“About half a hundredweight,” he said. “How much more +of this sort have you got?”</p> + +<p>Moonlight ignored the question, but turning to the Prospector, +he said, “I shouldn’t have left till I’d fossicked that gorge, if I’d been +you.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’ve been through it?” queried Bill.</p> + +<p>Moonlight nodded.</p> + +<p>“How did it pan out?”</p> + +<p>“There was gold there.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +“Make tucker, eh?” the Prospector laughed. “Well this’ll be good +enough for us. We’ll put in our pegs above yours. But how you +dropped on this field just gits over me. You couldn’t have come +straighter, not if I’d shown you the way myself.”</p> + +<p>“Instinct,” replied Moonlight. “Instinct and the natural attraction +of the magnet.” He desired to take no credit for his own astuteness +in prospecting.</p> + +<p>Scarlett had so far said nothing, but he now invited the newcomers +to eat, before they pitched their tent.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said the Prospector, “you must be on pretty short commons—you +must ha’ bin out a fortnight and more. Me an’ my mate’ll +provide the tucker.”</p> + +<p>“We <em>are</em> a bit short, and that’s the truth,” said Moonlight, “but +we reckon on holding out till we’ve finished this wash-up, and then +one of us’ll have to fetch stores.”</p> + +<p>While Benjamin and his mate were unpacking their swags and +Scarlett was lighting the fire, Moonlight transferred the rest of the +gold from the dish to the leather bag.</p> + +<p>When the four men sat down to their frugal meal of “billy” tea, +boiled bacon, and “damper,” they chatted and laughed like schoolboys.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Tresco, as red flames of the fire shot toward +the stars and illumined the gigantic trunks of the surrounding trees, +“this is freedom and the charm of Nature. No blooming bills to meet, +no bother about the orders of worrying customers, no everlasting +bowing and scraping; all the charm of society, good-fellowship, +confidence, and conversation, with none of the frills of so-called +civilization. But that is not all. Added to this is the prospect of +making a fortune in the morning. Now, that is what I call living.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A Den of Thieves.</strong></p> + + +<p>Down a by-lane in the outskirts of Timber Town stood a dilapidated +wooden cottage. Its windows lacked many panes, its walls +were bare of paint, the shingles of its roof were rotten and scanty; +it seemed uninhabitable and empty, and yet, as night fell, within it +there burned a light. Moreover, there were other signs of life within +its crazy walls, for when all without was quiet and dark, the door +opened and a bare-headed man emerged.</p> + +<p>“Carny!” he called.</p> + +<p>A whistle sounded down the lane, and soon a figure advanced +from the shadow of a hedge and stood in the light of the open door.</p> + +<p>“We’ve only waited near an hour for you,” said the first man. +“If you’ve orders to be on time, be on time. D’you expect the whole +push to dance attendance on you?”</p> + +<p>“Now, Dolphin, draw it mild. That blame pretty girl at The +Lucky Digger kept me, an’ wouldn’t let me go, though I told her I +had a most important engagement.”</p> + +<p>“Petticoats an’ <em>our</em> business don’t go together,” gruffly responded +Dolphin. “Best give ’em a wide berth till we’ve finished our work +here and got away.”</p> + +<p>The two men entered the house, and the door was shut.</p> + +<p>At a bare, white-pine table sat two other men, the sour-faced +Garstang and the young fellow who answered to the name of Sweet +William.</p> + +<p>“Come in, come in,” said the latter, “and stop barrackin’ like +two old washerwomen. Keep yer breath to discuss the biz.”</p> + +<p>Dolphin and Carnac drew chairs to the table, on which stood a +guttering candle, glued to the wood with its own grease.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +“Charming residence,” remarked Carnac, elegant in a black +velvet coat, as he glanced round the bare and battered room.</p> + +<p>“Sweet William Villa,” said the young man. “I pay no rent; +and mighty comfortable it is too, when you have a umberella to keep +out the rain.”</p> + +<p>“Our business,” said the pugnacious-looking Dolphin, “is to +square up, which hasn’t been done since we cleaned out the digger +that William hocussed.”</p> + +<p>He drew a handful of notes and gold from his pocket, and +placed it on the table.</p> + +<p>“Gently,” said Sweet William, who took Carnac’s hat, and placed +it over the money. “Wait till I fix my blind.” Snatching a blanket +from a bed made upon the bare floor, he hung it on two nails above +the window, so as to effectually bar the inquisitive gaze of chance +wayfarers. “Damme, a bloke would think you wanted to advertise +the firm and publish our balance-sheet.” Stepping down to the floor, +he replaced Carnac’s hat upon its owner’s head, and said “Fire away.”</p> + +<p>Each man placed his money in front of him, and rendered his +account. Then Dolphin took all the money, counted it, and divided +it into four equal heaps, three of which he distributed, and one of +which he retained.</p> + +<p>“Fifty-seven quid,” said Sweet William, when he had counted +his money. “A very nice dividend for the week. I think I’ll give +up batching here, and live at The Lucky Digger and have a spree.”</p> + +<p>“Not much, William,” broke in Dolphin. “Keep yourself in hand, +my son. Wait till we’ve made our real haul and got away with the +loot: then you can go on the burst till all’s blue. Each man wants +his wits about him, for the present.”</p> + +<p>“You mean the bank,” said Carnac.</p> + +<p>The leader of the gang nodded.</p> + +<p>“I’ve fossicked around the premises,” continued the gentleman +in the velvet coat, “and I must confess that they’re the most trifling +push <em>I</em> ever saw. There’s the manager, a feeble rat of a man; another +fellow that’s short-sighted and wears specs.; a boy, and the teller, a +swell who wears gloves on his boots and looks as if he laced himself +up in stays.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon there’s a rusty old revolver hanging on a nail somewheres,” +remarked Garstang.</p> + +<p>“Most likely,” said Dolphin, “but our plan is to walk in comfortable +and easy just before closing-time. I’ll present a faked-up +cheque which’ll cause a consultation between the teller and the short-sighted +party. In the meantime, Carnac will interview the manager +about sending a draft to his wife in England. You, Garstang, will +stand ready to bar the front door, and William will attend to the +office-boy and the door at the back. Just as the clerks are talking +about the cheque, I’ll whip out my weapon and bail ’em up, and +then the scheme will go like clock-work.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose there’s a mob of customers in the place?” asked +Garstang.</p> + +<p>“A lot of harmless sheep!” replied Dolphin. “It’ll be your duty +to bail them up. There’s a big strong-room at the back, well-ventilated, +commodious, and dry. We’ll hustle everybody into that, and +you and William will stand guard over them. Then Carnac will +bring the manager from his room, and with the persuasion of two +pistols at his head the little old gentleman will no doubt do the civil +in showing us where he stows his dollars. There’ll be plenty of time: +the bank will be closed just as in the ordinary course of things. We’ll +do the job thoroughly, and when we’ve cleaned the place out, we’ll lock +all the parties up in the strong-room, and quit by the back door as +soon as it’s dusk.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +“Sounds O.K.,” remarked Sweet William, “but there’ll be a picnic +before morning. I reckon we’ll need to get away pretty sudden.”</p> + +<p>“That can be arranged in two ways,” said Dolphin. “First, we +can choose a day when a steamer is leaving port early in the evening, +say, eight o’clock; or we can take to the bush, and make our +way across country. I’ve turned over both plans in my mind, and +I rather prefer the latter. But that is a point I leave to you—I’ll +fall in with the opinion of the majority.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Garstang, “it looks as if it must succeed: it looks +as if it can’t go wrong. Our leader Dolphin, the brains of the gang, +has apparently fixed up everything; the details are all thought out; +the men are ready and available, but——”</p> + +<p>“But what?” asked Dolphin gruffly. “Are you going to back +down? Frightened of getting a bit of lead from a rusty old revolver, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“It ain’t that,” replied the ugliest member of the gang, “but supposin’ +there’s no money in the bloomin’ bank, what then?”</p> + +<p>A roar of laughter greeted his surmise.</p> + +<p>“What d’you suppose the bank’s for,” asked Carnac, “if not to +store up money?”</p> + +<p>“Whips and whips of money,” observed Sweet William, the stem +of his lighted pipe between his teeth. “You go with a legitimate +cheque for, say, £550, and you’d get it cashed all right.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly”; replied Garstang, “in notes. And that’s where we’d +fall in. Every number is known, and so soon as we tried to cash the +dirty paper, we’d get lagged. Even if we passed ’em at pubs, we’d +be traced. What we want is gold—nothing but gold. And I’d be +surprised if they have a thousand sovereigns in the bank.”</p> + +<p>“If they have,” remarked Dolphin, “you’ll get two-fifty. Isn’t +that good enough?”</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” retorted his troublesome follower, “there’s considerable +risk about the business, in spite of you fixing all the details so +neat and easy. I ask, ‘Is it good enough to get about ten years for +the sake of £250?’”</p> + +<p>“Just what I thought,” exclaimed Dolphin. “You’re a cock-tail. +In your old age you’ve grown white-livered. I guess, Garstang, you’d +better retire, and leave those to carry out the work who don’t know +what fear is.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” echoed Carnac, drumming the table with his white +fingers.</p> + +<p>“You don’t ketch my meaning,” growled Garstang, angry and +surly. “What I want is a big haul, and damn the risk. There’s no +white liver about <em>me</em>, but I say, ‘Let’s wait till we’ve reason to know +that the bank’s safe is heavily loaded.’ I say, ‘Wait till we know extra +big payments have been made into it.’ Let’s get all we can for our +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“’Ere, ’ere,” said Sweet William. “I’m there. Same sentiment +’ere,” and he smote his narrow chest.</p> + +<p>“But how are we to find out the bank’s business?” asked Dolphin. +“Lor’ bless us, if the manager would tip us the wink, we’d be all +right.”</p> + +<p>“Get me took in as extry clerk,” suggested William. “Blame me, +if I don’t apply for the billet to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>“Go on chiacking,” said Garstang; “poke borak—it don’t hurt <em>me</em>. +But if you want to do anything in a workmanlike and perfessional +manner, listen to advice. Isn’t shipments of virgin gold made from +the Coast? Isn’t such shipments made public by the newspapers? +Very good. When we see a steamer has brought up a pile of gold, +where’s it put but in the bank? There’s our chance. D’you follow? +Then we’ll be sure to get something for our pains.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +“’Ere, ’ere!” cried Sweet William, smacking the now leering +Garstang on the back. “Good on you. Maximum return for minimum +risk.”</p> + +<p>Carnac joined in the laugh. “You’re not so thick-headed after +all,” he said to the crooked-faced man.</p> + +<p>“Nor ’e ain’t so awful white-livered neither,” said William.</p> + +<p>Dolphin, whose eyes were fixed on the table contemplatively, +was silent for a while. When the noise made by the other three had +terminated, he said, “Well, have it as you like. But how will the +scheme fit in with the steamer business?”</p> + +<p>“First rate,” answered William. “Where there’s gold there’ll be +a steamer to take it away, won’t there?”</p> + +<p>“And when the steamer doesn’t get its gold at the appointed +time,” replied Dolphin, “the whole town will be roused to hunt for +it. That’s no game for us. I agree to waiting for gold to be lodged +in the bank, but if that does’t come off within reasonable time, I’m +for taking the chance that’s offered. I’m willing to wait a fortnight. +How’d that suit you, Garstang?”</p> + +<p>“I’m agreeable,” said the sour-faced man.</p> + +<p>“And in the meanwhile,” added the leader, “we don’t know one +another. If we meet, we don’t so much as pass the time of day. +D’you all understand?”</p> + +<p>The three answered affirmatively, and Sweet William said, “Don’t +never any of you chaps come near my shanty. This meetin’ stands +adjourned <em>sine die</em>.”</p> + +<p>“If there’s a notice in the newspaper of gold arriving, that means +we meet here at once,” said Dolphin, “otherwise we meet this day +fortnight. Is that clear?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s clear,” said Garstang.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said Carnac, “perfectly clear.”</p> + +<p>“An’, please, when you go,” said Sweet William, “don’t raise the +whole neighbourhood, but make a git one by one, and disperse promiscuous, +as if you’d never met in your beautiful lives.”</p> + +<p>The four men were now standing round the table.</p> + +<p>“Good night all,” said Dolphin, and he went out quietly by the +front door.</p> + +<p>“Remember what the boss says about the wine,” remarked William, +when the leader of the gang had gone. “No boozing and giving +the show away. You’re to be strictly sober for a fortnight, Garstang. +And, Carny, if that girl at The Lucky Digger tries to pump you as +to what your lay is, tell ’er you’ve come to buy a little property and +settle down. She’ll think you mean marrying.”</p> + +<p>Carnac smiled. “You might be my grandfather, William,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Personally, <em>I’m</em> a shearer that’s havin’ a very mild sort of spree +and knockin’ down his cheque most careful. You’ve bin aboard a +ship, ain’t you, Garstang?”</p> + +<p>“D’you suppose I swam out to this blanky country?” said the +crooked-featured gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Then you’re a sailor that’s bin paid off and taken your discharge.”</p> + +<p>Carnac had his hand on the latch of the door through which +Dolphin had disappeared.</p> + +<p>“No, no; you go out the back way,” said William, who conducted +the man in the velvet coat into the back yard, and turned him into +a paddock full of cabbages, whence he might find his way as best +he could to the roadway.</p> + +<p>When the youthful William returned, Garstang was smoking; +his elbows on the table, and his ugly head resting in his hands.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +“You seem bloomin’ comfortable, Garstang.”</p> + +<p>“I’d be a darn sight more comfortabler for a drop of grog, William.”</p> + +<p>William took a bottle from beneath his bed.</p> + +<p>“Just eleven o’clock,” said the younger man, looking at his watch. +“This house closes punctual. You shall have one nip, mister, and +then I chuck you out.”</p> + +<p>He poured the contents of the bottle into the solitary mug, and +added water from a jug with a broken lip. Then the two rogues +drank alternately.</p> + +<p>“What do you intend to do when you’ve made your pile, Garstang?”</p> + +<p>“Me? I’m goin’ back to London and set up in a nice little public, +missis, barmaid, and boots, complete, and live a quiet, virtuous life. +That’s me. I should prefer somewheres down Woolwich way—I’m very +fond of the military.”</p> + +<p>“I’m goin’ to travel,” said William. “I’m anxious for to see things +and improve me mind. First, I’ll go to America—I’m awful soft on +the Yanks, and can’t help thinkin’ that ’Frisco’s the place for a +chap with talent. Then I’ll work East and see New York, and by-and-by +I’ll go over to Europe an’ call on the principal Crown Heads—not +the little ’uns, you understand, like Portugal and Belgium, or +fry of that sort: they ain’t no class—an’ then I’ll marry a real fine +girl, a reg’lar top-notcher with whips of dollars, an’ go and live at +Monte Carlo. How’s that for a programme, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Nice and complete. But I rayther expect the Crown ’Eads’d +be one too many for <em>you</em>. The Czar o’ Rooshia, f’r instance, I fancy +he’d exile you to Siberia.”</p> + +<p>“But that’d be agin international law an’ all rule an’ precedent—I’d +tell ’im I was a British subject born in Australia, and wrap a +Union Jack around me stummick, an’ dare ’im to come on. How’d +that be for high?”</p> + +<p>“You’d be ’igh enough. You’d be ’anded over to th’ British +authorities—they’d see you went ’igh enough. The experience of +men of our perfession is, lie very low, live very quiet, don’t attract no +attention whatever—when you’ve succeeded in makin’ your pile. +That’s why I say a public: you’ve a few select pals, the best of liquor, +and just as much excitement as a ordinary man needs. I say that, +upon retirement, for men of our perfession a public’s the thing.”</p> + +<p>“How’d a theayter do?”</p> + +<p>“Too noisy an’ unrestful, William. An’ then think of all the +wimmen—they’d bother a man silly.”</p> + +<p>“What d’you say to a song and dance ’all?”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t so bad. But them places, William, I’ve always noticed, +has a tendency to grow immoral. Now, a elderly gent, who’s on the +down-grade and ’as <em>’ad</em> ’is experiences, don’t exactly want <em>that</em>. No, +I’m dead set on a public. I think that fills the bill completely.”</p> + +<p>“But we can’t <em>all</em> go into the grog business.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why. ’Tain’t as if we was a regiment of soldiers. +There’s but four of us.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, the liquor’s finished. You can make a git, Garstang. +But, if you ask me what I’ll do with this pile as soon as it’s made, I +say I still have a hankerin’ after the Crown Heads. They must be +most interestin’ blokes to talk to: you see, they’ve had such experience. +I’m dead nuts on Crown Heads.”</p> + +<p>“And they’re dead nuts on the ’eads of the likes of you, William. +Good-night.”</p> + +<p>“So-long, Garstang. Keep good.”</p> + +<p>And with those words terminated the gathering of the four +greatest rogues who ever were in Timber Town.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Gold and Roses.</strong></p> + + +<p>The Pilot’s daughter was walking in her garden.</p> + +<p>The clematis which shaded the verandah was a rich mass of +purple flowers, where bees sucked their store of honey; the rose +bushes, in the glory of their second blooming, scented the air, while +about their roots grew masses of mignonette.</p> + +<p>Along the winding paths the girl walked; a pair of garden +scissors in one hand and a basket in the other. She passed under +a latticed arch over which climbed a luxuriant Cloth of Gold, heavy +with innumerable flowers. Standing on tip-toe, with her arms above +her head, she cut half-a-dozen yellow buds, which she placed in the +basket. Passing on, she came to the pink glory of the garden, +Maria Pare, a mass of brown shoots and clusters of opening buds +whose colour surpassed in delicacy the softest tint of the pink sea-shell. +Here she culled barely a dozen roses where she might have +gathered thirty. “Yellow and pink,” she mused. “Now for something +bright.” She walked along the path till she came to M’sieu +Cordier, brilliant with the reddest of blooms. She stole but six of +the best, and laid them in the basket. “We want more scent,” she +said. There was La France growing close beside; its great petals, +pearly white on the inside and rich cerise without, smelling deliciously. +She robbed the bush of only its most perfect flowers, for +though there were many buds but few were developed.</p> + +<p>Next, she came to the type of her own innocence, The Maiden +Blush, whose half-opened buds are the perfect emblem of maidenhood, +but whose full-blown flowers are, to put it bluntly, symbolical +of her who, in middle life, has developed extravagantly. But here +again was no perfume. The mistress passed on to the queen of the +garden, La Rosiere, fragrant beyond all other roses, its reflexed, claret-coloured +petals soft and velvety, its leaves—when did a rose’s greenery +fail to be its perfect complement?—tinged underneath with a faint +blush of its own deep colour.</p> + +<p>She looked at the yellow, red, and pink flowers in her basket, and +said, “There’s no white.” Now white roses are often papery, but there +was at least one in the garden worthy of being grouped with the +beauties in the basket. It was The Bride, typical, in its snowy +chastity and by reason of a pale green tint at the base of its petals, +of that purity and innocence which are the bride’s best dowry.</p> + +<p>Rose cut a dozen long-stemmed flowers from this lovely bush, and +then—whether it was because of the sentiment conveyed by the blooms +she had gathered, or the effect of the landscape, is a mystery unsolved—her +eyes wandered from the garden to the far-off hills. With the +richly-laden basket on her arm, she gazed at the blue haze which +hung over mountain and forest. Regardless of her pleasant occupation, +forgetful that the fragrant flowers in the basket would wither +in the glaring sun, she stood, looking sadly at the landscape, as +though in a dream.</p> + +<p>What were her thoughts? Perhaps of the glorious work of the +Master-Builder; perhaps of the tints and shades where the blue of +the forest, the brown of the fern-clad foot-hills, the buff of the sun-dried +grass, mottled the panorama which lay spread before her. But +if so, why did she sigh? Does the contour of a hill suffuse the eye? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +Not a hundred-thousand hills could in themselves cause a sob, not +even the gentle sob which amounted to no more than a painful little +catch in Rose’s creamy throat.</p> + +<p>She was standing on the top of the bank, which was surmounted +by a white fence; her knee resting on the garden-seat upon +which she had placed her basket, whilst in reverie her spirit was +carried beyond the blue mountains. But there appeared behind her +the bulky form of her father, who walked in carpet slippers upon +the gravel of the path.</p> + +<p>“Rosebud, my gal.” The stentorian tones of the old sailor’s +voice woke her suddenly from her day-dream. “There’s a party in +the parlour waitin’ the pleasure of your company, a party mighty +anxious for to converse with a clean white woman by way of a +change.”</p> + +<p>The girl quickly took up her flowers.</p> + +<p>“Who can it possibly be, father?”</p> + +<p>“Come and see, my gal; come and see.”</p> + +<p>The old fellow went before, and his daughter followed him into +the house. There, in the parlour, seated at the table, was Captain +Sartoris.</p> + +<p>Rose gave way to a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure; +and was advancing to greet her visitor, when he arrested her with a +gesture of his hand.</p> + +<p>“Don’t come too nigh, Miss Summerhayes,” he said, with mock +gravity. “I might ha’ got the plague or the yaller fever. A man +out o’ currantine is to be approached with caution. Jest stand up +agin’ the sideboard, my dear, and let me look at you.” The girl +put down her roses, and posed as desired.</p> + +<p>“Very pretty,” said Sartoris. “Pink-and-white, pure bred, English—which, +after being boxed in with a menag’ry o’ Chinamen and +Malays, is wholesome and reassuring.”</p> + +<p>“Are you out for good, Captain?”</p> + +<p>“They can put me aboard who can catch me, my dear. I’d run +into the bush, and live like a savage. I’m not much of a mountaineer, +but you would see how I could travel.”</p> + +<p>“But what was the disease?” asked the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“Some sort of special Chinese fever; something bred o’ dirt and +filth and foulness; a complaint you have to live amongst for weeks, +before you’ll get it; a kind o’ beri-beri or break-bone, which was +new to the doctors here. I’ve been disinfected and fumigated till +I couldn’t hardly breathe. Races has their special diseases, just the +same as they has their special foods: this war’n’t an English sickness; +all its characteristics were Chinee, and it killed the Captain because +he’d lived that long with Chinamen that, I firmly believe, his pigtail +had begun to shoot. Furrin crews, furrin crews! Give me the +British sailor, an’ I’ll sail my ship anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“And run her on the rocks, at the end of the voyage,” growled +the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“I never came ashore to argify,” retorted the Captain. “But +if it comes to a matter of navigation, there <em>are</em> points I could give +any man, even pilots.”</p> + +<p>Seeing that the bone of contention was about to be gnawed by +the sea-dogs, Rose interposed with a question.</p> + +<p>“Have you just come ashore, Captain?”</p> + +<p>“In a manner o’ speakin’ he has,” answered her father, who +took the words out of his friend’s mouth, “and in a manner o’ +speakin’ he hasn’t. You see, my dear, we went for a little preliminary +cruise.”</p> + +<p>“The first thing your father told me was about this here robbery +of mails. ‘When was that?’ I asked. ‘On the night of the 8th or +early morning of the 9th,’ he says. That was when the captain of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +the barque died. I remembered it well. ‘Summerhayes,’ I said, ‘I +have a notion.’ And this is the result, my dear.”</p> + +<p>From the capacious pocket of his thick pilot-jacket he pulled a +brown and charred piece of canvas.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the least idea,” replied Rose.</p> + +<p>“Does it look as though it might be a part of a mail-bag?” asked +Sartoris. “Look at the sealing-wax sticking to it. Now look at +<em>that</em>.” He drew from the deep of another pocket a rusty knife.</p> + +<p>“It was found near the other,” he said. “Its blade was open. +And what’s that engraved on the name-plate?—your eyes are younger +than mine, my dear.” The sailor handed the knife to Rose, who +read the name, and exclaimed, “B. Tresco!”</p> + +<p>“That’s what the Pilot made it,” said Sartoris. “And it’s what +I made it. We’re all agreed that B. Tresco, whoever he may be, +was the owner of that knife. Now this is evidence: that knife was +found in conjunction with this here bit of brown canvas, which I +take to be part of a mail-bag; and the two of ’em were beside the +ashes of a fire, above high water-mark. On a certain night I saw +a fire lighted at that spot: that night was the night the skipper of +the barque died and the night when the mails were robbed. You +see, when things are pieced together it looks bad for B. Tresco.”</p> + +<p>“I know him quite well,” said Rose: “he’s the goldsmith. What +would he have to do with the delivery of mails?”</p> + +<p>“Things have got this far,” said the Pilot. “The postal authorities +say all the bags weren’t delivered on board. They don’t accuse +anyone of robbery as yet, but they want the names of the boat’s +crew. These Mr. Crookenden says he can’t give, as the crew was a +special one, and the man in charge of the boat is away. But from +the evidence that Sartoris has brought, it looks as if Tresco could +throw light on the matter.”</p> + +<p>“It’s for the police to take the thing up,” said Sartoris. “I’m +not a detective meself; I’m just a plain sailor—I don’t pretend to be +good at following up clues. But if the police want this here clue, +they can have it. It’s the best one of its kind I ever come across: +look at it from whatever side you please. It’s almost as perfect a +clue as you could have, if you had one made to order. A policeman +that couldn’t follow up that clue——‘Tresco’ on the knife, and, alongside +of it, the bit of mail-bag—why, he ought to be turned loose in +an unsympathising world, and break stones for a living. It’s a beautiful +clue. It’s a clue a man can take a pride in; found all ready +on the beach; just a-waitin’ to be picked up, and along comes a +chuckle-headed old salt and grabs it. Now, that clue ought to be +worth a matter of a hundred pound to the Government. What reward +is offered, Pilot?”</p> + +<p>“There’s none, as I’m aware of,” answered Summerhayes. “But +if the post-master is a charitable sort of chap, he might be inclined +to recommend, say, fifty; you bein’ a castaway sailor in very ’umble +circumstances. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll see the Mayor.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you will!” exclaimed Sartoris. “You’d better advertise: +‘Poor, distressed sailor. All contributions thankfully received.’ No, +sir, don’t think you can pauperise <em>me</em>. A man who can find a clue +like that”—he brought the palm of his right hand down with a +smack upon the table, where Tresco’s knife lay—“a man who can +find that, sir, can make his way in any community!”</p> + +<p>Just at that moment there were heavy footsteps upon the +verandah, and a knocking at the front door.</p> + +<p>Rose, who was sitting near the window, made a step or two +towards the passage, but the old Pilot, who from where he stood +could see through the glass of the front door, forestalled her, and she +seated herself opposite the skipper and his clues.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +“So you think of visiting the police sergeant?” she asked, by +way of keeping up the conversation.</p> + +<p>But the skipper’s whole attention was fixed on the voices in the +next room, into which the Pilot had conducted his visitor.</p> + +<p>“H’m,” said Sartoris, “I had an idea I knew the voice, but I +must have been mistaken. Who is the party, Miss Rose?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the slightest clue,” replied the girl, smiling. “Father +has such a number of strange friends in the port that I’ve long +given up trying to keep count of them. They come at all hours, +about all sorts of things.”</p> + +<p>The words were hardly out of her mouth, when the Pilot, wearing +a most serious expression of face, entered the room.</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” he said, “well, well. Who’d ha’ thought it? Dear, +dear. Of all the extraordinary things! Now, Cap’n Sartoris, if +you’d ’a’ asked <em>me</em>, I’d ’a’ said the thing was impossible, impossible. +Such things goes in streaks, and his, to all intents and purposes, was +a bad ’n; and then it turns out like this. It’s most remarkable, most +extraordinary. It’s beyond me. I don’t fathom it.”</p> + +<p>“What the deuce an’ all are you talkin’ about, Summerhayes?” +Sartoris spoke most deprecatingly. “A man would think you’d buried +a shipmate, or even lost your ship.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? What?” the Pilot thundered. “Lost my ship? No, no. +I’ve bin wrecked in a fruiter off the coast of Sardinia, an’ I’ve bin +cast away on the island of Curacoa, but it was always in another +man’s vessel. No, sir, <em>I</em> never failed to bring the owners’ property +safe into port. Any fool can run his ship on shore, and litter her +cargo along half-a-mile of sea coast.”</p> + +<p>“We’ve heard that argyment before,” said Sartoris. “We quite +understand—you couldn’t do such a thing if you tried. You’re a most +exceptional person, and I’m proud to know you; but what’s this dreadful +thing that’s redooced you to such a state of bad temper, that +your best friends ’d hardly know you? I ask you that, Summerhayes. +Is it anything to do with these clues that’s on the table?”</p> + +<p>“Clues be ——!” It is sad to relate that the Pilot of Timber +Town was about to use a strong expression, which only the presence +of his daughter prevented. “Come out of that room there,” he +roared. “Come, an’ show yourself.”</p> + +<p>There was a heavy tread in the passage, and presently there entered +the room a very shabby figure of a man. A ruddy beard +obscured his face; his hair badly needed cutting; his boots were dirty +and much worn; his hands bore marks of hard work, but his eyes +were bright, and the colour of his cheek was healthy, and for all +the noise he made as he walked there was strength in his movements +and elasticity in his steps.</p> + +<p>Without a word of introduction, he held out his hand to Miss +Summerhayes, who took it frankly.</p> + +<p>Captain Sartoris had risen to his feet.</p> + +<p>“How d’y do, sir,” he said, as he shook hands. “I hope I see +you well, sir. Have you come far, or do you live close handy?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve come a matter of twenty miles or so to-day,” said the tall +stranger.</p> + +<p>“Farming in the bush, I suppose,” said Sartoris. “Very nice +occupation, farming, I should think.” He closely eyed the ragged +man. “Or perhaps you fell down a precipice of jagged stones which +tore you considerable. Anyhow, I’m glad I see you well, sir, <em>very</em> +glad I see you well.”</p> + +<p>There was a rumbling noise like the echo of distant thunder reverberating +through the hills. Rose and Sartoris almost simultaneously +fixed their eyes upon the Pilot.</p> + +<p>Summerhayes’s huge person was heaving with suppressed merriment, +his face was red, and his mouth was shut tight lest he should +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +explode with laughter. But when he saw the two pairs of bewildered +eyes staring at him, he burst into a laugh such as made the wooden +walls of the house quiver.</p> + +<p>Sartoris stood, regarding the Pilot as though he trembled for +his friend’s senses; and a look of alarm showed itself in Rose’s face.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know him!” cried the Pilot, pulling himself together. +But the Titanic laughter again took hold of him, and shook his vast +frame. “You’ve travelled with him, you’ve sailed with him, you’ve +known him, Sartoris—you’ve bin shipwrecked with him!” Here the +paroxysm seized the Pilot anew; and when it had subsided it left +him exhausted and feeble. He sank limply upon the old-fashioned +sofa, and said, almost in a whisper, “It’s Jack Scarlett, and you +didn’t know him; Jack Scarlett, back from the diggings, with his +swag full of gold—and you thought him a stranger.”</p> + +<p>It was now the turn of Rose and the skipper to laugh. Jack, who +up to this point had kept a straight face, joined his merriment to +theirs, and rushing forward they each shook him by the hand again, +but in a totally different manner from that of their former greeting.</p> + +<p>Out of his “jumper” the fortunate digger pulled a long chamois-leather +bag, tied at the neck with a boot-lace. Taking a soup-plate +from the sideboard, he emptied the contents of the bag into it, and +before the astonished eyes of the onlookers lay a heap of yellow gold.</p> + +<p>They stared, and were speechless.</p> + +<p>From about his waist Scarlett untied a long leather belt, which +proved to be lined with gold. But the soup-plate would hold no more, +and so the lucky digger poured the residue in a heap upon the polished +table. Next, he went out to the verandah, and undoing his swag, he +returned with a tin canister which had been wrapped in his blankets. +This also was full of gold, and taking off its lid, he added its contents +to the pile upon the table.</p> + +<p>“And there’s some left in camp,” he said. “I couldn’t carry it +all to town.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” said Sartoris, “while I’ve been boxed up in that +stinking plague-ship, I might ha’ been on God A’mighty’s earth, picking +up stuff like this. Well, well, what luck!”</p> + +<p>“There must be a matter o’ two thousand pound,” said the Pilot. +“Two thousand pound!”</p> + +<p>“More,” said Jack. “There should be about 800 ozs., valued at +something like £3000; and this is the result of but our first washing-up.”</p> + +<p>“Good lord, what luck!” exclaimed the Pilot. “As I always have +said, it comes in streaks. Now, Jack, here, has had his streak o’ +bad luck, and now he’s got into a new streak, and it’s so good that +it’s like to turn him crazy before he comes to the end of it. If you +want to know the real truth about things, ask an old sailor—he won’t +mislead you.”</p> + +<p>But all that Rose said was, “How nice it must be to meet with +such success.”</p> + +<p>“By George, I was almost forgetting our bargain,” exclaimed +Scarlett. He took from his pocket a little linen bag, which he +handed to Rose. “Those are the nuggets you wanted—glad to be +able to keep my promise.”</p> + +<p>The girl untied the neck of the small bag, and three heavy +pieces of gold tumbled on the table.</p> + +<p>“I can’t take them,” she exclaimed. “They’re worth too much. +I can’t make any adequate return.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you won’t try. Pilot, she <em>must</em> take them.”</p> + +<p>“Take ’em? Of course. Why, Rosebud, his luck would leave +him to-morrer, if you was to stop him keeping his promise. You’re +bound to take ’em.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +Rose weighed the bits of virgin gold in the palm of her little +hand.</p> + +<p>“Of course, I never really meant you to give me any of your +gold,” she said. “I only spoke in joke.”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s a joke I should make pretty often, if I were you,” +said Sartoris. “You don’t seem to know when you’re well off.”</p> + +<p>“I take it under compulsion; hoping that you’ll find so much +more that you won’t feel the loss of this.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no fear of that,” said Jack. “As for repayment, I +hope you won’t mention it again.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to give it you in good wishes.”</p> + +<p>The basket of roses stood on the table. Jack looked at the +beautifully blended colours, and stooped to smell the sweet perfume. +“I’ll take one of these,” he said, “—the one you like the best.”</p> + +<p>The girl took a bud of La Rosiere, dark, velvety, fragrant, perfect. +“I’m in love with them all,” she said, “but this is my favourite.”</p> + +<p>She handed the bud to Jack, who put it in the button-hole of +his worn and shabby coat.</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” he said, “I’m more than repaid.”</p> + +<p>Sartoris burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you feel a bit in the way, Summerhayes?” he said. “I +do. When these young things exchange love-tokens, it’s time we +went into the next room.”</p> + +<p>“No,” laughed the Pilot, “we won’t budge. The gal gets twenty-pound +worth of gold, and offers a rose in return. It’s a beautiful +flower, no doubt; but how would a slice of mutton go, after ‘damper’ +and ‘billy’ tea? Rosebud, my gal, go and get Mr. Scarlett something +to eat.”</p> + +<p>Joining in the laugh, Rose went into her kitchen, and Jack +commenced to pack up his gold, in order that the table might be +laid for dinner.</p> + +<p>But if you come to think of it, there may have been a great +deal in his request, and even more in the girl’s frank bestowal.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Foundation of the Gold League.</strong></p> + + +<p>Mr. Crewe sat in the Timber Town Club with his satellite, Cathro, +beside him. The old gentleman was smoking a well-seasoned briar +pipe, from which he puffed clouds of smoke contemplatively, as he +watched the gesticulations of a little man who was arguing with a +gentleman who wore riding-breeches and leggings.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, sir,” said the little man, “that there is not the +vestige of proof that the mails were stolen, not the slightest scintilla +of truth in the suspicion.”</p> + +<p>“Then what became of them?” asked the other, as he fixed a +gold horse-shoe pin more securely in his tie.</p> + +<p>“What became of them?” exclaimed the little man. “They were +washed overboard, washed overboard and lost.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said the man of horses, “I happened to be riding home +late that night, and, I assure you, there was not a breath of wind; +the sea was as smooth as glass.”</p> + +<p>“That might be,” retorted the little man, who was now pacing +up and down in front of his adversary in a most excited fashion. +“That might be, but there is a lot of surge and swell about a steamer, +especially in the neighbourhood of the screw, and it is very possible, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +I may say highly probable, that the missing bags were lost as the +mail was being passed up the side.”</p> + +<p>“But how would that affect the incoming mail?” asked the other. +“Did that drop over the side, too?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said the diminutive man, drawing himself up to his +full height. “There is nothing to prove that the incoming mail was +anything but complete. We are honest people in Timber Town, sir. +I do not believe we have in the entire community men capable of +perpetrating so vile a crime.” He turned to the Father of Timber +Town for corroboration. “I appeal to you, Mr. Crewe; to you, sir, +who have known the town from its inception.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe drew his pipe from his mouth, and said, with great +deliberation, “Well, that is, ah—that is a very difficult question. I +may say that though Timber Town is remarkably free from crime, +still I have known rascals here, and infernal dam’ rascals, too.”</p> + +<p>The little man fairly bristled with indignation at this remark. +He was about to refute the stigma laid on his little pet town, when +the door opened and in walked Scarlett, dressed still in his travel-stained +clothes, and with his beard unshorn.</p> + +<p>His appearance was so strange, that the little argumentative +man believed an intruder, of low origin and objectionable occupation, +had invaded the sacred precincts of his club.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, but what does this mean, sir?” he asked; +immense importance in his bearing, gesture, and tone. “You have +made some mistake, sir. I should like to know if your name has +been duly entered in the visitors’ book, and by whom, sir?”</p> + +<p>Taking no notice of these remarks, Jack walked straight across +the room, and held out his hand to Mr. Crewe. The white-haired +old gentleman was on his feet in a moment. He took the proffered +hand, and said, with a politeness which was as easy as it was natural, +“What is it I can do for you, sir? If you will step this way, we can +talk quite comfortably in the ante-room.”</p> + +<p>Jack laughed. “I don’t believe you know me,” he said.</p> + +<p>“’Pon my honour, you’re right. I don’t,” said Mr. Crewe.</p> + +<p>Jack laughed again, a thing which in a non-member almost +caused the pompous little man to explode with indignation.</p> + +<p>“I’m the fellow, you know, who went to look for the new gold-field,” +said Jack, “and by the lord! I’ve found it.”</p> + +<p>“Scarlett! Is it you?” exclaimed old Mr. Crewe. “You have +got it? My dear sir, this is good news; this is excellent news! +You have found the new gold-field? This is really remarkable, this +is indeed most fortunate! This is the happiest day I have seen for +a long while!”</p> + +<p>“Eh? What? what?” said Cathro, who was on his feet too. +“Is it rich?”</p> + +<p>“Rich?” said Jack. Taking a bank deposit-receipt from his +pocket, he handed it to Cathro.</p> + +<p>“Good God!” cried he, eyeing the figures on the paper, “it’s +a fortune.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe had his gold spectacles upon his nose and the paper +in his hand in a moment. “Three thousand one hundred and eighty-seven +pounds!” he exclaimed. “Well, well, that is luck! And where’s +your mate, Scarlett? Where is Moonlight?”</p> + +<p>“He’s on the claim.”</p> + +<p>“On the claim? Then there’s still gold in sight?”</p> + +<p>“We’ve but scratched the surface,” said Jack. “This is only +the foretaste of what’s to come.”</p> + +<p>The important little man, who had eagerly listened to all that +had been said, was hovering round the group, like an excited cock +sparrow.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +“Really!” he exclaimed, “this is most interesting, very interesting +indeed. A remarkable event, Mr. Crewe, a most remarkable +event. Do me the honour, sir, to introduce me to your friend.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Tonks, Scarlett,” said the old gentleman. “Allow me to +introduce Mr. Tonks.”</p> + +<p>Jack greeted the little man politely, and then turning to Cathro, +said, “We’ve pegged off four men’s claims; so, Cathro, you’ll have to +turn digger, and go back with me to the field.”</p> + +<p>“But my dear sir,” replied Cathro, whose shrivelled form betokened +no great physical strength, “my dear Scarlett, am I to do +pick-and-shovel work? Am I to trundle a barrow? Am I to work +up to my waist in water, and sleep in a tent? My dear sir, I cannot +dig; to beg I am ashamed.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett threw back his head, and laughed. “Oh, that’s nothing,” +he said. “It’s the getting there with a 70lb. swag on your back +that’s the trouble. The country is a mass of ranges; the bush is +as thick as a jungle, and there’s nothing but a blazed track to go by. +But your claim is waiting for you. What do you intend doing with +it?”</p> + +<p>The attenuated Cathro sank on a couch despairingly. “I think +I’ll sell it,” he said. “I’ll sell it to Tonks here, I’ll sell it for £1000 +down, and be content with small profits and quick returns.”</p> + +<p>The little man, important that he should be referred to as good +for so substantial an amount, strutted up and down, like a bantam on +whom the eyes of the fowl-yard rested. However, the gentleman, +dressed for riding, was beforehand with him.</p> + +<p>“It’s an open offer, I suppose,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” replied Cathro. “I don’t care who gets my claim, +so long as I get the money.”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s concluded,” said the horsey man. “I buy the claim.”</p> + +<p>“Done,” said Cathro. “The matter is closed. The claim is yours. +Now, that’s how I like to do business; just a straight offer and a +prompt acceptance. Scarlett, this is Mr. Chesterman. He takes +my place. You can take him over the ranges and along the blazed +track: no doubt, you’ll find him a better bushman than myself. +Chesterman is accustomed to carry a 70lb. swag; he’ll make an +excellent beast of burden. I wish you luck, Chesterman.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t you think,” said Mr. Crewe, turning to the horsey +man, “don’t you think you’re rather hasty in buying for such a +large sum a property you have never seen?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been on several gold-fields,” said Chesterman, “and I have +had good luck on all of them. My method has always been to act +on the first information of a discovery. A field is always richest at +the beginning of the rush, and I know by experience that the picked +claims, on a new field that yields such results as this does on the +first washing, are worth having. I start to-morrow. Is it possible +to get a horse through?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the pioneer, “not the slightest chance of it. Until +a track is cut, it will be quite impossible; but if you’re good in the +bush you can follow the blaze, when once you have struck it.”</p> + +<p>At this moment, there entered the room a very imposing person. +He was quite six feet high, and broad in proportion; his frank and +open face was adorned with a crisp, gold-coloured beard. He was +dressed in a rough, grey, tweed suit, and carried a newspaper in +his hand. Big men are not usually excitable, but the blue eyes of +this Hercules were ablaze with suppressed emotion. In a voice that +sounded like a cathedral bell, he said, without preface or introduction, +so that the room rang again, “Listen. ‘Gold discovery in the +Eastern ranges. There has arrived in town a lucky digger who is +said to have sold, this morning, some 800 ounces of gold to the +Kangaroo Bank. It is understood that the precious metal came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +from a new gold-field on Bush Robin Creek, which lies somewhere +Eastward of the Dividing Range. From accounts received, it would +appear that a field of unequalled richness has been opened up, and +that a phenomenal rush to the new El Dorado will shortly set in. +All holders of Miners’ Rights are entitled to peg off claims.’ Gentlemen, +I have been to the Kangaroo Bank,” continued the giant, “and +I have seen the gold myself. It is different from any sold here +hitherto, barring some 70 ounces, which were brought in a few +weeks ago, from the same locality. So, you see, we have had a gold +rush created at our very doors. I propose that all the men present +form themselves into a committee to wait upon the local representative +of the Minister for Mines—that, I take it, would be the Commissioner +for Lands—and urge the construction of a graded track to +the new field.”</p> + +<p>“A very good suggestion,” said Mr. Crewe, “a very good suggestion. +For if you want to get these Government people to do +anything, by Jupiter, you need to commence early. We’ll go along, +if you are willing, gentlemen; we’ll go in a body to the Red Tape +Office, and see what can be done. But before we go, let us drink +the health of Mr. Scarlett, here. He has done remarkably well in +bringing this discovery to light, and I ask you to drink to his continued +good luck, at my expense, gentlemen, entirely at my expense.”</p> + +<p>The steward of the club, a thin, dark man, with black eyes which +were watchful and merry, went quietly round the room, which was +now filled with men, and took their orders. Then he disappeared.</p> + +<p>“I think, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Crewe, “that, as the oldest +colonist present, I may be allowed to express an opinion. I think +I may say, without fear of contradiction, that I have watched the +development of many gold-fields in my time, and have benefited by +not a few; and, gentlemen, from the description given by our friend, +here, this new field is likely to prove the richest of them all. By +far the best thing is for the younger men amongst us to go and +prove the thing. I should recommend a party being formed under +the guidance of Mr. Scarlett, and that it should start as soon as +possible. I would go myself if I were a few years younger, and I +<em>will</em> go so soon as the track is cut. I shall see the field myself. But I +am really too old to contend with supple-jacks and ‘lawyers’ and the +thick undergrowth of the bush. I should only be in your way. I +should only be a nuisance.”</p> + +<p>The quick-eyed steward, who, by a method of memory known +only to himself, had retained in his mind the correct list of the +strange and various liquors ordered, now appeared with a gigantic +tray, on which he bore a multitude of glasses. These he deftly +handed round, and then all present rose to their feet.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Scarlett,” said the Father of Timber Town. “I ask you +to drink his health and continued good luck.”</p> + +<p>The ceremony over, Jack stood up.</p> + +<p>“It’s awfully good of you,” he said, “to give me the credit of +this new ‘find,’ but as a matter of fact I have had little to do with +it. The real discoverer is the man who came in from the bush, some +six weeks ago, and painted the town red. After doing him justice, +you should pay your respects to my mate, Moonlight, who is more +at home in the bush than he is in town. To him you owe the declaration +of the new field. I shall be returning in a day or two, and I +shall be glad to take with me any of you who care to come. I promise +you a rough journey, but there is good gold at the end of it.”</p> + +<p>He raised his glass to his lips, drained it, and sat down.</p> + +<p>“We must organise,” said the giant who had read from the +newspaper, “we must form ourselves into some sort of a company, for +mutual strength and support.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +The notion of so big a man calling upon his fellows for help +did not seem to strike anybody as peculiar, if not pathetic.</p> + +<p>“Chair, chair,” cried the pompous Mr. Tonks. “I propose that +Mr. Crewe be placed in the chair.”</p> + +<p>“Hear, hear.”</p> + +<p>“Unity is strength.”</p> + +<p>“Limited liability——”</p> + +<p>“Order! ORDER!”</p> + +<p>“Let me have my say.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down, old fellow; nobody wants to hear you.”</p> + +<p>Amid this babel of voices, old Mr. Crewe rose, and waited for +the attention of his audience.</p> + +<p>When every eye was riveted on him, he said, “Though I discerned +the importance of this discovery, I was not prepared, gentlemen, for +the interest you have so warmly expressed. It is a fact that this is +the commencement of a new era in the history of Timber Town. We +are about to enter upon a new phase of our existence, and from being +the centre of an agricultural district, we are to become a mining +town with all the bustle and excitement attendant upon a gold rush. +Under the mining laws, each of you has as much right as my friend +Scarlett, here, to a digger’s claim upon this field, provided only +that you each obtain a Miner’s Right and peg off the ground legitimately. +But I understand that the desire is to unite for mutual +benefit. That is to say, you desire to pool your interests and divide +the proceeds. The first thing, then, is for each man to peg off his +claim. That done, you can work the properties conjointly under +the supervision of a committee, pay the gross takings into a common +account, and divide the profits. In this way the owner of a duffer +claim participates equally with the owner of a rich one. In other +words, there is less risk of failure—I might say, no risk at all—but +also much temptation. Such a scheme would be quite impossible except +amongst gentlemen, but I should imagine that where men hold +honour to be more precious than money, none will risk his good +name for a little gold. First, it must be the association of working +miners; secondly, a company of gentlemen. Unless a man feels he +can comply with these two conditions, he had best stand aside.”</p> + +<p>“It would be too late for a man to think of backing out,” interrupted +the bearded Hercules, “after he had turned thief by performing +the Ananias trick of keeping back part of his gains: that +man would probably leave the field quicker than he went, and +poorer.”</p> + +<p>“Or possibly he might not leave it at all,” interjected Chesterman.</p> + +<p>“However that might be,” continued Mr. Crewe, “the object of +all present is, I understand, to act in unison. There will be hundreds +of diggers on the field before very long, and in many cases claims +will be jumped and gold will be stolen, in spite of the Warden and +the constabulary. You will be wise, therefore, to co-operate for +mutual protection, if for no other reason.”</p> + +<p>“Name, title?”</p> + +<p>“What shall the association be called?”</p> + +<p>A dozen names were suggested by as many men. Some were +offered in jest, some in earnest; but none met with approval. When +the tempest of voices was past, Mr. Crewe said, “The association +must have a name; certainly, it must have a name. It is not to be +a company, registered under the Act. It is not to be a syndicate, or +a trust. It is simply a league, composed of gentlemen who intend +to stand beside each other, and divide the profits of their enterprise. +If you cannot consolidate your claims, you must work them individually. +I shall therefore suggest that you call yourselves The Timber +Town Gold League. Your articles of agreement can be drawn up in +half-an-hour, and you can all sign them before you leave this room.” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +Here Scarlett whispered to Mr. Crewe, who scrutinised his hearers, +and then said, “To be sure; certainly. Whilst Bulstrode, here, who +is a lawyer and should know his business, is drawing up the document, +Scarlett asks you to drink to the prosperity of the new league.”</p> + +<p>The suggested ceremony necessitated more speeches, but when +they were finished the lawyer read the articles of association. +Strangely enough, they were devoid of legal technicalities, and consisted +of four clearly-worded clauses, destitute of legal fiction, to +which all present readily subscribed their names.</p> + +<p>That done, they drank to the prosperity of The Timber Town +Gold League.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Women’s Ways.</strong></p> + +<p>Scarlett had a day upon his hands while his gold-seeking <em>confreres</em> +of the League made their preparations for the journey to Bush +Robin Creek. To loiter about the town meant that he would be +pestered with questions regarding the locality of the new “field,” +which, until his friends’ “claims” were pegged off, it was desirous to +keep secret. He decided, therefore, to re-visit the scene of the wreck +of <em>The Mersey Witch</em>.</p> + +<p>On a mount, lent him by Chesterman, he was on his way to the +Maori <em>pa</em>, before the town was stirring. The road, which he had +never traversed before, wound its tortuous way along the shore for +some eight miles, and then struck inland across the neck of a wooded +peninsula, on the further side of which the rugged and rocky shore +was fringed with virgin forest. He had reached the thick and shady +“bush” which covered the isthmus, where the dew of the morning +still lay cool on leaf and frond, and the great black boles of the +forest giants stood sentinel amid the verdant undergrowth, when he +overtook a girl who was walking towards the <em>pa</em>.</p> + +<p>Her dress was peculiar; she wore a short Maori mat over her +shoulders, and a blue petticoat fell from waist to ankle, while her +head and feet were bare.</p> + +<p>Jack reined in his horse, and asked if he was on the road +which led to the <em>pa</em>, when the girl turned her merry, brown face, with +its red lips and laughing, brown eyes, and said in English as good +as his own, “Good morning. Yes, this is the road to the <em>pa</em>. Why, +you were the last person I expected to see.” She held up her hand +to him, to greet him in European fashion.</p> + +<p>“Amiria!” he exclaimed. “How <em>are</em> you? It’s quite appropriate +to meet you here—I’m on my way to the wreck, to see how +the old ship looks, if there is anything of her left. How far is it +to the <em>pa</em>?”</p> + +<p>“About two miles.”</p> + +<p>“What brings you so far, at this time of the morning?”</p> + +<p>“You passed a settler’s house, half-a-mile back.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a house built of slabs.”</p> + +<p>“I have been there to take the woman some fish—our people +made a big haul this morning.”</p> + +<p>Jack dismounted, and, hooking his arm through the bridle, he +walked beside the Maori girl.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you ride, Amiria?”</p> + +<p>“My horse is turned out on the hills at the back of the <em>pa</em>, and +it’s too much trouble to bring him in for so short a ride. Besides, +the walk won’t hurt me: if I don’t take exercise I shall lose my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +figure.” She burst into a merry laugh, for she knew that, as she +was then dressed, her beauty depended on elasticity of limb and +sweetness of face rather than upon shape and fashion.</p> + +<p>“I’ll show you the wreck,” she said. “It lies between us and +the <em>pa</em>. It looks a very harmless place in calm weather with the +sun shining on the smooth sea. The tide is out, so we ought to be +able to reach the wreck without swimming.”</p> + +<p>They had come now to the edge of the “bush,” and here Scarlett +tied his horse to the bough of a tree; and with Amiria he paced the +soft and sparkling sands, to which the road ran parallel.</p> + +<p>The tide was low, as the girl had said, and the jagged rocks on +which the bones of the ship lay stranded, stood black and prominent +above the smooth water. The inner reefs were high and dry, and +upon the slippery corrugations of the rocks, covered with seaweed +and encrusted with shell-fish, the two walked; the Maori girl barefooted +and agile, the Englishman heavily shod and clumsy.</p> + +<p>Seeing the difficulty of Scarlett’s advance, Amiria held out her +hand to him, and so linked they approached the sea. A narrow +belt of water separated them from the reef on which the wreck lay, +and to cross this meant immersion.</p> + +<p>“The tide is not as low as I thought,” said Amiria. “At low +spring-tide you can walk, almost dry-shod, to the other side.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid we can’t reach it without a ducking,” said Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“But you can swim?”</p> + +<p>Scarlett laughed. “It’s hardly good enough to ride home in wet +clothes.” He divined Amiria’s meaning, but pretended otherwise.</p> + +<p>Then she laughed, too. “But I have a plan,” she said. Without +a word more, she threw off her flax cape and dropped into the water. +A few strokes and she had reached the further reef. “It will be +all right,” she cried, “I think I can ferry you across on a raft.”</p> + +<p>She walked over the sharp rocks as though her feet were impervious, +and clambering through a great rent in the vessel’s side, +she disappeared.</p> + +<p>When next Jack caught sight of her she was perched on the +top of the battered poop, whence she called, “I’ll roll a cask over the +rocks, and get you across. There’s a big chest in the saloon that +belongs to you.”</p> + +<p>She disappeared again, and when Jack next saw her, she was +rolling a huge barrel with difficulty towards the channel.</p> + +<p>“It’s a quarter-full of sand,” she cried, “and when you stand +it on its end it is ballasted. You’ll be able to come over quite dry.”</p> + +<p>Launching the cask, she pushed it before her as she swam, and +soon clambered up beside Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“It’s bunged, I see,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I did it with a piece of wood,” said she.</p> + +<p>Then, booted and spurred, Jack placed himself cross-legged on +the cask, and so was ferried across the intervening strip of water.</p> + +<p>The main deck of the vessel was washed away, but the forecastle +and poop remained more or less intact. The ship, after settling +on the rock, had broken her back, and the great timbers, where the +copper sheathing and planks had been torn away, stood up like +naked ribs supporting nothing.</p> + +<p>Walking upon an accumulation of sand and debris, the Maori +girl and Jack passed from the hold to what was left of the main +deck, and entered the saloon. All the gilding and glory had departed. +Here a cabin door lay on the floor, there the remains of the mahogany +table lay broken in a corner. A great sea-chest, bearing Scarlett’s +name upon its side, stood in the doorway that led to the captain’s +cabin. Full of sand, the box looked devoid of worth and uninviting, +but Scarlett, quickly taking a piece of board, began to scoop out the +sodden contents. As he stooped, a ray of sunlight pierced the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +shattered poop-deck and illumined his yellow hair. Attracted by the +glitter, Amiria put out her hand and stroked his head.</p> + +<p>Jack looked up.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that a bit familiar?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Amiria laughed. “Not from the girl who saved you. If I +hadn’t pulled you out of the water, it might seem a great thing to +touch you, but I know you so well that really it doesn’t matter.”</p> + +<p>Jack buried his head in the chest. This relationship between +preserver and preserved was new to him: he hardly knew what to +make of it. But the humour of the situation dawned on him, and +he laughed.</p> + +<p>“By George, I’m at your mercy,” he said, and, standing up, with +his back still towards her, he laughed again. “You’ve appropriated +me, just as your people appropriated the contents of this box and +the rest of the wreckage. You’ll have to be put in charge of the +police for a little thief.” And again his laugh rang through the +ruined saloon.</p> + +<p>Remarking that the girl made no reply to this sally, he glanced +towards her, to find that she had turned her back upon him and +was sobbing in a corner. Leaving his task of clearing out the sea-chest, +he went towards her, and said, “I’m awfully sorry, Amiria, if +I’ve said anything that hurt your feelings. I really didn’t mean to.” +He had yet to learn that a Maori can bear anything more easily than +laughter which seems to be derisive.</p> + +<p>As the girl continued to cry, he placed his hand upon her +shoulder. “Really, Amiria, I meant nothing. I would be the last +person on earth to hurt your feelings. I don’t forget what I owe +you. I can never repay you. If I have been clumsy, I ask your +pardon.” He held up her head, and looked into her tear-stained face. +“You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>The girl, her still untutored nature half-hidden beneath a deceptive +covering of <em>Pakeha</em> culture, broke into a torrent of Maori quite +unintelligible to the white man, but as it ended in a bright smile +bursting out from behind her tears, he knew that peace was made.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he said; “we’re friends again.”</p> + +<p>In a moment, she had thrown her arms about him and had burst +into a rhapsody in her native tongue, and, though he understood +not one word of it, he knew intuitively that it was an expression of +passionate affection.</p> + +<p>The situation was now more awkward than before. To rebuff +her a second time would be to break his word and wound her more +deeply than ever. So he let this new burst of feeling spend itself, +and waited for her to return to her more civilised self.</p> + +<p>When she did, she spoke in English. “You mustn’t judge me by +the <em>Pakeha</em> girls you know. My people aren’t like yours—we have +different ways. White girls are cold and silent when they feel most—I +know them: I went to school with them—but <em>we</em> show our feelings. +Besides, I have a claim on you which no white girl has. No white +girl would have pulled you out of the surf, as I did. And if I +showed I cared for you then, why shouldn’t I show it now? Perhaps +the <em>Pakeha</em> would blame me, but I can’t always be thinking of your +<em>ritenga</em>. In the town I do as the white woman does; out here I +follow the Maori <em>ritenga</em>. But whichever <em>ritenga</em> it is, I love you; +and if you love me in return, I am the happiest girl in the <em>kainga</em>.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett gave a gasp. “Ah—really, I wasn’t thinking of marrying—yet.”</p> + +<p>Amiria smiled. “You don’t understand,” she said. “But never +mind; if you love me, that’s all right. We will talk of marrying +by and by.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett stood astonished. His mind, trained in the strict code +of a sternly-proper British parish, failed to grasp the fact that a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +Maori girl regards matters of the heart from the standpoint of a +child of Nature; having her code of honour, it is true, but one which +is hardly comprehended by the civilised <em>Pakeha</em>.</p> + +<p>Jack felt he was standing upon the dizzy abyss that leads to +loss of caste. There was no doubt of Amiria’s beauty, there was no +doubt of her passionate affection, but there was a feeling at the back +of his mind that his regard for her was merely a physical attraction. +He admired every curve of her supple shape, he felt his undying +gratitude go out to the preserver of his life, but that was all. Yet +a weakness was stealing over him, that weakness which is proportionate +usually to the large-heartedness of the individual.</p> + +<p>Suddenly relinquishing Amiria’s clasp, he went to the broken +port-hole of a dilapidated cabin and looked out upon the incoming +sea.</p> + +<p>“We must be quick,” he cried, “or we shall be caught by the +tide.”</p> + +<p>“What matter?” said the girl, lazily. “I have stayed here a +whole night when the sea was not as calm as it is now.”</p> + +<p>“But I have to get back to town—I start for the gold-fields to-morrow, +before daylight.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you go to the stupid gold-fields? Isn’t there everything +a man wants here? The <em>pa</em> is full of food—you shall want +for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it is the <em>Pakeha</em> way to want to grow rich. Come +along.”</p> + +<p>He clambered down to where the broken keelson lay, and regained +the rocks. Amiria followed him slowly, as though reluctant +to leave the scene of her confession, but presently she stood beside +him on the slippery seaweed.</p> + +<p>He led the way to where the barrel lay floating in the rising +tide. That the ignominy of being ferried by a girl might not be +repeated, he had brought from the wreck a piece of board with which +to propel himself.</p> + +<p>Perceiving his intention so soon as he was sitting cross-legged +on the top of his strange craft, Amiria dashed into the water, seized +the improvised oar, and threatened to drag it from his grasp.</p> + +<p>“I’ll take you across myself,” she almost screamed. “Why +should you think I don’t want to take you back?”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Jack, dropping his piece of wood, “have it +your own way. I hand myself over to you, but let us get across +quickly.”</p> + +<p>Again the Englishman felt how mean are the conventions of the +white man, how petty his propriety; again the Maori girl felt nothing +but pleasure and pride in the part she played.</p> + +<p>When they reached the further side, Amiria picked up her mat +and threw it over her glistening shoulders, and Scarlett floundered +over the slippery rocks towards the beach.</p> + +<p>“You’ll come to the <em>pa</em>?”</p> + +<p>“You’re too kind. I must get back to town.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ve had nothing to eat.”</p> + +<p>“I have my lunch in my wallets.”</p> + +<p>Amiria’s face fell. “You’re very unkind,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I’ll stay all day, next time I come.”</p> + +<p>“When will that be?”</p> + +<p>“As soon as I can. Ah, here’s my horse, under this birch tree. +Well, good-bye, Amiria. Thank you for taking charge of me to-day. +My word, how you can swim: like a mermaid.”</p> + +<p>His hand touched hers for a brief moment; the next he was in +the saddle. His spur lightly touched the horse’s flank, and the +springy turf yielded to the iron-shod hooves; there was a waving of +a disappearing hand, and the brown girl was left alone.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +“You will come back,” she called through the leaves.</p> + +<p>“I’ll come back.”</p> + +<p>Then, slowly, sadly, she walked towards the <em>pa</em>, talking to herself +in Maori, listless and sorrowful.</p> + +<p>By the time that Scarlett had reached the outskirts of Timber +Town the night had begun to close in. Leaving the main road, he +passed along a by-way to a ford, where a foot-bridge spanned the +river. As his horse bent its head to drink, Jack heard a woman +scream upon the bridge above him. In a moment he had dismounted, +and his heavy boots were resounding on the wooden planks. In the +middle of the bridge he came upon a girl struggling in the grasp of +a thick-set ruffian, who was dragging her towards the bank further +from the town. Grappling with the brutal fellow, Jack released the +girl, who ran past him in the direction of the horse.</p> + +<p>The scoundrel cursed and kicked, but Jack, who had him by the +throat, almost squeezed the life out of him, and then heaved him +over the bridge into the dark and gurgling water. Returning to the +girl, who was standing at the bridge-head, crying and, seemingly, +deprived of power to run further, Scarlett led her to where the horse +stood beside the water.</p> + +<p>“Which way shall I take you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I live at the other side of the town,” she replied. “I was going +home when that brute met me on the bridge.” Again she lost control +of her powers, and Jack was obliged to support her.</p> + +<p>When she had recovered, he swung her into the saddle and led +the horse across the river.</p> + +<p>“I was just in time,” he said. “How do you feel now?”</p> + +<p>“Better.”</p> + +<p>“It’s lucky I didn’t kill the brute. Do you know who he is?”</p> + +<p>“I never saw him before. But I think he’s a digger: lots of +them have come into the town since this discovery of gold was made. +Oh, I’m <em>so</em> frightened! Do you think he will come again?”</p> + +<p>“It’s hardly likely. I think he must have had enough trouble for +one night.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose you have drowned him——”</p> + +<p>“There’s no chance of that—the water is only deep enough to +break his fall. He’ll be all right.”</p> + +<p>“I think I had better get down, if you please: it would be rather +an unusual thing to ride through the town in this manner. I think +I can walk.”</p> + +<p>She slid limply to the ground, and Jack supported her.</p> + +<p>“Whom must I thank for helping me?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I’m a digger, too,” said Jack; and he told her his name.</p> + +<p>“Are you the man who discovered the new field?”</p> + +<p>“Some people give me the credit of it. I start back to-morrow. +It was lucky I was crossing that stream when I did. You haven’t +told me whom I have had the pleasure of rescuing.”</p> + +<p>They were passing a street lamp, and for the first time Jack +could see the girl’s face. She was pretty, with black hair, an oval +face, and a dark complexion.</p> + +<p>“I’m Miss Varnhagen,” she said. “My Dad will be awfully grateful +to you.” She looked at her preserver with eyes which expressed +all the gratitude that Scarlett could desire.</p> + +<p>“I’ll see you safely home,” he said; “and when you tell your +father, perhaps he will repay me by letting me see you again.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll be only too pleased. He says the town owes you more +than it can ever pay you for discovering this gold, which, he says, +will mean thousands of pounds to him and the other merchants.”</p> + +<p>They passed through the town and paused before a great wooden +mansion, painted a light colour, which made it conspicuous even in +the dark. Here Rachel said she lived. Between the gate and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +house grew a plantation of palms, camellias, and rare shrubs, which +were displayed by the lights which shone above the gate and the +door.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you come in and see my father?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing would please me more, but I’m wet, and my horse is +tired and needs a feed. Some other time I’ll call and tell your +father how pleased I was to be of service to you. Good-night.”</p> + +<p>Rachel gave his hand a tender squeeze. “Thanks awf’lly,” she +said, looking up at him with seraphic eyes. “Thank you awf’lly +much. I think you’re just the nicest man I ever met. Be sure you +come to see us when you return. Good-night.” Another tender +squeeze of the hand, another affectionate look, and she disappeared +among the palms and camellias.</p> + +<p>Jack mounted his horse, and rode it to its stables. Then he +went to The Lucky Digger, where he changed his clothes and had +dinner, after which he directed his steps towards the house of Pilot +Summerhayes.</p> + +<p>His knock was answered by Rose herself, who conducted him +into the quaint dining-room, where, upon the polished table, lay the +materials for a dress which she was making, and beside them the +hundred-and-one oddments which are necessary for such a task.</p> + +<p>“Father’s out. He has gone to fetch a steamer in.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “I should like to see him before I go +back to the bush.”</p> + +<p>Rose sat silent. She was very demure, and her manner was +somewhat stiff; therefore, seeing that his experiences had exhilarated +him, Jack said, “I’ve had a great day. Two of the prettiest girls I +ever saw almost devoured me.”</p> + +<p>“Where have you been, Mr. John Scarlett? You want watching.”</p> + +<p>Rose’s bashfulness had entirely disappeared, but she was blushing +profusely.</p> + +<p>“I went out to see the wreck,” said Jack, “and met your little +Maori friend.”</p> + +<p>“Your life’s preserver.”</p> + +<p>“My life’s preserver. She ferried me across an impassable strip +of water on a barrel, and almost captured my heart in the saloon.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t play any games with Amiria’s heart, or I shall cut you +dead. I tell you that plainly.”</p> + +<p>“I assure you I have no intention whatever of playing with +Amiria’s heart. It was she who played with mine, and nearly won. +But I saved myself by flight. It was fortunate I had a good horse.”</p> + +<p>Rose laughed. “One would imagine you were hardly big enough +to look after yourself. That’s the kind of young man they generally +send out from England. Well?”</p> + +<p>“As I was coming home I met a digger molesting another friend +of mine, a Miss Varnhagen.”</p> + +<p>“You’d better be careful—she’s a flirt.”</p> + +<p>“Then I rather like flirts. I threw the digger into the river, +and took her home. She has the most lovely eyes I ever saw.”</p> + +<p>“And she knows how to use them.”</p> + +<p>“You’re jealous, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t you want to look at the +man who had saved you from an ugly brute, who met you in the dark +on a narrow bridge from which you couldn’t possibly escape?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps. But why don’t you feel a little sentimental over the +girl who saved you from a watery grave? You’re callous, I’m +afraid, Mr. Scarlett.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all: I’m merely flattered. It seems a pity I can’t stop in +Timber Town, and see more of such girls; but I must be off to-morrow +to get more gold. Gold is good, Miss Summerhayes, but girls are +better.”</p> + +<p>“Fie, fie. Gold and a good girl—that’s perfection.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +“They always go together—I quite understand that.”</p> + +<p>“Now you’re frivolling. You’re making yourself out to be <em>blasé</em> +and all that. I shall tell my father to forbid you the house.”</p> + +<p>“In which case I shall call on Miss Varnhagen.”</p> + +<p>“That would be all right—you would meet with the punishment +you deserve. Marry the Varnhagen girl, and you will be grey in +two years, and bald in five.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m going to the gold-fields to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“So you said. I hope you will have the same luck as before.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all you have to say?”</p> + +<p>“What more do you want?”</p> + +<p>“Any amount.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got gold: you’ve got feminine adoration. What more is +there, except more gold?”</p> + +<p>“More feminine adoration.”</p> + +<p>“I should have thought you had to-day as much affection as is +good for you.”</p> + +<p>“You’re in high spirits to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I am. It’s jolly to think of people succeeding. It’s jolly to +know somebody is growing rich, even if my old father and I are poor, +that is too poor for me to go to assembly balls and private dances +and things like that. So I sit at home and sew, and make puddings, +and grow roses. Heigh-ho! I’m very happy, you know.”</p> + +<p>Jack looked at her closely. Her cheeks were pink-and-white, her +crisp, brown hair formed a becoming setting to her face, and her +blue eyes sparkled as they watched him.</p> + +<p>“It seems to agree with you,” he said. “I feel inclined to recommend +a course of sewing and cooking to all my plain girl-friends.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Scarlett!”</p> + +<p>“I mean it.”</p> + +<p>“Then go, and tell Rachel Varnhagen to use your recipe.”</p> + +<p>“She’s beautiful already.”</p> + +<p>Just at this point of the conversation, there was the sound of +heavy steps somewhere in a remote part of the house, and presently +the Pilot of Timber Town tramped into the room.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Scarlett! Making love to my +dar’ter, when I thought you was on your way to the diggings? Come, +come; you’re losing your opportunities; you’re wasting time in gallivanting, +when you might be growing rich. There’s great news +abroad. They’ve issued a writ against that chap Tresco for the +robbery of those mail-bags.”</p> + +<p>“Tresco?” said Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“Aye, Tresco the goldsmith. He’s wanted by the police.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’m afraid they won’t find him,” said Jack. “He’s safe, +I reckon.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed. How do you know that?”</p> + +<p>“He was in the bush with his prospector friend, when I left +Bush Robin Creek. But he robbed no mails, bless you, Pilot. What +would he want with other people’s letters?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t pretend to know. There’s money in mail-bags, I suppose. +Perhaps he was after that.”</p> + +<p>“He’s after gold, right enough, and he’ll get it, if I’m not mistaken.”</p> + +<p>Jack had risen to go.</p> + +<p>“We leave early in the morning,” he said. “I must get some +sleep. Good-bye, Pilot; good-bye, Miss Summerhayes.”</p> + +<p>“Good luck, lad. Come back rich.”</p> + +<p>Rose was silent till Jack was near the door. Then she said, +“I shall remember your recipe—I shan’t neglect home duties: I shall +attend to them regularly.”</p> + +<p>Jack laughed, and the Pilot went with him to the front door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +“Eh, lad, there never was such a gal for minding a house. She +can make a batter-puddin’ with anyone, and I don’t care who the +next is. Good night, lad, good night. There’s never no need to +tell her to look after her old father, none at all. And it’s a good test—as +good as you can have, Jack, my lad. If a gal looks after her old +father well, she’ll look after her husband, too, when he comes along. +Good night, Jack; good night. Eh, but you’re in a lucky streak. +You’ll die rich, Jack. Good night, Jack; good night.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Forewarned, Forearmed.</strong></p> + + +<p>Tresco and the Prospector were eating their “tucker” beneath the +boughs of a spreading black-birch. In front of them burned brightly +a fire of dead branches, suspended above which was the “billy,” black +and battered externally, but full of fragrant tea.</p> + +<p>“I shall go home to England,” said Benjamin; his mouth half-filled +with cold bacon. “I shall visit my widowed mother, and be +the comfort and support of her declining years. There must be +over 200 ounces in the tent, and hundreds more in the claim.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t got a widowed mother,” said the Prospector. “<em>I</em> shall +go into Timber Town and make The Lucky Digger open house—come +when you like, have what you like, at the expense of Mr. +William Wurcott. That’s my style. I like to see a man free with +his dollars.”</p> + +<p>They had pegged out their claim at a spot where the corrugations +in the rocky bed of the creek stretched from bank to bank and a +beach of soft sand spread itself along the water’s edge.</p> + +<p>The first “prospect” that they had “panned off” resulted in a +return of a couple of ounces. Next they had “fossicked” with +sheath-knives in the crevices of the rocks, and had quickly got something +more than half a cupful of gold, in shape and size like pumpkin +seeds. The day following, they continued to “pan off” the sands +in front of their tent; each dish yielding a handsome return. But +as Benjamin found this process difficult in his unskilful hands, he +directed his attention to looking for new patches. Wading about in +the shallows with a dish in one hand and a shovel in the other, he overturned +loose bits of rock which he found lying on the sand. Sometimes +he would find an ounce or two, sometimes nothing at all; but +upon turning over a flat slab of rock, to raise which needed all his +strength, he gave a whoop of delight, for a yellow mass lay glittering +in the rippling waters. With a single scoop of his shovel he had won +80 ozs. of gold.</p> + +<p>This rich spot was where the water was but two feet deep, and +above it and below it gold could be seen shining amongst the sand +and gravel. When the cream of the claim, so to speak, had been +skimmed off with the tin dish, the men began to set up sluice boxes, +by means of which they might work the whole of their ground +systematically.</p> + +<p>In constructing these boxes they received every help from Moonlight, +who lent them tools, and aided them in cutting out the slabs. +Left mateless during Scarlett’s visit to Timber Town, the veteran +miner frequently exchanged his lonely camp for the more congenial +quarters of Tresco and the Prospector.</p> + +<p>It was during one of the foregatherings round the camp-fire, +when Night had spread her sable mantle over the sleeping earth, and +only the wakeful wood-hen and the hoarsely-hooting owl stirred the +silence of the leafy solitude, that Moonlight was “swapping” yarns +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +with the Prospector. As the flames shot up lurid tongues which +almost licked the overhanging boughs, and the men sat, smoking +their black tobacco, and drinking from tin pannikins tea too strong +for the urban stomach, Bill the Prospector expectorated into the +flames, and said:</p> + +<p>“The biggest streak o’ luck I ever had—barring this present field, +you understand—was at the Diamond Gully rush. There weren’t no +diamonds, but I got over 100 ounces in three days. Gold was more +plentiful than flour, and in the police camp there was two safes full +of gold belonging to the Bank, which was a twelve by eight tent, in +charge of a young feller named Henery. A more trusting young man +I never met. When I went to sell my little pile, he had over 12,000 +ounces in a old leather boot-trunk in his tent, besides more in a sugar-bag. +He’d even filled one of his top-boots with gold, and its feller +stood waitin’ to receive my contribution. ‘Good morning,’ I says. +‘Are you the boss o’ this show?’ ‘I’m in charge of the Bank,’ he says, +just as grand as if he was behind a mahog’ny counter with brass +fixings. ‘Then weigh my pile,’ I says, handing over my gold. Then +what d’you think he done? ‘Just wait till I get my scales,’ he says. +‘I’ve lent ’em to the Police Sergeant. Please have the goodness to +look after the business while I’m gone.’ With that he leaves me in +the company of close on £100,000, and never a soul’d have bin the +wiser if I’d helped myself to a thousand or two. But the reel digger +don’t act so—it’s the loafers on the diggings gets us a bad name. +I’ve dreamed of it, I’ve had reg’lar nightmares about it when I’ve +bin stone-broke and without a sixpence to buy a drink.”</p> + +<p>“What?” said Tresco. “Gold littered about like lumber, and +you practically given the office to help yourself? It’s wonderful, Bill, +what restraint there is in an honest mind! You can’t ever have been +to Sunday School.”</p> + +<p>“How d’you know?” asked the Prospector.</p> + +<p>“Because, if you’d ha’ bin regular to Sunday School when you +were a boy, and bin told what a perfect horrible little devil you +were, till you believed it, why, you’d ha’ stole thousands of pounds +from that calico Bank, just to prove such theories true. Now <em>I</em> was +brought up godly. I was learnt texts, strings of ’em a chain long; +I had a red-headed, pimply teacher who just revelled in inbred sin +and hell-fire till he made me want to fry him on the school grate. I +couldn’t ha’ withstood your temptation. I’d most certainly have +felt justified in taking a few ounces of gold, as payment for keeping +the rest intact.”</p> + +<p>“You’re talking nonsense, the two of you,” said Moonlight. “To +rob on a gold-field means to be shot or, at the very least, gaoled. +And when a man’s on good gold himself, he doesn’t steal other people’s. +My best luck was on the Rifle River, at a bend called Felix Point. +It had a sandy beach where the water was shallow, just like this one +here. My mate and I fossicked with a knife and a pannikin, and +before the day was over we had between 30 and 40 ounces. The gold +lay on a bottom of black sand and gravel which looked like so many +eggs. After we’d put up our sluice we got as much as 200 ounces a +day, and thought the claim poor when we got no more than fifty.”</p> + +<p>“I ’xpect you had a rare ole spree when you got to town,” said +the Prospector. “How much did you divide?”</p> + +<p>“Between twenty and thirty thousand,” replied Moonlight. “I +handed my gold over to the Police escort, and went to town as comfortable +as if I was on a turnpike road. I didn’t go on the wine—I’m +almost a teetotaler. A little red-headed girl got most of my +pile—a red-headed girl can generally twist me round her thumb. +That must have been ten years ago.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve grown older and, perhaps, wiser,” interjected Benjamin. +“Wonderful thing, age.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +“This time I’m going to take a draft on Timbuctoo, or Hong-kong, +or some place where red-headed girls are scarce, and see if I +can’t get away with a little cash.”</p> + +<p>“Most probably you’ve got a widowed mother, like me,” said +Benjamin. “Go, and comfort her declining years. Do like me: wipe +out the recollection of the good times you’ve had by acts of filial +piety. A widowed mother is good, but if you can rake up a maiden +aunt and keep her too, that’ll be a work of supererogation.”</p> + +<p>“Of how much?” asked Bill.</p> + +<p>“It’s a word I picked up in my College days—I’m afraid I’ve forgotten +the precise meaning.” Benjamin’s face lit up with a smile that +stretched from ear to ear. He lifted his pannikin to his lips, nodded +to his companions, said, “Here’s luck,” and drank the black tea as +though it had been nectar. “That’s the beauty of turning digger,” +he continued; “the sobriety one acquires in the bush is phenomenal. +If you asked me to name the most virtuous man on this planet, I +should say a prospector in the bush—a bishop is nothing to him. +But I own that when he goes to town the digger becomes a very devil +let loose. Think of the surroundings here—innocent twittering birds, +silent arboreous trees, clear pellucid streams, nothing to tempt, +nothing to degrade.”</p> + +<p>Tresco might have amplified his discourse as fully as a bishop, +but that at this point there was a shouting and the noise of dry +boughs cracking under advancing feet. In a moment the three men +were standing, alert, astonished, in various attitudes of defence.</p> + +<p>Moonlight had armed himself with a pick, the Prospector had +grasped a shovel, Tresco drew a revolver from inside his “jumper.”</p> + +<p>The shouting continued, though nothing could be seen. Then +came out of the darkness, “What-ho there, Moonlight! Can’t you +give us a hand to cross the river?”</p> + +<p>“It’s my mate,” said Moonlight. “I know the voice. Is that you, +Scarlett?”</p> + +<p>“It’s Scarlett, all right,” called back the voice, “but how am I +to cross this infernal river?”</p> + +<p>The three men walked to the edge of the water, and peered into +the darkness.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly safe,” said the Prospector. “She’s barely up to your +middle.”</p> + +<p>There was a splashing as of some one walking in the water, and +presently a dark object was seen wading toward them.</p> + +<p>“Now, what the deuce is all this about, Scarlett?” It was Moonlight +who thus expressed his wonderment. “The man who travels +here at night deserves to get bushed. That you reached camp is just +luck.”</p> + +<p>“Camp?” replied the dripping Scarlett. “I’ve been waiting for +you at <em>our</em> camp since nightfall with twenty other devils worse than +myself. Don’t you ever sleep in your tent?“</p> + +<p>“Of course ’e does,” the Prospector answered for Moonlight, "but +mayn’t a digger be neighbourly, and go to see ’is friends?</p> + +<p>“Come, and dry yerself by the fire, and have a bit of tucker.”</p> + +<p>“But Great Ghost!” exclaimed Moonlight, “all the gold’s in my +tent, in the spare billy.”</p> + +<p>“Quite safe. Don’t worry,” said Scarlett. “All those twenty +men of mine are mounting guard over it, and if one of them stole +so much as an ounce, the rest would kill him for breach of contract. +That’s the result of binding men to go share and share alike—they +watch each other like ferrets.”</p> + +<p>Jack took off his clothes, and wrapped in a blanket he sat before +the fire, with a pipe in his mouth and a steaming pannikin in his +hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +“Well, happy days!” he said as he drank. “And that reminds +me, Tresco—you’re wanted in Timber Town, very badly indeed—a +little matter in connection with the mails. ’Seems there’s been peculation +of some sort, and for reasons which are as mad as the usual +police tactics, the entire force is searching for you, most worthy +Benjamin. The yarn goes that you’re a forger in disguise, a counterfeiter +of our sovereign’s sacred image and all that, the pilferer of +Her Majesty’s mails, a dangerous criminal masquerading as a goldsmith.”</p> + +<p>“Holee Smoke!” cried the Prospector. “Look to your gold, gen’lemen—there’s +thieves abroad, and one of us may be harbourin’ a +serpent unaware. Ben, my lovely pal, consider yourself arrested.”</p> + +<p>“Do I understand there’s a writ out?” asked Moonlight, serious, +judicial, intensely solemn. “This must be put a stop to instantly. +Imagine our virtuous friend in gaol.”</p> + +<p>“Anyway, joking apart, the men I have brought know all about +it,” said Scarlett. “You’ve got till to-morrow morning to make tracks, +Benjamin.”</p> + +<p>The goldsmith coughed, and stood up in the full blaze of the fire-light. +“I confess to nothing,” he said. “My strong point hasn’t been +my piety, I own to that. I’m not much of a hot gospeller. I can’t +call to mind any works of unusual virtue perpetrated by me in unthinking +moments. I’ll go even so far as this: I’ll acknowledge there +are times when, if I let myself off the chain, I’d astonish all Timber +Town; for there lurks somewhere inside my anatomy a demon which, +let loose, would turn the town into a little hell, but, gentlemen, +believe me, he is bound hand and foot, he’s in durance vile. I’m no +saint, but I’m no forger or counterfeiter, or animal of that sort—not +yet. I have notions sometimes that I’d make a first-class burglar, +if I gave my mind thoroughly to the business: I’d go to work in a +scientific way; I’d do the business in a workmanlike fashion. +I’ve got a strong leaning towards the trade, and yet I never +burgled once, I who take a pleasure in investigating locks and latches +and all the hundred-and-one contraptions used against thieves. But +what is Timber Town?—a trap. The man who goes housebreaking in +a little tin-pot place like that deserves to be caught. No, it is too +isolated, too solitary, too difficult of egress to foreign parts, is Timber +Town. The idea is preposterous, foolish, untenable—excellent word, +untenable—and as for forging, the thing is so ridiculous that it isn’t +worth confuting. But what’s this about robbing mails? What mails?”</p> + +<p>“The incoming English mail,” said Scarlett. “Someone went +through the bags before they were delivered.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Benjamin, “we must look for the motive in the perpetration +of such a crime as that. We’ll grant that the robbery took +place—we’ll make that concession. But what was the motive? The +thief would expect one of two things—either to enhance his wealth, +or to obtain valuable information. Who does the cap fit? Personally, +I am as poor as a crow but for this gold: as regards information, all +the secrets of the citizens of Timber Town do not interest me—I have +no use for scandal—and as I have no rivals in my calling, mere trade +secrets have no charm for me. The police are chuckle-heads.” Tresco +buried his face in his pannikin, and then re-lit his pipe.</p> + +<p>“Very good argyment,” commented the hirsute Prospector, “very +clear and convincin’, but the police aren’t open to argyment—they act +on instinct.”</p> + +<p>“Armed with a writ, a policeman is like a small boy with a shotgun,” +remarked Moonlight—“he must let it off. I don’t say you’re +guilty, Tresco, but I say the minions of the Law will have you in +their clutches if you don’t make yourself scarce.”</p> + +<p>“An’ just as I was accumulating the one little pile of my life,” +murmured Benjamin. “Sometimes I think the gods show incompetence +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +in the execution of their duty; sometimes I think there ain’t +no gods at all, but only a big, blind Influence that blunders on through +Creation, trampling promiscuous on small fry like me.” He pulled +at his pipe contemplatively. “Decamp, is it? Obscure my fairy-like +proportions from the common gaze? But who’s to look after my +interests here? What’s to become of my half of the gold yet ungot?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you trust a mate?” said Bill. “Ain’t I acted square so far? +What are you gettin’ at? I’ll work the claim to its last ounce, and +then I’ll go whacks, same as if you’d bin here all the time. Then you +can leave the country. Till then I’ll put you away in a hiding-place +where all the traps in the blanky country”—Bill had worked on Australian +fields, and showed it in his speech—“won’t find you, not if +they search for years.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett rose. He had put on his garments, now dry and warm. +“So-long, Benjamin,” he said. “You may be the biggest criminal unhung, +for all I know, but you have one thing in your favour: if you +robbed those mails it must have been for the benefit of another man.”</p> + +<p>Moonlight bade good-bye, but as though to make up for his +mate’s aspersion, said, “I know nothing of this business, but I know +the police. If they’re not turned into a holy show when they set +foot in this camp to look for you, may I never find another ounce +of gold. Keep your end up, Benjamin. So-long.” And he followed +his mate into the darkness.</p> + +<p>The Prospector was wrapped in thought. He sat, gazing into the +fire, for fully ten minutes. Then he said, “There’s three ways—the +Forks, the Saddle, and the Long Valley. I give ’em my own +names. The Saddle’s the safest. It’s a bit of a tough climb, but it’s +sure. There’s no hurry, but we must leave here at dawn, before +these newsters reach the claim, which Moonlight’ll see isn’t jumped. +So we’ll sleep happy and comfortable, pack our swags just before daylight, +take all our gold along with us, and cook our tucker when we +make our first halt. All serene, my lovely Bishop; all thought out +and planned, just like in a book. Never hurry in the bush, my +beautiful ecclesiastic, as nothing’s ever gained by that. More haste, +less speed—in the bush, my learned preacher. What a pity they didn’t +catch you young and turn you into a sky-pilot, Ben. The way you +jawed them two was fit for the pulpit. But now I know where you +got the money to repay me that £117. I don’t want any explanation. +I know where you got it.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Goldsmith Comes to Town.</strong></p> + + +<p>Timber Town was in a state of commotion. The news of the discovery +of the new gold-field had spread far and wide, and every steamer +which came into the port was crowded with clammering diggers. +Every boarding-house was full to overflowing, every inn was choked +with men in heavy boots and corduroy trousers; the roads on the outskirts +of the town were lined with rows of tents; everybody talked of +the El Dorado in the mountains; there was no thought but of gold; +men were buying stores in every shop; pack-horses stood with their +heavy loads, in every inn-yard; and towards the bush, threading their +way through the tortuous gorge that led into the heart of the mountains, +a continual string of diggers, laden with heavy “swags” or leading +patient over-laden horses, filed into the depths of the forest.</p> + +<p>Jake Ruggles had lived a troubled life since his legal head and +overlord, the official sponsor of his promising young life, had dropped +out of his existence, as a stone drops to the bottom of a well and is no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +more seen. Upon his immature shoulders rested all the worry of the +goldsmith’s business. He was master of Tresco’s bench; the gravers +and the rat-tail files, the stock-drills and the corn-tongs were under +his hand for good or for evil. With blow-pipe and burnisher, with +plush-wheel and stake-anvil he wrought patiently; almost bursting +with responsibility, yet with anxiety gnawing at his heart. And the +lies he told on behalf of his “boss”!—lies to men with unpaid accounts +in their hands, lies to constables with bits of blue paper from the +Clerk of the Court, lies to customers whose orders could not be executed +except by the master-goldsmith. On all sides the world pressed heavily +on Jake. His wizened face was quickly assuming the aspect of a little +old man’s; his furtive eyes began to wear a scared look; sleep had +ceased to visit his innocent couch with regularity; his appetite, which +formerly had earned him a reputation with his peers, was now easily +appeased with a piece of buttered bread and a cup of milkless tea; the +“duff” and rice puddings, of the goldsmith’s making, had passed out +of his life even as had the “boss” himself. Never was there a more +badgered, woe-begone youth than Jake.</p> + +<p>It was night time. The shutters of the shop were up, the door +was bolted, the safe, with its store of gold-set gewgaws, was locked, +and the key rested securely in the apprentice’s pocket, but by the light +of a gas-jet, his head bent over the bench, Jake was hard at work on +a half-finished ring. In one hand he held a tapering steel rod, on which +was threaded a circle of metal which might have been mistaken for +brass; in the other he held a light hammer with which he beat the +yellow zone. Tap-tap. “Jerusalem, my ’appy ’ome, oh! how I long +for thee!” Tap-tap-tap went the hammer. “If the ‘old man’ was +on’y here to lend a hand, I’d give a week’s pay. The gold’s full o’ +flaws—all along of the wrong alloy, in smeltin’—full o’ cracks and +crevices.” He took the gold hoop off the steel rod, placed it on a piece +of charred wood, pulled the gas-jet towards him, and with the blow-pipe +impinged little jets of flame upon the yellow ring. “An’ the +galloot that come in this afternoon said, ‘I always find the work turned +out of this shop ah—excellent, ah—tip-top, as good as anything I ever +bought in the Old Country, don’tcherknow.’ Yah! Gimme silver, that’s +all. Gimme a butterfly buckle to make, or a monogram to saw out, an’ +I wouldn’t call the Pope my uncle.” His eye lifted from his work and +rested on a broken gold brooch, beautiful with plaited hair under a +glass centre. “An’ that fussy old wood-hen’ll be in, first thing to-morrow, +askin’ for ‘the memento of my poor dear ’usband, my child, +the one with the ’air in it’—carrotty ’air. An’ those two bits of ’air-pins +that want them silver bangles by ten o’clock, they’ll be here +punctual. I’m just fair drove silly with badgerin’ wimmen. I’m +goin’ ratty with worry. When the boss comes back from his spree, +I’ll give ’im a bit o’ my mind. I’ll tell ’im, if he <em>must</em> go on a bend +he should wait till the proper time—Christmas, Anniversary of the +Settlement, Easter, or even a Gov’ment Holiday. But at a time like +<em>this</em>, when the town’s fair drippin’ with dollars ... stupid ole buck-rabbit! +An’ when he can’t be found, the mutton-headed bobbies suddenly +become suspicious. It’s no good for me to tell ’em it’s his +periodical spree—<em>they</em> say it’s robbery. Oh, well, I back my opinion, +that’s all. But whether it’s the one, or the other, of all the chuckle-headed +old idiots that ever was born”—Tap-tap. It was not the noise +of Jake’s hammer, but a gentle knocking at the side-door of the +workshop.</p> + +<p>The apprentice rose quietly, and put his ear to the key-hole. Tap-tap-tap.</p> + +<p>“Who’s there?”</p> + +<p>“Open the door,” said a soft voice. “It’s me. I want to come +in.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely you do. There’s many more’d like to come in here.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +“Is that you, Jake?”</p> + +<p>“Never you mind. Who’re you?”</p> + +<p>“You weasel-faced young imp, am I to burst open my own door?”</p> + +<p>The mystery was at an end. In a moment, the bolt was withdrawn +and Benjamin Tresco stood in his workshop.</p> + +<p>But before he spoke, he bolted the door behind him. Then he +said, “Well?”</p> + +<p>“So you’ve come back?” said Jake, fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Looks like it,” said the goldsmith. “How’s things?”</p> + +<p>“Gone to the devil. How d’you expect me to keep business goin’ +when you go on a howling spree, for weeks?”</p> + +<p>“Spree? Me? My dear innocent youth, I have clean forgotten +the very taste of beer. At this present moment, I stand before you +a total abstainer of six weeks’ duration. And yet what I ask for +is not beer, but bread—I’m as hungry as a wolf; I’ve hardly eaten +anything for two days. What have you got in the house?”</p> + +<p>“Nothin’.”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> don’t ’ave no time to cook. When I can find time, I go up to +The Lucky Digger and get a good square feed. D’you expect me to +do two men’s work and cook as well?”</p> + +<p>Tresco undid the small “swag” which he carried, and before the +astonished eyes of his apprentice he disclosed fully a hundred ounces +of gold.</p> + +<p>“Jee-rusalem! Blame me if you ain’t been diggin’!”</p> + +<p>“That’s so, my son.”</p> + +<p>“And the police are fair ratty because they thought you were +hiding from the Law.”</p> + +<p>“So I am, my son.”</p> + +<p>“Garn!”</p> + +<p>“Solemn fact—there’s a writ out against me.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t got a mind to be gaoled at such a glorious time in the +history of Timber Town. I want to get more gold, stacks of it.”</p> + +<p>“An’ where do <em>I</em> come in?”</p> + +<p>“You come in as owner of this business by and by—if you’re a +good boy.”</p> + +<p>“Huh! I want to go diggin’ too.”</p> + +<p>“All in good time, my energetic youth, all in good time. But +for the present, give me some food.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I tell you there isn’t any?” yelled Jake.</p> + +<p>“Very good, very good, but don’t talk so loud. Take this half-crown, +and go to The Lucky Digger. Tell the young lady in the bar +that you have a friend who’s dying of hunger. Tell her to fill a jug +with a quart of beer, and a basket with tucker of sorts. And hurry +back; for, by my sacred aunt, if I don’t get something better presently, +I shall turn cannibal and eat <em>you</em>!”</p> + +<p>While the boy was gone, Tresco weighed the gold that lay on +the bench. It came to 111 ounces, and this, valued at the current +price of gold from Bush Robin Creek—the uninitiated are possibly +unaware that as one star differeth from another star in glory, so +the gold from one locality differs in price from that found in another—came +to £430 2s. 6d.</p> + +<p>Finding the safe locked, Tresco, whistling softly, turned down +the gas, and sat at his bench in the gloom.</p> + +<p>When Jake returned he was cautiously admitted, the door was +re-bolted, and the gas was turned up sufficiently to show the goldsmith +the way to his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the key of the safe, Jake?”</p> + +<p>“Where it ought to be.”</p> + +<p>“You young imp, anty up.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +Jake produced the key from his pocket. “D’you suppose I +label it and put it in the winder?”</p> + +<p>“Put this gold away—there’s 111 ounces. I’ll bring some more +next time I come. Now.” He lifted the jug, and drank. When he set +it down again, it was half empty. “That’s what I call a moment of +bliss. No one who hasn’t spent a month in the bush knows what a +thirst really is; he ain’t got no conception what beer means. Now, +what’s in the basket?” He lifted the white napkin that covered his +supper. “Ham!” A beautific smile illumined his face. “Ham, pink +and white and succulent, cut in thin slices by fair hands. Delicious! +And what’s this? Oyster patties, cold certainly, but altogether lovely. +New bread, cheese, apple turn-over! Couldn’t be better. The order +of the menu is; first, entrees—that means oysters—next, ham, followed +by sweets, and topped off with a morsel of cheese. Stand by and +watch me eat—a man that has suffered semi-starvation for nearly a +month.”</p> + +<p>Jake lit a cigarette, an indulgence with which in these days of +worry and stress he propitiated his overwrought nerves. He drew +in the smoke with all the relish of a connoisseur, and expelled it +through his nostrils.</p> + +<p>“Is this gold the result of six weeks’ work?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No, barely one week’s,” answered Tresco, his mouth full of ham +and new bread.</p> + +<p>“Crikey!” Jake inhaled more cigarette smoke. “’Seems to me +our potty little trade ain’t in it. I move that we both go in for the +loocrative profession of diggin’.”</p> + +<p>“Mumf—mumf—muff—muff.” The ham had conquered Tresco’s +speech.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so. That’s what <em>I</em> think, boss.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin gave a gulp. “I won’t take you,” he said, as plainly +as possible.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you won’t?”</p> + +<p>“I won’t.”</p> + +<p>“Then, suppose I go on my own hook, eh?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got to stop and look after this shop. You’re apprenticed +to <em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed!”</p> + +<p>“If a man chooses to spend a little holiday in the bush, is his +apprentice to suppose his agreement’s cancelled? Not a bit of it.”</p> + +<p>“An’ suppose a man chooses to spend a little holiday in gaol, +what then?”</p> + +<p>“That’s outside the sphere of practical politics, my son.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know so much about that. I think different. I think +we’ll cry quits. I think I’ll go along with you, or likely there’ll be +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Trouble?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, trouble.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of trouble, jackanapes?”</p> + +<p>“Why, crimson trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got you tied hand and foot, boss. You can take that from +<em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so? What do you think you can do?”</p> + +<p>“I intend to go along with you.”</p> + +<p>“But I start to-night. If I can scrape together enough food to +last a week or two. But I’ll take you along. You shall come. +I’ll show you how I live. Now, then, what d’you say?” There was +a twinkle in Tresco’s eye, and the corners of his mouth twitched +with merriment.</p> + +<p>“Think I don’t know when I’ve got a soft thing on?” Jake took +off his apron, and hung it on a nail. “Shan’t want <em>that</em>, for a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +month or two anyway.” Then he faced the “boss” with, “Equal +whacks, you old bandicoot. I’ll find the tucker, and we’ll share the +gold.”</p> + +<p>Tresco’s smile broke into a hearty laugh. He put his hands to +his sides, threw back his head, and fairly chortled.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any joke.” Jake looked at his master from beneath +his extravagant eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“You’ll ... you’ll get the tucker ... see?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes—how’s a man to live?”</p> + +<p>“An’ you’ll help swag it?”</p> + +<p>“’Course.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll implicitly obey your lawful lord and master, out on the +wallaby?”</p> + +<p>“’Spect I’ll ’ave to.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t chiack or poke borak at his grey and honoured head +when, by reason of his endowment of adipose tissue, his wind gives +out?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, talk sense. Adipose rabbits’ skins!”</p> + +<p>“All these several and collective points being agreed upon, my +youthful Adonis, I admit you into partnership.”</p> + +<p>“Done,” said the apprentice, with emphasis. “It’s a bargain. +Go and sleep, and I’ll fossick round town for tucker—I’m good for a +sixty-pound swag, and you for eighty. So-long.”</p> + +<p>He turned off the gas, took the key of the side door, which he +locked after him, and disappeared, whilst Tresco groped his way to +bed.</p> + +<p>The surreptitious goldsmith had slept for two hours when the +stealthy apprentice let himself quietly into the dark and cheerless +house. He bore on his back a heavy bag of flour, and carried on his +arm a big basket filled with minor packages gleaned from sleepy +shopkeepers, who had been awakened by the lynx-eyed youth knocking +at their backdoors.</p> + +<p>In the cheerful and enlivening company of an alarum clock, Jake +retired to his couch, which consisted of a flax-stuffed mattress resting +on a wooden bedstead, and there he quickly buried himself in a weird +tangle of dirty blankets, and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>At the conclusion of three brief hours, which to the heavy sleeper +appeared as so many minutes, the strident alarum woke the apprentice +to the stress of life. By the light of a tallow candle he huddled +on his clothes, and entered the goldsmith’s chamber.</p> + +<p>“Now, then, boss, three o’clock! Up you git!”</p> + +<p>Benjamin rubbed his eyes, sat up in bed, and yawned.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em;"> +“‘’Tis the voice of the sluggard, I heard him complain:<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">You’ve waked me too soon—I must slumber again.’</span></p> + +<p>What’s the time, Jake?”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t I tellin’ you?—three o’clock. If we don’t want to be +followed by every digger in the town, we must get out of it before +dawn.”</p> + +<p>“Wise young Solomon, youth of golden promise. Go and boil +the kettle. We’ll have a snack before we go. Then for fresh fields +and pastures new.”</p> + +<p>The goldsmith bounded out of bed, with a buoyancy which resembled +that of an india-rubber ball.</p> + +<p>“Ah-ha!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.7em;">‘Under the greenwood tree</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who loves to lie with me,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">And tune his merry note</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unto the sweek bird’s throat,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come hither.’</span><br /> +You see, Jakey, mine, we were eddicated when we was young.” +Benjamin had jumped into his clothes as he talked. “A sup and a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +snack, and we flit by the light of the moon.”</p> + +<p>“There ain’t no moon.”</p> + +<p>“So much the better. We’ll guide our steps by the stars’ pale +light and the beams of the Southern Cross.”</p> + +<p>By back lanes and by-roads the goldsmith and his boy slunk out +of the town. At the mouth of the gorge where diggers’ tents lined +the road, they walked delicately, exchanging no word till they were +deep in the solitude of the hills.</p> + +<p>As the first streak of dawn pierced the gloom of the deep valley, +they were wading, knee-deep, a ford of the river, whose banks they +had skirted throughout their journey. On the further side the +forest, dank, green, and dripping with dew, received them into its +impenetrable shades, but still the goldsmith toiled on; his heavy burden +on his back, and the panting, weary, energetic, enthusiastic +apprentice following his steps.</p> + +<p>Leaving the track, Tresco led the way up a steep gully, thickly +choked with underscrub, and dark with the boughs of giant trees. +Forcing their way through tangled supple-jacks and clinging “lawyer” +creepers which sought to stay their progress, the wayfarers +climbed till, as day dawned, they paused to rest their wearied limbs +before a sheer cliff of rock.</p> + +<p>“It’s not very far now,” said the goldsmith, as he wiped his +dripping brow. “This is the sort of work to reduce the adipose +tissue, my son. D’you think you could find your way here by yourself, +indomitable Jakey?”</p> + +<p>“Huh! ’Course,” replied the breathless youth, proud to be his +master’s companion in such a romantic situation, and glorying in his +“swag”. “Is this your bloomin’ camp?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.” Tresco glanced up the face of the great limestone +rock which barred their path. “Not exactly. We’ve got to scale this +cliff, and then we’re pretty well there.”</p> + +<p>A few supple-jacks hung down the face of the rock. These +Tresco took in his hand, and twisted them roughly into a cable. +“’Look natural, don’t they?” he said. “’Look as if they growed +t’other end, eh? Now, watch me.” With the help of his rope of +lianas he climbed up the rugged cliff, and when at the summit, he +called to Jake to tie the “swags” to separate creepers. These he +hoisted to the top of the cliff, and shortly afterwards the eager face +of the apprentice appeared over the brow.</p> + +<p>“Here we are,” exclaimed Benjamin, “safe as a church. Pull up +the supple-jacks, Jake.”</p> + +<p>With an enthusiasm which plainly betokened a mind dwelling on +bushrangers and hidden treasure, the apprentice did as he was told.</p> + +<p>Out of breath through his exertions, he excitedly asked, “What’s +the game, boss? Where’s the bloomin’ plant?”</p> + +<p>“Plant?” replied the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>“Yes, the gold, the dollars?”</p> + +<p>“Dollars? Gold?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, gold! ’Think <em>I</em> don’t know? Theseyer rocks are limestone. +Who ever saw gold in limestone formation? Eh?”</p> + +<p>“How do <em>you</em> know it’s limestone?”</p> + +<p>“Yah! Ain’t I bin down to the lime-kiln, by Rubens’ wharf, +and seen the lime brought over the bay? What’s the game? Tell +us.”</p> + +<p>“The thing that I’m most interested in, at this present moment,”—the +goldsmith took up his heavy “swag”—“is tucker.”</p> + +<p>Without further words, he led the way between perpendicular +outcrops of rocks whose bare, grey sides were screened by fuchsia +trees, birch saplings, lance-wood, and such scrub as could take root +in the shallow soil. Turning sharply round a projecting rock, he +passed beneath a tall black birch which grew close to an indentation +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +in the face of the cliff. Beneath the great tree the heels of the goldsmith +crushed the dry, brown leaves deposited during many seasons; +then in an instant he disappeared from the sight of the lynx-eyed +Jake, as a rabbit vanishes into its burrow.</p> + +<p>“Hi! Here! Boss! Where the dooce has the ole red-shank got +too?”</p> + +<p>A muffled voice, coming as from the bowels of the earth, said, +“Walk inside. Liberty Hall.... Free lodging and no taxes.”</p> + +<p>Jake groped his way beneath the tree, surrounded on three sides +by the limestone cliff. In one corner of the rock was a sharp depression, +in which grew shrubs of various sorts. Dropping into this, +the lad pushed his way through the tangled branches and stood before +the entrance of a cave.</p> + +<p>Inside Tresco held a lighted candle in his hand. In front of him +stood Jake, spellbound.</p> + +<p>Overhead, the ceiling was covered with white and glistening +stalactites; underfoot, the floor was strewn with bits of carbonate +and the broken bases of stalagmites, which had been shattered to +make a path for the ruthless iconoclast who had made his home in this +pearly-white temple, built without hands.</p> + +<p>Tresco handed Jake another lighted candle.</p> + +<p>“Allow me to introduce you, my admirable Jakey, to my country +mansion, where I retire from the worry of business, and turn my +mind to the contemplation of Nature. This is the entrance hall, the +portico: observe the marble walls and the ceiling-decorations—Early +English, perpendicular style.”</p> + +<p>Jake stood, open-mouthed with astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Now we come to the drawing-room, the grand <em>salon</em>, where I +give my receptions.” Benjamin led the way through a low aperture, +on either side of which stalactites and stalagmites had met, leaving a +low doorway in the centre. Beyond this, the candles’ dim light +struggled for supremacy in a great hall, whose walls shone like +crystal. On one side the calcareous encrustations had taken the form +of a huge organ, cut as if out of marble, with pipes and key-board +complete.</p> + +<p>“Holee Christopher!” exclaimed the apprentice.</p> + +<p>“Nature’s handiwork,” said the goldsmith. “Beautiful.... +Been making, this thousand years, for <em>me</em>—an’ you.”</p> + +<p>“Then I reckon Nature forgot the chimbley—it’s as cold as the +grave.”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, there is a chimney; but Nature doesn’t believe +in a fireplace in each room. Proceed. I will now show you my +private apartments. Mind the step.”</p> + +<p>He led the way down a dark passage, strewn with huge pieces +of limestone, over which master and apprentice scrambled, into an +inner chamber, where the white walls were grimed with smoke and +the black embers of an extinguished fire lay in the middle of the +floor.</p> + +<p>“My <em>sanctum sanctorum</em>,” said the goldsmith, as he fixed the +butt of his candle to a piece of rock by means of drops of melted +wax poured from the lighted end. “This is where I meditate; this is +where I mature my plans for the betterment of the human species.”</p> + +<p>“Rats! You’re darn well hidin’ from the police.”</p> + +<p>“My son, you grieve me; your lack of the poetic shocks me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, garn! You robbed those mails, that’s about the size of it.”</p> + +<p>“Robbed?—no, sir. Examined?—yes, sir. I was the humble +instrument in the hands of a great rascal, a man of unprincipled +life, a man who offered bribes, heavy bribes—an’ I took ’em. I had +need of money.”</p> + +<p>“First comes the bender and then the bribe. I know, boss. But +where d’you get the gold?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +Benjamin stooped over a mass of bedding, rolled up in a tent-fly, +and brought to light a canvas bag.</p> + +<p>“My private store,” he said, “mine and Bill’s. We go whacks. +We’re doing well, but expediency demands that for a short while I +should retire into private life. And, by the hokey, I can afford it.”</p> + +<p>“Gold?” asked Jake, peering at the bag.</p> + +<p>“Nuggets,” said the goldsmith.</p> + +<p>Jake dropped his “swag” and felt the weight of the bag.</p> + +<p>“It gits over me,” he said. “Either you stole it, or you dug it. +I give it up. Any’ow, there it is.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin smiled his broadest, and began to rake together the +charred sticks scattered over the floor.</p> + +<p>“This is my only trouble,” he said. “To yank my firewood in +here is heart-breaking; that and swagging tucker from town.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s the smoke go to?” Jake looked into the inky blackness +above.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know. Never asked. I guess it finds its way somewhere, +for after I’ve hung my blanket over the doorway and lighted the fire, +I sometimes notice that the bats which live overhead buzz round and +then clear out somewhere. I imagine that there’s a passage which +connects with the open air. Some day, perhaps, an over-earnest policeman +will drop on our heads. Then there’ll be a picnic, eh?”</p> + +<p>“What I want, just at present,” said Jake, “is a drink.”</p> + +<p>“That’s another of my troubles,” replied the goldsmith. “I have +to fetch my water from outside, but it’s lovely water when you’ve +got it.”</p> + +<p>He placed his bag of gold in a corner. “Don’t put all your eggs +into one basket,” he said. “I believe in Jacob’s plan—divide your +belongings. If I’m caught here, I have the plant in town. If I’m +caught in town, I have the plant here. Anyhow, the police can’t get +everything.”</p> + +<p>“An’ where do I come in?” The eyes of the rabbit-faced youth +peered into his master’s.</p> + +<p>“I don’t precisely know. I don’t think you come in at all.”</p> + +<p>“Then what about that gold in the safe, boss?”</p> + +<p>“The key is here.” Benjamin slapped his pocket gently. “But, if +you’re a good boy you shall have my business, and be the boss goldsmith +of Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>“Honest injin?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly honest. If I get away with my gold, all I leave behind +is yours.”</p> + +<p>“Shake hands on it.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said the goldsmith, and he held out his hand.</p> + +<p>Jake took it in his.</p> + +<p>“It’s a bargain,” he said.</p> + +<p>“That’s right; a bargain.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll help you to get away with your gold, and you’ll leave me your +business, lock, stock, and barrel.”</p> + +<p>“That’s exactly it,” said the goldsmith, taking up an empty “billy” +from the ground. “Now we’ll go and get the water for our tea.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Fishing.</strong></p> + + +<p>A case of bottling-plums, the bloom still on their purple cheeks, stood +on the kitchen table. Beside it stood Rose, her arms bare to the +elbows, and a snowy apron flowing from breast to ankle. Marshalled +in regular array in front of the case, stood a small army of glass +jars, which presently were to receive the fruit.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +In a huge preserving-pan a thick syrup was simmering on the +stove; and Rose had just begun to place the fruit in this saccharine +mixture, when a succession of knocks, gentle but persistent, was +heard coming from the front door.</p> + +<p>“Oh, bother,” said Rose, as she paused with a double handful +of plums half way between the fruit-case and the stove. “Who can +that be?”</p> + +<p>Again the knocking resounded through the house.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I must go,” said Rose, placing the fruit carefully in +the pan, and then, slipping off her flowing apron, she went hurriedly +to the front door.</p> + +<p>There stood the pretty figure of Rachel Varnhagen, dressed in +billowy muslin, a picture hat which was adorned with the brightest +of ribbons and artificial flowers, and the daintiest of shoes. Her +sallow cheeks were tinged with a carmine flush, her pearly teeth +gleamed behind a winning smile, and a tress of glossy hair, escaped +from under her frail head-dress, hung bewitchingly upon her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how do you <em>do</em>?” she exclaimed effusively, as she closed her +silk parasol. “I look an awful guy, I know; but there’s <em>such</em> a wind, +that I’ve almost been blown to pieces.”</p> + +<p>It was the first time that Rose’s humble roof had had the privilege +of sheltering the daughter of the rich Jew.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I hardly expected you.” The Pilot’s daughter looked +frankly and with an amused smile at Rachel. “I’m in the middle of +bottling fruit. Do you mind coming into the kitchen?—the fruit will +spoil if I leave it.”</p> + +<p>Leading the way, she was followed by her pretty caller, who, in +all her glory, seated herself on a cane-bottomed chair in the kitchen, +and commenced to gossip.</p> + +<p>“I’ve <em>such</em> news,” she said, tapping the pine floor with the ferrule +of her parasol. Rose continued to transfer her plums to the preserving-pan. +“I expect you heard of the dreadful experience I had +with that horrid, drunken digger who caught me on the foot-bridge—everybody +heard of it. Who do you think it was that saved me?”</p> + +<p>She waited for Rose to risk a guess.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said the domestic girl, her arms akimbo as she faced +her visitor, “I should think it ought to have been Mr. Zahn.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, him!” exclaimed Rachel, disgustedly. “I’ve jilted him—he +was rude to Papa.”</p> + +<p>“Then <em>who</em> could it be?” Rose placed more plums in the preserving-pan.</p> + +<p>“<em>You</em> ought to know.” Just the trace of a pout disfigured +Rachel’s pretty mouth. “He’s a friend of yours, I believe; a very +great friend, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve a good many friends.” The preserving-pan was now full, +and Rose sat down, to wait a few minutes till the fruit should be +ready for bottling.</p> + +<p>“Papa is simply in love with him. He says he can never repay +him. And how he laughed when I told him that my gallant rescuer +threw the digger into the water! Can’t you guess who it is, <em>now</em>?”</p> + +<p>Rose was silent.</p> + +<p>“Really, I think this stupid cooking and jam-making has made +you silly. Why don’t you work in the morning, and go out in the +afternoon to see your friends?”</p> + +<p>Rose turned her blue eyes on her visitor. They distinctly said, +“What business is that of yours?” But her lips said, “Now, really, +how can I?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +“When a girl’s engaged”—Rachel sighed as she spoke—“she +doesn’t care much about society.”</p> + +<p>Rose smiled.</p> + +<p>“At least that was the way with me.” Rachel’s carmine lips +gave a little quiver at the corners. “I suppose <em>you</em> feel like that.”</p> + +<p>“Me? I feel just as usual.”</p> + +<p>“But you’re so English, nothing would disturb <em>you</em>.”</p> + +<p>Rose laughed aloud. “I should shriek if a digger touched me,” +she said.</p> + +<p>“But it was almost worth the fright, dear.” Rachel leaned forward +confidentially. “First, he put me on his horse, and we forded +the river together; then, he took me home and was so kind. I <em>do</em> +think you’re <em>such</em> a lucky girl.”</p> + +<p>“Me? Why?”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Rachel’s manner altered. Bursting into a rippling +laugh, she raised her parasol, and skittishly poked Rose in the ribs.</p> + +<p>“How very close some people are,” she exclaimed. “But you +might as well own the soft impeachment, and then all the girls could +congratulate you.”</p> + +<p>The thought went through Rose’s mind, that if the good wishes +of her acquaintances were like this girl’s perhaps they might well be +spared. She was completing her task by ladling the plums from the +big pan into the array of jars, and she bent over her work in order to +hide her annoyance.</p> + +<p>“And I hear he’s <em>so</em> rich,” continued Rachel. “He’s had such +wonderful luck on the diggings. Papa says he’s one of the best marks +in Timber Town—barring old Mr. Crewe, of course.”</p> + +<p>Rose gazed, open-eyed, at her visitor.</p> + +<p>“How much do you think he is worth?” asked Rachel, unabashed.</p> + +<p>“I really don’t know. I have no notion whom you mean.”</p> + +<p>Again the rippling laugh rang through the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Really, this is too funny. Own up: wasn’t Mr. Scarlett very +lucky?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Mr. Scarlett? I believe he got <em>some</em> gold—he showed me +some.”</p> + +<p>“Surely, he had it weighed?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so—I thought there was something in the paper about +it.”</p> + +<p>“Was all that gold Mr. Scarlett’s?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, about as much as would fill this saucepan. He poured it +out on the dining-room table, and Captain Sartoris and my father +stared at it till their eyes almost dropped out.”</p> + +<p>“You lucky girl! They say he gave you the dandiest ring.”</p> + +<p>Rose mutely held out her unadorned fingers. When they had +been closely inspected, she said, “You see, this is all rubbish +about my being engaged. As for Mr. Scarlett, I have reason to think +that he left his heart behind him in the Old Country.”</p> + +<p>“Confidences, my dear. If he has told you that much, it won’t +take you long to hook him. We giddy girls have no chance against +you deep, demure stay-at-homes. The dear men dance and flirt with +us, but they don’t propose. How I wish I had learned to cook, or +even to bottle plums! Fancy having a man all to yourself in a +kitchen like this; making a cake, with your sleeves tucked up to the +elbows, and no one to interrupt—why, I guarantee, he’d propose in +ten minutes.” She tapped her front teeth with her finger. “I have +to go to the dentist to-morrow. I do hate it so, but I’ve got to have +something done to one of my front teeth. I’m thinking of getting the +man to fill it with gold, and put a small diamond in the middle. That +ought to be quite fetching, don’t you think?”</p> + +<p>“It certainly would be unique.”</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll go along to Tresco’s shop, and get the stone.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +“But don’t you think the sight of a diamond in a tooth would +pall after a while? or perhaps you might loosen it with a bit of +biscuit, and swallow it. A diet of diamonds would pall, too, I +fancy.”</p> + +<p>“It’s not the expense.” Rachel pouted as she spoke. “The +question is whether it’s done among smart people.”</p> + +<p>“You could but try—your friends would soon tell you.”</p> + +<p>“I believe it’s quite the thing over in Melbourne.”</p> + +<p>“Then why not in Timber Town?”</p> + +<p>“But perhaps it’s only amongst actresses that it’s ‘the thing.’”</p> + +<p>“So that the glitter of their smiles may be intensified?”</p> + +<p>Rachel had risen from her seat. “I must be going,” she said. +“I looked in for a minute, and I’ve stopped half-an-hour.”</p> + +<p>“Then won’t you stay just a little longer—I’m going to make +some tea.”</p> + +<p>“It’s very tempting.” Rachel took off her gloves, and displayed +her begemmed fingers. “I think I <em>must</em> stop.”</p> + +<p>Rose infused the tea in a brown earthenware pot, and filled two +china cups, in the saucers of which she placed two very old +ornamented silver teaspoons.</p> + +<p>The two girls sat at opposite sides of the white-pine table, in +complete contrast; the one dark, the other fair; the one arrayed in +purple and fine linen, the other dressed in plain starched print and +a kitchen apron; the one the spoilt pet of an infatuated father, the +other accustomed to reproof and domestic toil.</p> + +<p>But they met on common ground in their taste for tea. With lips, +equally pretty, they were sipping the fragrant beverage, when a +hoarse voice resounded through the house.</p> + +<p>“Rosebud, Rosebud, my gal! Where’s my slippers? Danged if +I can see them anywhere.”</p> + +<p>Into the kitchen stumped the Pilot of Timber Town, weary from +his work. Catching sight of Rachel, he paused half-way between +the door and the table. “Well, well,” he said, “I beg pardon, I’m sure—bellowing +like an old bull walrus at my dar’ter. But the gal knows +her old Dad—don’t you, Rosebud? He don’t mean nothing at all.”</p> + +<p>In a moment, Rose had the old man’s slippers in her hand, and +the Pilot sat down and commenced to take off his boots and to put on +the more comfortable footgear.</p> + +<p>Rachel was on her feet in a moment.</p> + +<p>“I must be going,” she said. “Which way do I get out?”</p> + +<p>“Rosebud, show the young lady the door—she’s in a hurry.” The +Pilot never so much as took his eyes off the boot that he was unlacing.</p> + +<p>Leading the way through the intricate passages, Rose conducted +Rachel to the front door, and came back, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Now, what does <em>she</em> want?” asked the Pilot. “She’s a mighty +strange craft to be sailing in these waters. There’s a queer foreign +rake about her t’gallant mast that’s new to me. Where’s she owned, +Rosebud?”</p> + +<p>“That’s Miss Varnhagen.”</p> + +<p>“What! the Jew’s dar’ter? Well, well. That accounts for the +cut of her jib. Old Varnhagen’s dar’ter? ’Want to sell anything?”</p> + +<p>Rose laughed. “Oh, no. She came, fishing.”</p> + +<p>“Fishing?”</p> + +<p>“Fishing for news. She’s very anxious to know how much gold +Mr. Scarlett has got; in fact, she’s very anxious to know all about +Mr. Scarlett.”</p> + +<p>The old Pilot laughed, till the shingles of the roof were in danger +of lifting. “The wimmen, oh! the wimmen!” he said. “They’re deep. +There’s no sounding ’em. No lead’ll bottom them. You’ll have to +protect that young man, my gal; protect him from scheming females. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +Once they can lure him on a lee shore, they’ll wreck him to pieces +and loot the cargo. So she wanted to know how he was freighted? +He’s down to Plimsoll, my gal; down to Plimsoll with gold. A +mighty fine cargo for wreckers!”</p> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<p>At the very time that Rachel was walking out of the garden of +roses, Scarlett was turning into The Lucky Digger. He had come in +from the “bush,” weary and tired, and was met in the passage by a +man who packed stores to the new gold-field. In the bar stood Isaac +Zahn, who was flirting with the bar-maid. But the regal dispenser +of liquors responded to the young clerk’s sallies with merely the brief +politeness which she was paid to show towards all the customers of +the inn. He could extort no marked encouragement, in spite of every +familiarity and witticism at his command.</p> + +<p>Turning his back on the Israelite, Scarlett gave all his attention +to the packer. “The track’s clear to the field,” said Jack, “all but +four miles at the further end. In a few days, you’ll be able to take +your horses through easily.”</p> + +<p>“My rate is £15 per ton,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“The Syndicate won’t quarrel with that.” Jack’s head turned +involuntarily, as an unusual sound occurred in the bar-room.</p> + +<p>Zahn, leaning over the counter, had caught Gentle Annie roughly +by the wrist. There was a struggle, the crash of falling glass, and +a scream.</p> + +<p>From the fair arm of the bar-maid blood was flowing.</p> + +<p>In a moment, Scarlett was in the bar-room. He seized the +spruce bank-clerk by the collar, and dragged him into the passage.</p> + +<p>Zahn kicked and swore; but, setting his teeth, Scarlett pulled +his struggling victim towards the front-door; and there, with a suddenness +which would have done credit to a field-gun, he kicked the Jew +into the street.</p> + +<p>The trajectory was low, but Zahn, with legs and arms extended, +shot across the asphalt pavement, and fell sprawling at the feet of +a dainty figure dressed in muslins and ribbons of rainbow hue.</p> + +<p>It was Rachel Varnhagen, tripping home to her tea. With a +little scream of elegant surprise, she dropped her parasol, and gazed +at the prostrate form of her jilted lover.</p> + +<p>Gathering himself up stiffly, Isaac stood, whimpering, before her; +his whining interspersed with unprintable invective.</p> + +<p>Scarlett, however, heedless of the anathemas of the stricken +clerk, stepped from the door of The Lucky Digger, picked up the +fallen parasol, and handed it politely to Rachel.</p> + +<p>In less than a moment she recognised him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, thanks,” she said. “It’s really awfully good of you.”</p> + +<p>“What? To kick this unmitigated blackguard?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve no doubt he deserved it,” she said, glancing with disgust at +the clerk. “It’s charming of you to pick up my sunshade. I hope +you’re coming up to see us—Papa wants to see you awfully. It would +be lovely if you would come to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I’ll try. I hope you are none the worse for the +fright you got.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, I’m not dead. What a terrible man you are—I wouldn’t +like to quarrel with you. Say eight o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, eight.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t forget. I shall expect you.”</p> + +<p>Zahn, who heard all the conversation, ground his teeth, and slunk +away. Rachel smiled her farewell and bowed to Jack, who lifted +his hat, and went into the inn, to see what could be done for the bar-maid’s +injured wrist.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A Small but Important Link in the Story.</strong></p> + + +<p>The Timber Town Club was filled with ineffable calm. The hum of +convivial voices was hushed, the clicking billiard-balls were still, no +merry groups of congenial spirits chatted in ante-room, or dining-room. +All was strangely quiet, for most of the members were at the diggings, +and the times were too pregnant with business to warrant much conviviality.</p> + +<p>Scarlett and Mr. Crewe alone sat in the reading-room, where the +magazines from England lay in perfect order on little tables, and +steel engravings, of which the Club was proud, hung upon the walls. +Jack was enjoying the luxury of a big easy chair, and the Father of +Timber Town sat upright in another.</p> + +<p>“I was asked out to spend the evening, yesterday,” said Jack, +lazily.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, asked to spend the evening?” replied the alert old gentleman. +“I can’t say that I see anything remarkable in that, Scarlett.”</p> + +<p>Jack smiled. “By a most charming young lady, I assure you.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that is another matter, quite a different matter, my dear +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Ostensibly, it was to meet her father, but hang me if the old +gentleman put in an appearance!”</p> + +<p>“Ho-ho! Better, Scarlett, better still. And what did you do, +you rascal?”</p> + +<p>“I did nothing. It was the young lady who took up the running.”</p> + +<p>“But wasn’t she provided with a judicious Mama, in the background +somewhere?”</p> + +<p>“No, a calamity seems to have befallen the Mama. She’s <em>non +est</em>.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very good. The girl depends for protection solely upon +her Papa?”</p> + +<p>“I remarked that, and said, ‘Your Father will hardly approve +of my coming to see you in his absence.’ ‘Oh, you needn’t mind that,’ +she said—‘he trusts me implicitly. And as for you—didn’t you save +me, the other night?’ You see, I found a drunken digger molesting +her, and threw him into the river. But I haven’t so much as seen +the old boy yet.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so, quite so, but I want to hear about the girl—the father +will turn up in due time, and as for the digger, he at least would get +a bath.”</p> + +<p>“I waited for her loving parent to come home, as it was supposed +he wanted to see me.”</p> + +<p>“I see; I see: and what did he say when he came?”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t say anything.”</p> + +<p>“That was very churlish conduct, don’t you think Scarlett?”</p> + +<p>“But, you see, he didn’t come.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t come home? Now, look here, Scarlett; now, look +here, my good fellow. You’re getting into bad ways; you’re +courting temptation. By Jupiter! they’ll be marrying you +next. They will, sir; they’ll be marrying you, before you +know where you are; marrying you in a church. And +if they can’t get you to church, they’ll marry you before the +Registrar; by Jupiter! they will.”</p> + +<p>“But she’s a pretty girl, remember that.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +“She may be the most monstrous pretty girl, for all I care. But +don’t you let her hook you, my boy. Women are all fudge, sir. Girls are +mostly dolls dressed in feathers and fine clothes. But I grant you +that there’s some dignity in a woman who’s a mother; but by forty +she becomes old, and then she must be a plaguey nuisance. No, +Scarlett, I never married, thank God. Fancy being at the beck and +call of a crotchety old beldame, at my time of life. No, sir; I never +knew what it was to be questioned and badgered when I came home at +night, no matter if it was two in the morning. I can do as I like, sir: +I need not go home at all. I’m a free man. Now, take my advice, +Scarlett; be a free man too.”</p> + +<p>“But you never could have been in love, Mr. Crewe.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not; very likely not.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crewe had stood during the latter part of the dialogue, that +he might the more emphatically denounce matrimony; and Scarlett +rose from his comfortable chair, and stood beside him.</p> + +<p>“But do as I did, my dear sir”—the Father of Timber Town +placed his hand on Jack’s sleeve—“and nothing disastrous will happen. +Whenever a young woman became very pressing, what do you think +I used to do?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I don’t see how I can tell. Perhaps you told her +you had an incurable disease, and had one foot in the grave.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir; that would have made her marry me the quicker—in +order to get my money. No, I used to propose solemnly and in due +form—on behalf of my brother Julius. I would say, ‘My dear young +lady, my brother Julius <em>ought</em> to be married, and you are the girl to +suit him. He is delicate, affectionate in disposition, domesticated—quite +the reverse of myself, my dear—and you are the beau ideal companion +for him.’ But do you believe that Julius is married? No, sir; +not a bit of it; no more married than I am—no, sir; as confirmed an +old bachelor as ever you saw. Very good, wasn’t it? Just the way +to deal with them, eh? Adopt the plan, Jack; adopt the plan, and +you’ll escape as certainly as I did.”</p> + +<p>“Look here,” said Scarlett, “we’ll go and see the banker; we +ought to have seen him this morning.”</p> + +<p>The old gentleman chuckled. He perceived that his young +friend had changed the subject of conversation; but he also agreed +that business should come before gossip.</p> + +<p>It was but a brief walk from the Club to the Kangaroo Bank.</p> + +<p>“You’re a god-send to this town, Jack; a perfect god-send. Do +you know that since you discovered this gold, sir, my properties in +Timber Town have increased twenty-five per cent. in value? And +do you know that I believe they will increase cent. per cent.? Imagine +it, sir. Why, we shall all be rich men.”</p> + +<p>They passed out into the bright street, where the gaily-painted +shops shone in the blazing sun and the iron roofs of the verandahs +ticked with the midday heat. The door of the Bank stood +open, that the outer air might circulate freely through the big building. +The immaculately-attired clerk stood behind his counter, with a big +piece of plaster on his forehead; but Scarlett, taking no notice of +the scowl he received from the dark-featured Zahn, knocked at the +door of the Manager’s room.</p> + +<p>Within the financial <em>sanctum</em>, a little shrivelled-up man sat at a +large table which was placed in the middle of the room. His face +was clean-shaven but for a pair of grizzled mutton-chop whiskers, +and as he bent over his papers he showed a little bald patch on the +top of his crown.</p> + +<p>Scarlett and Mr. Crewe stood side by side, in front of him.</p> + +<p>“I have come from the diggings,” said Jack, “and have called +to ask ...”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +“Oh ... How do you do, Mr. Crewe? Be seated, sir.... Be +seated, both of you.... A lovely day, Mr. Crewe; a perfectly beautiful +day. Take a seat, sir, I beg.”</p> + +<p>But as the chairs stood a long way off against the wall, old Mr. +Crewe and Jack only glanced at them.</p> + +<p>“I’ve come to ask,” continued Scarlett, “that you will establish +a branch of your Bank on Bush Robin Creek.”</p> + +<p>The Manager looked first at Scarlett and then at Mr. Crewe. +“You’re very good,” he said. “Establish a branch on the diggings? +Gentlemen, <em>do</em> be seated.” So saying, he journeyed to a far wall, and +returned with a couple of chairs, which he dragged after him to where +his visitors stood.</p> + +<p>“It would be a great convenience to the diggers,” said Jack, “to +sell their gold on the field, and receive drafts on your Bank. Then, +they would travel with more safety and less fear of being robbed.”</p> + +<p>“It’s worth thinking of,” said the Manager, when he had seen +that both Scarlett and Mr. Crewe were seated.</p> + +<p>“It should be profitable to the Bank,” said Mr. Crewe, “and that, +sir, is your main consideration.”</p> + +<p>“The track will be completed in a few days,” Scarlett remarked, +“and your agent couldn’t possibly lose his way in the bush.”</p> + +<p>“Could not lose his way? Exactly. It would be very awkward +if he were to get lost, with £20,000 in his possession.”</p> + +<p>“I can imagine what sort of a losing it would be considered,” +said Mr. Crewe, laughing.</p> + +<p>“How far is it to the field?” asked the Manager.</p> + +<p>“As the crow flies, about forty miles,” replied Jack, “but by the +track, some eight or ten miles more.”</p> + +<p>“The difficulty will be the escort,” said the Manager. “There +must be an escort to convey gold to town. If the police, now, would +give assistance, it could be managed.”</p> + +<p>“Failing them,” said Jack, “the diggers would be only too glad +to provide an escort themselves.”</p> + +<p>The banker smiled. “I was imagining that the Government might +undertake the transportation.”</p> + +<p>“This is a detail,” said Mr. Crewe. “It could be arranged when +your agent wished to come to town with all the gold he had bought on +the field.”</p> + +<p>“I make the proposal to you on behalf of the syndicate which +I represent,” said Jack. “There is a demand for a branch of your +Bank on Bush Robin Creek: communication is now easy, and the +field is developing fast.”</p> + +<p>“I shall see to it, gentlemen; I shall do my best to oblige you.”</p> + +<p>“And to benefit your institution,” interjected Mr. Crewe.</p> + +<p>The Manager smiled the sycophantic smile of one who worships +Mammon. “I shall endeavour to meet the difficulty, Mr. Crewe. We +shall see what can be done.” He rang his bell, and a clerk appeared. +“Mr. Zahn is not at the counter to-day,” he said.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said the clerk; “he is buying gold.”</p> + +<p>“Very good; send him to me,” said the Manager, and Isaac was +quickly summoned.</p> + +<p>“I shall require you to proceed to the diggings at Bush Robin +Creek,” said the Manager, addressing the gold-clerk. “These gentlemen +have made representations to me which show that there is considerable +business to be done there by buying gold. You will hold +yourself in readiness to start in a couple of days. Does that suit +you, sir?” he added, turning to Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“Admirably,” replied Jack. “I’ll return to-morrow, and shall +tell the diggers that your agent is coming.”</p> + +<p>“But why should you not travel together?” said the Manager. +“You could show Mr. Zahn the way.”</p> + +<p>Isaac looked at Scarlett, and Scarlett looked at him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +“I think I could find my way alone,” said Zahn.</p> + +<p>Jack smiled. “I shall be only too glad to give any assistance I +can; but if Mr. Zahn prefers to travel by himself, of course there is +the bare chance that he might get off the track and be lost.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll risk it,” said the Jew. “I’d rather get lost than be thrown +over a precipice.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, dear me,” said Mr. Crewe, his voice and gesture expressive +of the utmost astonishment. “This looks bad, Jack; this is a +very bad beginning.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that you don’t quite appreciate this gentleman’s overtures?” +asked the Manager.</p> + +<p>Zahn was silent.</p> + +<p>“We had a small difference in a hotel,” said Jack. “But for my +part I am quite willing to let bygones be bygones.”</p> + +<p>Zahn scowled. “That may be so,” he said, “but I should prefer +to travel alone.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear; well, well,” said the Father of Timber Town. “But, +after all, this is a mere matter of detail which can be settled by and +by. If you go to the diggings, sir”—he turned his benignant gaze +on the clerk—“you will not only be in a most responsible position, but +you will be able to do such profitable business for your Bank, sir, that +you will probably earn promotion.”</p> + +<p>“It’s settled,” said the Manager. “We shall send a representative, +and I hope that the arrangement will be satisfactory to all +parties. I hope you are contented, Mr. Crewe.”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly, my dear sir, perfectly,” said the Father of Timber +Town.</p> + +<p>“Then you may consider the thing done,” said the Manager; and +ushering his visitors from the room he conducted them to the garish +street.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Signal-Tree.</strong></p> + + +<p>“I jest walked in,” said Dolphin, “an’ I says, ‘About thisyer gold-escort: +when does it start?’ I says. The shrivelled party with the +whiskers looks at me acrost the counter, an’ e’ says, ‘What business +is that of yours, my man?’ ‘None,’ I says, ‘’xcept me an’ my mate is +nervous of swaggin’ our gold to town ourselves.’ ‘Don’t you bother +about that,’ ’e says. ‘All you’ve got to do is to sell your gold to our +agent on the field, and leave the rest to him.’ The escort will leave +reg’lar, accordin’ to time-table; so we can stick it up, sure as Gawd +made little apples.”</p> + +<p>“And what about goin’ through the Bank?” asked Sweet William.</p> + +<p>“Now I ask you,” said Dolphin, “what’s the use of messing with +the Bank, when we can clean out the gold-escort, an’ no one the +wiser?”</p> + +<p>“Same here. My opinion,” said Gentleman Carnac.</p> + +<p>“I’m slick agin letting the Bank orf,” growled Garstang. “Why +not let the escort get its gold to the Bank, and then nab everything +in the show. The original plan’s the best.”</p> + +<p>“I gave you credit for more sense, Garstang.” The leader of the +gang looked darkly at his subordinate. “I gave you credit for knowing +more of your trade.”</p> + +<p>“More credit, eh?” asked the man with the crooked mouth. “For +why?”</p> + +<p>The four rascals were in the cottage where they had met before, +and the room reeked with the smoke of bad tobacco.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +“Why?” replied Dolphin. “Because you’re the oldest hand of the +lot, an’ you’ve been in the business all your life.”</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so,” said Garstang, with an evil smile. “’Xcept when +I’ve bin the guest of the Widow.”</p> + +<p>“Which has been pretty frequent,” interjected Sweet William.</p> + +<p>“To clean the Bank out is easy enough,” said Dolphin: “the +trouble is to get away with the stuff. You ought to see that with +half an eye. To stick up the escort requires a little skill, a little +pluck; but as for gettin’ away with the gold afterwards, that’s child’s +play.”</p> + +<p>“Dead men don’t tell no tales,” remarked Sweet William.</p> + +<p>“But their carcases do,” objected Garstang.</p> + +<p>“You beat everything!” exclaimed the leader, growing almost +angry. “Ain’t there such a thing as a shovel? No wonder you were +copped pretty often by the traps, Garstang.”</p> + +<p>“You two men wrangle like old women,” said Carnac. “Drop it. +Tell us what’s the first thing to do.”</p> + +<p>“To go an’ look at the country,” answered Dolphin.</p> + +<p>“That’s it.... Go it.... Dolphin controls the whole push.... +Jest do as ’e tells.” Garstang was evidently annoyed that the leadership +of the murderous gang, which had once been his, had passed out +of his hands.</p> + +<p>Dolphin took no notice of the remarks. “We shall have plenty +time to get to work, ’cause the Bank can’t bring the gold to town +till it’s bought it, and it can’t begin to buy it till the agent reaches +the field, an’ he only started to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Every blessed thing’s ready,” chimed in Sweet William, who was +evidently backing the new leader strongly. “Carny an’ me’s bin +through the guns, an’ they’re all clean an’ took to bits ready for +putting in the swags. When they’re packed, not a trap in the country +but wouldn’t take us for the garden variety of diggers, 2 dwts. to +the dish, or even less. Quite mild, not to say harmless, gruel-fed, +strictly vegetarian—a very useful an’ respectable body of men.”</p> + +<p>Dolphin smiled at the young man’s witticism. “It doesn’t need +for more than two to go,” he said. “There’s no use in making a +public show of ourselves, like a bloomin’ pack-train. Two’s plenty.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll stop at ’ome,” growled Garstang. “It’s your faik, Dolphin—you +planned it. Let’s see you carry it out.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go,” volunteered William. “Carny can stop behind an’ +help keep Garstang’s temper sweet.” In his hilarity he smacked +the sinister-faced man on the back.</p> + +<p>“Keep your hands t’ yerself,” snarled Garstang, with an oath. +“You’re grown too funny, these days—a man’d think you ran the +show.”</p> + +<p>“Lord, what a mug!” Young William grimaced at Garstang’s +sour face. “But it’ll sweeten up, ole man, when the gold’s divided.”</p> + +<p>“We’re wasting time,” broke in Dolphin. “We must be getting +along. Pack your swag, William: mine’s at The Bushman’s +Tavern.”</p> + +<p>“Matilda is ready,” exclaimed the youthful member of the gang, +picking up his swag from the floor, and hitching it on to his shoulders. +“Gimme that long-handled shovel, Carny—it’ll look honest, though it +weighs half a ton. Well, so-long.”</p> + +<p>He shook the bad-tempered Garstang, slapped Carnac on the +back, and followed Dolphin from the cottage.</p> + +<p>While this ominous meeting was being held, Jake Ruggles might +have been observed to be acting in a most extraordinary manner +in the back-garden of Tresco’s shop. In the middle of a patch of +ill-nourished cabbages which struggled for existence amid weeds +and rubbish, he had planted a kitchen chair. On the back of this he +had rested a long telescope, which usually adorned the big glass case +which stood against the wall behind the shop-counter. This formidable +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +instrument he had focussed upon the pinnacle of a wooded +height, which stood conspicuous behind the line of foot-hills, and, +as he peered at the distant mountain-top, he gave vent to a string of +ejaculations, expressive of interest and astonishment.</p> + +<p>Upon the top of the wooded mountain a large tree, which he +could distinguish with the naked eye, stood conspicuous; a tree which +spread its branches high above its fellows, and silhouetted its gigantic +shape against the sky-line. Directing his telescope upon this +remarkable giant of the forest, by aid of its powerful lenses he could +see, projecting from the topmost branch, a flag, which upon further +observation proved to be nothing less than the red ensign employed +on merchant ships; and it was this emblem of the mercantile marine +which so amazed and interested the youthful Ruggles.</p> + +<p>“The ole beggar’s got his pennant out,” he exclaimed, as he +smacked his lean shanks and again applied his eye to the telescope. +“That means a spree for Benjamin. The crafty ole rascal’ll be comin’ +in to-night. It means his tucker supply’s given out, an’ I must fly +round for bacon, tea, sugar, bread, flour; an’ I think I’ll put in a +tin or two of jam, by way of a treat.”</p> + +<p>He took a long look at the signal, and then shut up the telescope.</p> + +<p>“It’s quite plain,” he soliloquised: “the old un’s comin’ in. I +must shut up shop, and forage. Then, after dark, I’ll take the tucker +to the ford.”</p> + +<p>But, as though a sudden inspiration had seized him, he readjusted +his instrument and once more examined the conspicuous tree.</p> + +<p>“Why, he’s there himself, sittin’ in a forked bough, an’ watchin’ +me through his glass.” Placing the telescope gently on the ground, +Jake turned himself into a human semaphore, and gesticulated frantically +with his arms. “That ought to fetch ’im,” and he again +placed his eye to the telescope. “Yes, he sees. He’s wavin’ his ’at. +Good old Ben. It’s better than a play. Comic opera ain’t in it with +this sort o’ game. He’s fair rampin’ with joy ’cause I seen ’im.” +Shutting up his instrument, Jake gave a last exhibition of mad +gesticulations, danced a mimic war-dance, and then, with the big +telescope under his arm, he went into the house.</p> + +<p>It was a long stretch of tangled forest from the big tree to +Tresco’s cave, but the goldsmith was now an expert bushman, versed +in the ways of the wilderness, active if not agile, enduring if still +short of breath. His once ponderous form had lost weight, his once +well-filled garments hung in creases on him, but a look of robust +health shone in his eye and a wholesome tan adorned his cheek. He +strode down the mountain as though he had been born on its arboreous +slopes. Without pause, without so much as a false step, he traversed +those wild gullies, wet where the dew still lay under the leafy screen +of boughs, watered by streams which gurgled over mighty boulders—a +wilderness where banks of ferns grew in the dank shade and the +thick tangle of undergrowth blocked the traveller’s way.</p> + +<p>But well on into the afternoon Tresco had reached the neighbourhood +of his cave, where his recluse life dragged out its weary +days. His route lay for a brief mile along the track which led to +the diggings. Reaching this cleared path, where locomotion was +easier, the goldsmith quickened his pace, when suddenly, as he turned +a corner, he came upon two men walking towards him from Timber +Town.</p> + +<p>In a moment he had taken cover in the thick underscrub which +lined each side of the track, and quickly passing a little way in the +direction from which he had come, he hid himself behind a dense +thicket, and waited for the wayfarers to pass by.</p> + +<p>They came along slowly, being heavy laden.</p> + +<p>“I tell yer I seen the bloke on the track, Dolly, just about here,” +said the younger man of the two. “One moment he was here, next +’e was gone. Didn’t you see ’m?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +“I must ha’ bin lookin’ t’other way, up the track,” said the other. +“I was thinkin’ o’ somethin’. I was thinkin’ that this place, just +here, was made a-purpose for our business. Now, look at this rock.”</p> + +<p>He led his companion to the inner edge of the track, where a +big rock abutted upon the acute angle which the path made in circumventing +the forest-clad hill-side. Placing their “swags” on the path +the two men clambered up behind the rock, and Tresco could hear +their conversation as he lay behind the thick scrub opposite them.</p> + +<p>“See?” said Dolphin, as he pointed up the track in the direction +of Timber Town. “From here you can command the track for +a half-a-mile.”</p> + +<p>Sweet William looked, and said, “That’s so—you can.”</p> + +<p>“Now, look this way,” Dolphin pointed down the track in the +direction of the diggings. “How far can you see, this way?”</p> + +<p>“Near a mile,” replied William.</p> + +<p>“Very good. We plant two men behind this rock, and two over +there in the bush, on the opposite side, and we can bail up a dozen +men. Eh?”</p> + +<p>“It’s the place, the identical spot, Dolly; but I should put the +other two men a little way up the track—we don’t want to shoot each +other.”</p> + +<p>“Just so. It would be like this: we have ’em in view, a long +while before they arrive; they’re coming up hill, tired, and goin’ +slow; we’re behind perfect cover.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how we can beat it, unless it is to put a tree across +the road, just round the corner on the Timber Town side.”</p> + +<p>“No, no. That’d give the show away. That’d identify the spot. +There’re a hundred reasons against it. A tree across the track +might stop the diggers as well, and the first party that come along +would axe it through, and where would our log be then? It would +never do. But let’s get down, and have a drink. Thank Gawd, +there’s a bottle or two left in my swag.”</p> + +<p>Tresco saw them clamber down from the rock, and drink beer +by the wayside. Only too quickly did he recognise these men, who +looked like diggers but behaved so strangely; but the sight of the +liquor was almost more than he could bear, yet not daring to stir +a finger lest he should be discovered he was forced to see them drink it.</p> + +<p>Indeed, they made quite a meal; eating bread and cheese, which +they washed down with their favourite beverage. When the bottles +were empty, Dolphin flung them into the bushes opposite to him, +and the missiles, shivering into hundreds of pieces, sprinkled the +goldsmith with broken glass.</p> + +<p>He stifled a wordy protest which rose to his lips, and lay still; +and shortly afterwards he had the pleasure of seeing the undesirable +strangers hump their “swags” and retrace their steps towards Timber +Town.</p> + +<p>When they had disappeared, Tresco came from his hiding-place. +He looked up and down the track. “Just so,” he soliloquised, “half-a-mile +this way, a mile that. Good cover.... Commanding position. +What’s their little game? It seems to me that there are bigger +rascals than Benjamin in Timber Town.” And with this salve applied +to his conscience, the goldsmith pursued his way towards his dismal +cavern.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Second Time.</strong></p> + + +<p>Tresco stood in the yellow light of the paraffin lamp, and gazed in +wonderment at Gentle Annie. He was a tattered and mournful +object; his boots worn out, his trousers a marvel of patchwork, his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +coat a thing discoloured and torn, his hair and beard unshorn, himself +a being unrecognisable by his former friends.</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie’s attitude betokened the greatest surprise. With +her hands on her bosom, her lips parted, her cheeks pale, her eyes +frightened, she stood, and timidly returned the gaze of the strange +man before her.</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” she asked, so soon as she could find her +voice. “Why do you come here?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be alarmed,” said Benjamin reassuringly. “First, let me +tell you that I’m your friend and protector. Do you forget Tresco +the goldsmith?”</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie gave vent to a little cry of astonishment.</p> + +<p>“I am an outlaw,”—he spoke as if he were defending himself +before his peers—“an outcast, a hunted dog. My own house is unsafe, +so I came here for protection and a little comfort.” He dropped +suddenly into quite a sentimental tone of voice. “I haven’t spoken +to a soul, save my lad, for over six weeks. I’m a bit lonesome and +miserable; and I badly need a well-cooked meal.”</p> + +<p>“But if you stop here”—Gentle Annie’s ample bust rose and +fell with agitation—“the police will catch you.”</p> + +<p>“They’d think of looking for me in the moon before they came +here, my dear; besides I have no intention of stopping. I only want +rest and food.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do what I can for you, but you must go almost directly.”</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly.” Tresco sat down, and drew a deep breath. +“It’s good to look at a wholesome woman again—it seems years since +I saw one.”</p> + +<p>A smile passed over Gentle Annie’s face, and her eyes twinkled +with merriment. “I see you’re not cured of your old weakness,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear; and I hope I never shall be.” Benjamin had rallied +from his depression. “On the contrary, it increases.”</p> + +<p>They were a strange couple—the wild-looking man on one side of +the table, and the fine figure of a woman who emitted a faint odour +of patchouli, on the other.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you know I’m my own mistress now.”</p> + +<p>“It looks like it. I understood something of the kind from Jake.”</p> + +<p>“I objected to be pulled about indiscriminately, so I left The +Lucky Digger. A rough brute cut my arm with a broken glass.” +She rolled up her sleeve, and showed the scar of the newly-healed +wound.</p> + +<p>Benjamin took the soft, white arm in his hand, and gave it just +the suspicion of a squeeze.</p> + +<p>“I wish I’d bin there, my dear: I’d ha’ chucked him through the +window.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Scarlett—who has been so lucky on the diggings—kicked him +out of the house on to the pavement.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but did he do the thing properly, scientifically?”</p> + +<p>“I think so. And when he found the boss blaming me for the +row, he turned on him like a tiger. But afterwards old Townson +gave me the office, so I’ve retired into private life. Do you like my +rooms?”</p> + +<p>“A trifle small, don’t you think?” said Benjamin.</p> + +<p>“Cozy.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, where you are it can’t help being cozy.”</p> + +<p>“After that I’ll get you something to eat. What do you say to +grilled steak and onions?”</p> + +<p>“Delicious! Couldn’t be better.”</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie bustled out to the safe, at the back of the house, +and returned with a dish of red and juicy meat.</p> + +<p>“And to follow, you shall have stewed plums and cream.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +“Better than ever,” said Benjamin; his mouth watering behind +his ragged beard.</p> + +<p>“I believe I understand mankind,” said Gentle Annie, going to +a cupboard, whence she took a big bottle, which she placed on the +table.</p> + +<p>“If all the women in the world understood men as you do, my +dear, we should have Arcadia here, instead of Gehennum.”</p> + +<p>“Instead of what?”</p> + +<p>“Gehennum, my dear; a place where they drive men into the +wilderness and cut them off from supplies, and they rot in damp +caves, destitute of bread, beer, and even tobacco.”</p> + +<p>“No; I really can’t supply that last. If I let you smoke, some +old cat would come sniffing round to-morrow morning, and say, ‘Phew! +a <em>man</em> has been here.’ Good food and drink you shall have, but no +tobacco.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll let me wash?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. Cleanliness is next to godliness. If you can’t have +the one, I wouldn’t bar you from the other.” She led him to the door +of her bedroom, and said, “Walk in.”</p> + +<p>The room was a dainty affair of muslin blinds and bed-hangings. +To Benjamin it was a holy of holies dedicated to the sweet, the lovely, +the inscrutable. All the feminine gear lying around, the little pots +of powder and ointment, the strange medicaments for the hair, the +mirrors, the row of little shoes, the bits of jewellery lying on fat pincushions, +the skirts and wrappers and feminine finery hanging behind +the door, these and fifty other things appealed to the softest spot in +his susceptible nature. He took up the ewer, and poured water into +the basin; but he was ashamed to place his dirty coat on a thing +so clean as was the solitary dimity-covered chair, so he put the ragged +garment on the floor. Then he took up a pink cake of soap, and +commenced his ablutions.</p> + +<p>A strong and agreeable odour tickled his olfactory nerves—the +cooking had begun. Though his ears were full of lather, he could +hear the meat frying in the pan, and the spluttering of the fat.</p> + +<p>“What punishment do they give to people who harbour malefactors?” +Gentle Annie called from over her cooking.</p> + +<p>“Who’s a malefactor?” called Tresco from the middle of a towel +with which he was drying his roseate face.</p> + +<p>“What are <em>you</em> then?”</p> + +<p>“I’m a gentleman at large, my dear. No one has charged me +with anything yet, let alone convicted me.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s a warrant out against you, old gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe. I haven’t seen it.”</p> + +<p>“But what’s <em>my</em> position?”</p> + +<p>“You’re accessory after the fact, if there is a fact.”</p> + +<p>“What am I liable for?”</p> + +<p>“That depends on the judge, my dear. It might be two, three, +or more kisses. If I was on the bench, the sentence would be as +heavy as possible, and I’d insist on executing it myself.”</p> + +<p>A laugh came from over the frying-pan.</p> + +<p>“If you’re not careful, old party, you’ll have some of this hot fat +on your head.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin had finished his toilette, and walked into the other +room.</p> + +<p>The small, square table was spread with a white cloth, and a place +was set for one.</p> + +<p>“But, my dear, won’t you partake?” said Benjamin, eyeing the +arrangement of the table.</p> + +<p>“I’m not hungry,” the girl replied. “I’ll watch the lion feed.”</p> + +<p>The little room was filled with the smell of cooked viands, and +Tresco seated himself in readiness to eat.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +The smoking steak, garnished with fried onions and potatoes, +was placed before him.</p> + +<p>“For what I am about to receive, my dear, I thank you.” Gently +squeezing the ex-bar-maid’s hand, he kissed it.</p> + +<p>“Now, that’ll do. You’re getting giddy in your old age—it must +be the effect of the steak. Cupboard love, cupboard love!”</p> + +<p>Tresco drew the cork of the big bottle, which he handed to Gentle +Annie.</p> + +<p>“What’s this for?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“You pour it out, my dear. It’ll make it taste so much sweeter.”</p> + +<p>“You gay old deceiver: you’re like the rest of them.”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear: they’re imitation; I’m the genuine article.”</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie filled his tall glass deftly, so that the froth stood +in a dome over the liquor. She was about to replace the bottle on +the table, when Tresco took a tumbler from the dresser, and filled it +for her.</p> + +<p>“Keep me company,” he said. “It looks more comfortable.”</p> + +<p>“But stout’s so fattening.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, a lean woman is a reproach to her sex.”</p> + +<p>“Then, what’s a fat one?”</p> + +<p>“A credit, like I am to mine, or used to be before I got thin +through semi-starvation. Here’s to your very good health; may your +beauty never grow less.” Benjamin raised his glass to his lips.</p> + +<p>“More flattery.” Gentle Annie’s comfortable laugh shook her +whole body. “I’m sorry I can’t return the compliment.”</p> + +<p>“You do better: you supply the inner man—steak, done to a turn; +stout; sweet stuffs. You couldn’t have treated me better, if I’d been +a bishop.”</p> + +<p>“Why a bishop?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve looked round, and taken stock of my fellows; and I think a +bishop has a rousing good time, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say; I don’t often entertain bishops.”</p> + +<p>“Bishops and licensed victuallers; I think they get the cream of +life.”</p> + +<p>“But what about lords and dukes?”</p> + +<p>“They have to pay through the nose for all they get, but bishops +and landlords get all their good things chucked in gratuitous. Of +course a bishop’s more toney, but a publican sees more of life—honours, +meaning good tucker and liquor, divided.”</p> + +<p>Tresco attacked the juicy steak: his satisfaction finding expression +in murmurs of approval. He finished the stout with as +much relish as if it had been the richest wine; and then Gentle +Annie took from the cupboard two glass dishes, the one half-filled +with luscious red plums swimming in their own juice, the other +containing junket.</p> + +<p>Tresco had almost forgotten the taste of such food. While he +was eating it Gentle Annie made some tea.</p> + +<p>“Is this the way you treat the toffs, when they come to see you?”</p> + +<p>“Toffs? You’re the greatest toff that has come to see me, +so far.”</p> + +<p>“I shall come again.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know there’s a reward offered for you?”</p> + +<p>“How much?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all? I’ll give it you, my dear.”</p> + +<p>From his dirty rags he pulled out a small linen bag, from which +he emptied upon a clean plate a little pile of nuggets.</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie was lost in wonderment. Her eyes glistened, and +she turned the pieces of gold over with her finger covetously.</p> + +<p>“These should go close on £4 to the ounce,” remarked the goldsmith, +as he separated with the blade of a table-knife a portion of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +the gold equal to what he guessed to be five ounces, and the remainder +he replaced in the bag.</p> + +<p>“That’s for you,” he said, pushing the plate towards her.</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie gleefully took the gold in her hands.</p> + +<p>“You generous old party!” she exclaimed. “I know when I am +well off.”</p> + +<p>They now drank tea out of dainty cups, and Benjamin took a +pipe and tobacco from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“I really must have a smoke to settle my dinner,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said she; “it was only my fun. I smoke myself.” +Taking a packet from the mantelpiece, she lighted a cigarette, +which she handed to Tresco, when a low knock was heard at the door.</p> + +<p>In a moment she had blown out the light, and led the erring +goldsmith to her inner room, where he stood, apprehensive but alert. +From his belt he drew a knife, and then he furtively examined the +fastenings of the muslin-draped window.</p> + +<p>He heard his hostess open the door and speak to her visitor, +who replied in a deep voice, at some length. But, presently, the +door closed, the steps of the visitor were heard departing, and Gentle +Annie softly entered the room.</p> + +<p>“You’re quite safe,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Who was it?”</p> + +<p>“Only a friend of mine. He’s gone. He won’t call again to-night.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Amiria Plays Her Highest Card in the Game of Love.</strong></p> + + +<p>Scarlett was bound for the gold-fields. He bestrode a tall chestnut +mare, with white “socks.” In the cool of the morning, with +the dew sparkling on the hedges and the birds twittering in the +orchards, he rode out of Timber Town.</p> + +<p>He crossed the ford where he had rescued Rachel from the +clutches of the digger, and had turned into the gorge which led +through the foot-hills when he came suddenly upon Amiria, waiting +for him, with her horse standing across the road.</p> + +<p>She was dressed in a perfectly-fitting habit of dark blue cloth, +a hard felt hat, and in her hand she carried a dainty whip; but her +feet were bare, and one pretty toe protruded from the stirrup.</p> + +<p>“I’m hanged!” exclaimed Jack. “Who ever expected to see you +here, at this time of the morning?”</p> + +<p>The Maori girl laughed. “I knew you were going to-day—Rose +Summerhayes told me. So I said to myself, ‘I’ll go to the diggings +too; I’ll see how they get this gold.’ Perhaps I may find some myself. +Is it far?”</p> + +<p>“About fifty miles. But I can’t take you to the field.”</p> + +<p>“Why not? I shan’t steal anything.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett could not forbear a smile. “I don’t mean that,” he +said. “I was thinking what the fellows would say.”</p> + +<p>Amiria’s merry laugh rang through the narrow valley. “Oh, +you <em>Pakeha</em> people, how funny you are—always troubled by what +others may think about you, always bothering about the day after +to-morrow. Yet I think it’s all put on: you do just the same things +as the Maori. I give it up. I can’t guess it. Come on; see if your +horse can trot mine.”</p> + +<p>She flicked her big bay that she was riding, and started off at a +swinging pace. And so, Scarlett riding on the soft turf on one side of +the road and Amiria on the other, they raced till they came to the +next ford.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +“I beat!” cried the Maori girl, her brown cheeks glowing with +excitement.</p> + +<p>The horses were given a mouthful of water, and then they splashed +through the shallows; their iron shoes clanking on the boulders as +dry land was reached.</p> + +<p>“You are very rich, aren’t you?” Amiria asked, as they walked +their horses side by side.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by rich?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you have lots of gold, money, everything you want.”</p> + +<p>“Not by any means.”</p> + +<p>“You must be very greedy, then. They tell me you have thousands +of pounds in the bank, a big house which you are building, +and a fine girl.”</p> + +<p>“A girl?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Rahera Varnhagen. Isn’t she a fine girl?”</p> + +<p>“Rachel Varnhagen!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I was in the old man’s store yesterday, buying things +for the <em>pa</em>, and he told me he had given his girl to you.”</p> + +<p>Jack opened his eyes in astonishment. He wondered who was +the liar, the Jew or the Maori girl, but all he said was, “Well, I’m +hanged!”</p> + +<p>Amiria laughed. “You see, these things can’t be kept dark.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s all a yarn. I’m not engaged to anybody. Can’t a man +talk to a girl, without all Timber Town saying he is going to marry +her?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. Don’t you like her?”</p> + +<p>“I think she’s very pretty, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I +want to marry her.”</p> + +<p>“Then you <em>don’t</em> like her?”</p> + +<p>“I like her only as a friend.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I tell her that?”</p> + +<p>Jack thought for a moment. He had suddenly become rather +suspicious of women-folk.</p> + +<p>“It might hurt her feelings,” he said.</p> + +<p>“If you don’t speak the truth, she will think you mean to marry +her.”</p> + +<p>“Then, tell her I don’t mean to do anything of the sort.”</p> + +<p>Amiria laughed softly to herself. “That leaves two,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Leaves two? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“There are three girls in love with you. Rahera was one—she +is out of it. That leaves two.”</p> + +<p>“This is the very dickens! Who are the other two, pray?”</p> + +<p>“Rose Summerhayes is one.”</p> + +<p>Jack laughed. “She is too discreet, too English, to give her +love, except where she is certain it will be returned.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t tell: you don’t know.” Amiria had reined in her +horse beside Jack’s. “She is always talking about you. She talks +about you in her sleep—I know: I have heard her.”</p> + +<p>“No, no; you make a mistake. She’s a great friend of mine, +but that is all. Who’s the other daring girl?”</p> + +<p>“You know,” replied Amiria, with a pout.</p> + +<p>“How am I to presume to think of such a thing?”</p> + +<p>“You know quite well.”</p> + +<p>“Upon my honour, I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“Does a girl ride with you, if she doesn’t like you?”</p> + +<p>“Depends upon the girl.”</p> + +<p>“Would I trouble to meet you, if I didn’t?”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s you? Upon my word! This is overwhelming.”</p> + +<p>“But <em>I</em> have a right to tell you—I saved your life. I know +you as other girls don’t.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I say, this is a bit rough on a fellow. I couldn’t help +getting shipwrecked, you know.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +“But I saved you. I have the right to you first. If you don’t +like me, then you can marry some other girl.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you understand, Amiria. Of course I’m awfully +indebted to you. As you say, I owe you my life. But if I marry +you, I can’t marry anybody else afterwards.”</p> + +<p>The Maori girl had jumped from her horse, and Scarlett was +standing beside her. The horses grazed on the grassy bank of the +stream.</p> + +<p>“I know all the ways of your people,” said Amiria: “I was sent +to school to learn them. Some I think good; some I think bad. +Your marriage is like the yoke you put on bullocks. It locks you +tight together. Before you know really whether you like each other +you have this yoke put on you: you are tied up for ever. The Maori +way is better. We have our marriage too—it is like the bridle on +my horse, light, easy, but good. We only put it on when we know +that we like each other. That’s the way I wish to be married, and +afterwards I would get your priest to give us his marriage, so that +I might be <em>tika</em> in the eyes of the <em>Pakeha</em> people.”</p> + +<p>As she spoke, her eyes flashed and her whole attitude was masterful, +if not defiant; her cheek coloured, her mouth quivered with +excitement, her gestures, as well as her speech, were full of animation. +Evidently, she was giving expression to the warmest feelings +of her passionate nature.</p> + +<p>Scarlett held a small <em>manuka</em> stick, plucked from a flowering +bush by the wayside. With this he struck his leather legging repeatedly, +as he walked to and fro in agitation. Pausing by the +river’s brim, he gazed into the rippling water.</p> + +<p>“This is something like marriage by capture,” he said, “but the +tables are turned on the man. The thing may be all right for you, +but I should lose caste. With all your tuition, Amiria, you don’t +understand <em>Pakeha</em> ways. I could marry you, English fashion; +but I haven’t the least intention of doing so.”</p> + +<p>The Maori girl had followed him, and as he gave his decision +her arm was linked through his.</p> + +<p>The tethered horses were cropping the grass, regardless of their +riders. Scarlett, wrestling with the problem that confronted him, +was still gazing at the water.</p> + +<p>But a sob recalled him to his duty. His companion’s whole frame +was quivering with emotion, and, as he turned, his eyes were met +by hers steadfastly regarding him through their tears.</p> + +<p>“You had better go home,” he said. “The best place for you +is the <em>pa</em>. The best way for you to show your regard for me is to +turn back.”</p> + +<p>She had shot her one bolt, and it had missed its mark. She +turned her head aside, and hid her face in her hands. Slowly and +disconsolately, she walked towards her horse, and unloosing him from +the bush to which he was tied, she climbed into the saddle.</p> + +<p>Her whip had dropped on the grass. Picking it up, Scarlett +took it to her. She looked the picture of misery, and his heart began +to melt. Her right hand hung limply at her side, and as he was +putting the whip into it, he pressed her fingers gently. She did not +draw her hand away, but left it in his clasp: gradually her tears +dried, and a smile came into her face.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” said a strange voice behind them. “Spoonin’? Don’t +mind me, mate: I’ve bin there myself.”</p> + +<p>They turned their heads, to see four grinning men behind them +on the track.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, Carny; step behind the bushes, an’ give the couple a +chanst. Boys will be boys. Can’t you see the young feller was +about to enjoy a kiss?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +“Take her orf the horse, mate,” said another of the men. “Go +for a walk with her—we’ll mind the horses. We won’t take no +notice.”</p> + +<p>Flushing with anger, Amiria drew herself up.</p> + +<p>“You’d better go,” said Scarlett. “I’ll attend to these men.”</p> + +<p>Without another word the Maori girl turned her horse’s head for +home, walked him quietly past Dolphin and his gang, without taking +the least notice of any of them, and then cantered away.</p> + +<p>As she did so the four men burst into hoarse laughter and obscene +remarks.</p> + +<p>Scarlett walked menacingly towards Garstang, who had been the +chief offender.</p> + +<p>“You filthy brute,” he said, “what do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Filthy, eh?” retorted Garstang. “D’you ’ear that, Dolly? An’ +I suppose my mates is filthy too, eh, mister?”</p> + +<p>“Jab ’im in the mouth, Garstang.” This advice from Sweet +William.</p> + +<p>But Dolphin settled the matter. With a revolver in his hand +he stepped towards the menacing Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“Now, hook it,” he said. “If you can’t take a bit of chaff without +turning nasty, don’t think you can get up to any of your funny +business here. I give you three minutes in which to clear.”</p> + +<p>As Scarlett, following the general practice of the diggers, went +unarmed, he could only reply by acting upon dictation; but before +he turned to go, he looked well at the men before him. Then he +mounted his horse, and rode away.</p> + +<p>He quickly forded the stream, and, without turning his head to +look again at the strange gang, he plunged into the dense forest +which stretched across mountain and valley. As he climbed the +slopes of the range over which the track led him, the sun shone +brightly and not a cloud was in the sky. The air was so still that +even at the summit of the range, 2000 feet and more above the sea, +not the slightest breeze stirred. The atmosphere was oppressive, and, +three parts of the way down the further slope, where a clear rivulet +crossed the path, Jack was fain to rest beneath the shade of a giant +tree-fern, and eat and drink. There was not a creature to harm +him; no venomous reptile, no ravenous beast dwelt in those vast sub-tropical +forests; no poisonous miasma reeked from the moist valleys +below; in the evergreen trees countless pigeons cooed, <em>kaka</em> parrots +and green paroquets screamed, and black parson-birds sang. It +was a picture of Nature in one of her most peaceful and happy moods. +Forgetful of the distractions which he had left behind him, Jack’s +mind had turned to the contemplation of the bright prospects which +lay before him, when his reverie was broken by the sound of voices +and the noise of horses’ hoofs; and round a bend of the track, slowly +ascending the uncertain gradient, appeared the gold-escort.</p> + +<p>Leading the cavalcade, rode a mounted constable dressed in a +blue tunic, with silver buttons, dun-coloured, corded riding-breeches, +top-boots, and a blue shako. His carbine was slung negligently, and +he whistled as he rode.</p> + +<p>Behind him came Isaac Zahn, sitting loosely on his horse; a revolver +strapped in its case at his belt. He was followed by an unarmed +mounted man who led the pack-horse which carried the gold; +and an armed digger, who rode a white horse, brought up the rear.</p> + +<p>The leading horse whinnied, and Jack’s mare answered.</p> + +<p>“Good morning,” said the constable, reining up. “A beautiful +day, sorr. Have ye such a thing as a match wid you?”</p> + +<p>Jack, who was smoking, handed a box of matches to the man, +who lighted his pipe. The whole cavalcade had come to a halt, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +Zahn, who pretended not to recognise Jack, sat on his horse, and +scowled.</p> + +<p>Scarlett’s eyes involuntarily fixed themselves on the heavily-laden +pack-horse.</p> + +<p>“I should advise you to keep your weather eye lifted, constable,” +he said.</p> + +<p>“Bedad, an’ we’ll attend to that,” replied the Irishman, with +a broad smile. “The escort’s as good as in Timber Town already. +Thank you, sorr.” He handed back the matches. “Good morning +t’you.” And lightly touching his horse with the spur, he passed on.</p> + +<p>Disregarding Scarlett’s nod of recognition, Zahn followed the +leader, without so much as a glance at the man whom he hated as +his supposed supplanter in the affections of the beautiful Jewess.</p> + +<p>The pack-horse and its leader, a stoutly-built man, went heavily +by, and the rear-guard let his horse drink at the stream, but he was +a man filled with the importance of his office, and to Jack’s greeting +he replied merely with a mechanical nod, as though he would say, +“Don’t speak to me: I’m exceedingly intent upon conveying this gold +to Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>“Strange crowd,” mused Jack, as the last hoof disappeared round +the upper bend of the track; “riding loose in the saddle, their arms +slung behind them. If I’d had a gun, I could have shot the first man +before he saw me. Robbing escorts can’t be such a difficult matter +as is supposed. If Zahn had been civil I’d have used the opportunity +to warn him of the queer gang I met at the ford. They may be +simple diggers—they look like it—but the man who whips out a pistol +on the least provocation is to be guarded against when you’re in charge +of five or six thousand ounces of gold.”</p> + +<p>With these thoughts Jack mounted his horse, and rode away. +The winding track at length led him into a deep valley, down which +flowed a broad river whose glistening waters rippled laughingly over +a shallow bed of grey boulders. Along its banks grew mighty pines, +the <em>rimu</em>, the <em>totara</em>, and the broad-spreading black-birch, their trunks +hidden in dense undergrowth and a tangle of creepers; while here +and there beside the sparkling waters grew thick clumps of bright +green tree-ferns.</p> + +<p>But the track was now flat and straight, and putting his horse +into a trot Scarlett covered the ground rapidly. After some ten miles +of riding, he came to a ford where the track crossed the river, and +entered rougher country. As he drew rein at the verge of the +water to let his horse drink, he noticed that the heavens had suddenly +become dark. Looking at the strip of sky revealed by the treeless +stretch above the waters, he saw a phenomenon in the upper air. +Across the tranquil blue expanse advanced a mighty thunder-cloud; +its unbroken face approaching at immense speed, though not a leaf of +the forest stirred, nor the frond of a fern moved. It was like the +oncoming of a mighty army, sweeping across the still country, and +leaving devastation in its track. Then the low rumble of the thunder, +like the sound of cannon in the distant hills, heralded the commencement +of the storm. A flash broke from the inky black cloud, and +simultaneously a deafening thunder-clap burst upon the solitary +traveller. Then followed an ominous silence, broken by the rushing +of the wind among the tree-tops, and the high heads of the forest +giants bent before the storm. The rain came down in a deluge, and +shut from sight both hill and valley; so that instead of wandering +through a leafy paradise, where birds sang and the sunshine glittered +on a million leaves, Scarlett groped his way as in a maze, dark +and impenetrable; his horse dejected, himself drenched and cold.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>In Tresco’s Cave.</strong></p> + + +<p>Tresco stood in his dark, dank cavern, and meditated upon the +loneliness of life.</p> + +<p>He was naturally a sociable man, and loved the company of his +fellows, but here he was living a hermit’s existence, shut up in the +bowels of the earth, with no better associates than the clammy stalactites +which constantly dripped water upon the white, calcareous floors.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere was so cold that it chilled the marrow of the +goldsmith’s bones, and to render habitable the inner recess where he +lived he was forced to keep a fire perpetually burning. To do this +it was necessary for him to sally into the daylight, in order that he +might collect firewood, of which there was in the neighbourhood of +the cave an abundant supply.</p> + +<p>Groping his way slowly through the winding passage, every twist +and turn of which he knew in the dark, Benjamin passed into the +lofty cavern which he had named the Cathedral, where the stalactites +and stalagmites, meeting, had formed huge columns, which seemed +to support the great domed roof overhead. This was a place which +Tresco was never tired of admiring. “A temple built without hands,” +he said, as he held aloft his candle, and viewed the snow-white pillars +which stood on either side of what he named the Nave.</p> + +<p>“What a place to preach in.” He who has no companions must +needs talk to himself if he would hear the human voice. “Here, now, +a man <em>could</em> expatiate on the work of the Creator, but his sermon +would have to be within the fifteen minutes’ limit, or his congregation +would catch their death of cold. ‘Dearly beloved brethren, the words +of my text are illustrated by the house in which we are assembled.’” +His voice filled the Nave, and reverberated down the aisles. “‘Here +you have the real thing, built by the Master Builder, Nature, for the +use of the Cave Man, and preserved for all time. How wonderful are +the works of Creation, how exquisite the details. You have heard +of the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian columns, and of the beauties +of Greek architecture, but compare these white, symmetrical piers, +raised in one solid piece, without join or crevice. Observe yonder +alabaster gallery where the organ swells its harmonious tones; observe +the vestry, where the preacher dons his sacerdotal garb—they +are perfect. But did I hear a lady sneeze? Alas! Nature forgot the +hot-air pipes; the Cathedral, I admit, strikes a little chilly. Therefore +I dismiss you, my brethren, lest you should catch pleurisy, or go +into galloping consumption.’”</p> + +<p>He finished with a laugh, and then passed into the small entrance-cave, +which he denominated facetiously the Church Porch. Here he +blew out his candle, which he placed on a rock, and emerged from his +hiding-place.</p> + +<p>He had burst from the restful, if cold, comfort of his cave upon +the warring elements. Peal after peal of thunder rolled along the +wooded slopes of the rugged range; fierce flashes of lightning pierced +the gloom of the dark valley below, and from the black thunder-cloud +overhead there poured a torrent of rain which made the goldsmith +think of the Deluge.</p> + +<p>“Ha!” he exclaimed, as he stood in the entrance of his damp den, +“there are worse places than my cave after all. But what I want is +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +firewood. Lord! that flash almost blinded me. Rumble—grumble—tumble—crash—bang! +Go it; never mind <em>me</em>. You aren’t frightening +me worth tuppence. I rather like a little electricity and <em>aqua +pura</em>.” In answer there was a dazzling flash, followed by a terrific +clap of thunder which seemed to burst almost above Benjamin’s head. +“All right, if you insist—I’ll go. Sorry I obtruded ... Good afternoon.”</p> + +<p>He retreated into the cave, took up his candle, which he relighted, +saying to himself, “I’ll go and explore that passage behind the Organ +Loft, and see if it leads to the outer world. In case I get shut in +here, like a rat in a hole, it’s just as well for me to know my burrow +thoroughly.”</p> + +<p>Groping his way up a slippery ascent where his feet continually +stumbled over the uneven surface of the encrusted floor, he climbed +to the Organ Loft, where, screened behind a delicate, white tracery +which hung from roof to floor of the gallery and assumed the shape +of an organ, pipes and panels complete, he could see his candle’s flame +shoot long fingers of light into the vast Nave below.</p> + +<p>However, he spent but little time in contemplation of the weird +scene, but turning sharply to the right he followed a narrow, winding +passage which led into the heart of the limestone mountain. His +progress was both slow and difficult, for the encrusting carbonate had, +in many places, all but filled up the passage, and, in many others, +the floor was so broken as to make it almost impossible for him to +press onwards. Now he would squeeze himself between the converging +sides of the passage, now he would crawl on hands and knees through +a hole which would barely receive his shoulders; and thus, sweating, +panting, bruised, and even bleeding where his hands and arms had +been grazed by rasping and projecting rocks, he at length sat down +to rest in a place where the tunnel broadened into a small chamber. +How far he had pushed his way into the bowels of the earth he could +not tell, neither was he thoughtful of the distance. What he was +looking and hoping for, was a gleam of light ahead, but whenever +he blew out his candle the inky blackness was so intense as to be +painful to his eyes.</p> + +<p>“My God! Supposing a man got in here, and couldn’t get back? +Suppose I got stuck between two rocks?—I’d have to stop here till +I grew thin enough to squeeze out.”</p> + +<p>Quickly he re-lit his candle.</p> + +<p>“That’s better,” he exclaimed. “There is after all some company +in a lighted candle. We’ll now go on; we’ll press forward; we’ll see +whither this intricate path leadeth. ‘Vorwarts’ is the word: no turning +back till the goal is reached.”</p> + +<p>He crept through a low aperture, and with difficulty he rose +to his feet; a few steps further on he stumbled; the candle fell from +his hand, and dropped, and dropped, and dropped, in fact he never +heard it reach the bottom.</p> + +<p>Feeling in his pocket for his matches as he lay prone, he struck +a light, and held the burning taper beyond him as far as he could +reach. All that he saw was a dark and horrible abyss. He struck +another match with the same result. He seized a piece of loose rock, +rolled it over the edge, and waited for the sound of its lodgment at +the bottom. He heard it bumping as it fell, but its falling seemed +interminable, till at length the sound of its passage to the nether +regions died away in sheer depth.</p> + +<p>Tresco drew a long breath.</p> + +<p>“Never,” he said, “never, in the course of his two score years +and ten has Benjamin been so near Hades. The best thing he can +do is to ‘git,’ deliberately and with circumspection. And the candle +has gone: happy candle to preserve the life of such a man as B.T.”</p> + +<p>Slowly and with the utmost caution he crept backwards from the +horrible pit. But his supply of matches was scanty, and often he +bumped his head against the ceiling, and often he tripped and fell, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +till before long there was not a part of his portly person that was +free from pain. Yet still he struggled on, for he realised that his +life depended on his extricating himself from the terrible labyrinth +in which he was entangled. He struck match after match, till his +stock was expended, and then, panting, weary, and sore, he clenched +his teeth and battled onward. It seemed miles to the end of the +passage. He imagined that he had got into some new tunnel, the +opening of which he had passed unwittingly when he crept into the +trap; and to the natural dread of his situation was added the horrible +fear that he was lost in the bowels of the earth.</p> + +<p>And then, when his strength and nerve had all but given out, +came deliverance. Before him he saw a faint glimmer of light, +which grew brighter and brighter as he pressed painfully forward, +and ere he knew that he was safe he found himself in the gallery +behind the organ loft.</p> + +<p>But what was the brilliant light that filled the nave of the +Cathedral? What was the sound he heard? It was the sound of +men’s voices.</p> + +<p>Sitting round a fire, whose red flames illumined the white walls +of the grotto, were four men, who talked loudly as they dried their +wet garments before the blaze.</p> + +<p>Tresco crept to the trellis-work of the gallery, and peered down +upon the scene. In the shifting light which the unsteady flames +threw across the great cave below he could hardly distinguish one +man from another, except where facing the ruddy light the features +of this intruder or of that reflected the fierce glow.</p> + +<p>“I had to chiv the fat bloke, an’ he squealed like a pig when I +jabbed ’im.” The speaker was sitting cross-legged with his back +towards Tresco, and was wiping the blade of a big butcher’s knife.</p> + +<p>“My man died coughing,” said another. “’E coughed as ’e sat +like a trussed fowl, an’ when I ‘squeezed’ ’im, ’e just give one larst +little cough an’ pegged out quite pleasant, like droppin’ orf to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“It’s been a bloody mess,” remarked a third speaker. “There’s +Garstang there, a mass of blood all over his shirt, and there’s the +two men that was shot; any’ow you like to look at it, it’s an unworkmanlike +job. All four of ’em should ha’ been ‘squeezed’—bullets make +reports and blood’s messy.”</p> + +<p>“Garn! Whatyer givin’ us, Dolly?” said the youngest member +of the gang. “Didn’t you shoot your own man—an’ on the track, +too? I don’t see what you’ve got to growl at. We’ve got the gold—what +more do you want?”</p> + +<p>“I shot the unfortunate man, your Honour, firstly because he +was a constable, and secondly because he was givin’ trouble, your +Honour. But I prefer to do these things professionally.” Dolphin’s +mock seriousness tickled his hearers, and they laughed. “But, joking +apart,” he said, “after all the experience we’ve had, to go and turn +that mountain-side into a butcher’s shambles is nothin’ short of disgraceful. +They all ought to’ve been ‘squeezed,’ an’ have died as quiet +as mice, without a drop of blood on ’em.”</p> + +<p>“All food for worms; all lying in the howling wilderness, where +they’ll stop till kingdom come. What’s the use of worrying? Hand +over that bag of gold, Garstang, an’ let’s have a look. I’ve got an +awful weakness for nuggets.”</p> + +<p>A blanket was spread on the floor of the cavern, and upon this +were heaped bank-notes and sovereigns and silver that glittered in +the fire-light.</p> + +<p>The four men gathered round, and the leader of the gang divided +the money into four lots.</p> + +<p>“Here’s some of the gold.” The shrill-voiced young man handed +a small but heavy bag to Dolphin. “There’s stacks more.”</p> + +<p>“One thing at a time, William,” said the leader. “First, we’ll +divide the money, then the gold, which won’t be so easy, as we’ve +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +got no scales. Here, take your cash, and count it. I make it £157 +7s. apiece.” From a heap of bundles which lay a few yards off he +drew forward a tent-fly, and then he carried into the light of the +fire a number of small but heavy bags, one by one, and placed them +on the canvas.</p> + +<p>“My lot’s only £147 7s.,” said a deep and husky voice.</p> + +<p>“You must ha’ made a mistake, Garstang,” said Dolphin. “Count +it again.”</p> + +<p>While the hulking, wry-faced robber bent to the task, the leader +began to empty the contents of the bags upon the tent-fly.</p> + +<p>Peering through the tracery of the Organ Gallery, Tresco looked +down upon the scene with wonder and something akin to envy. There, +on the white piece of folded canvas, he could see dull yellow heaps, +which, even in the uncertain light of the fire, he recognised as gold.</p> + +<p>At first, half-stunned by the presence of the strangers, he was +at a loss to determine their character, but from their conversation +and the display of such ill-gotten riches, he quickly grasped the fact +that they were greater criminals than himself. He saw their firearms +lying about; he heard their disjointed talk, interlarded with hilarious +oaths; he saw them stooping over the heaps of gold, and to his +astonished senses it was plain that a robbery on a gigantic scale +had been committed.</p> + +<p>On one side of the fire the wet and steaming garments of the +murderers were hung on convenient stalagmites to dry; upon the +other side of the red blaze the four men, dressed in strange motley, +gleaned from their “swags,” wrangled over the division of the plunder.</p> + +<p>“There’s only a hundred-an’-forty-seven quid in my lot, I tell +yer!” Garstang’s rasping voice could be plainly heard above the +others. “Count it yerself.”</p> + +<p>“Count it, Dolly, an’ shut his crooked mouth.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take his word for it,” said the leader. “We can make it +good to you, Garstang, when we get to town and sell some gold. Now +listen, all of you. I’m going to divide the biggest haul we’ve ever +made, or are likely to make.”</p> + +<p>“Listen, blokes,” interrupted Sweet William, with an oath. “Give +the boss your attention, <em>if</em> you please.”</p> + +<p>Tresco glued his eye tighter to the aperture through which he +peered. There lay the dull, yellow gold—if only he could but scare +the robbers away, the prize would be his own. He rose on one knee +to get a better view, but as he did so his toe dislodged a loose piece +of stone, which tumbled noisily down the gallery steps, the sound of +its falling re-echoing through the spacious cavern.</p> + +<p>In a moment the robbers were thrown into a state of perturbation. +Seizing their arms, they glanced wildly around, and stood on +their defence.</p> + +<p>But all was hushed and still.</p> + +<p>“Go forward, Garstang, and search the cave,” ordered the leader +in a voice of authority.</p> + +<p>With a firebrand in one hand and a revolver in the other, the +big, burly man crept forward; his mates alert to fire over him at +any object he might discover. His search was haphazard, and his +feet were naturally uncertain among the debris which had accumulated +on the floor of the cavern.</p> + +<p>Skirting the grotto’s edge, he examined the inky shadows that lay +behind pillar and projection, till he came to the stairs which led +to the Organ Gallery.</p> + +<p>Tresco, filled with an unspeakable dread, contemplated a retreat +down the passage he had lately explored, where he might be driven +by the murderers over the abyssmal depth which he had failed +to fathom, when suddenly the man with the torch tripped, fell, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +the flame of his firebrand disappeared in a shower of sparks. With +an oath the prostrate man gathered up his bruised limbs, and by the +aid of the flickering fire-light he groped his way back to his fellows, +but not before he had placed his ear to the damp floor and had +listened for the sound of intruders.</p> + +<p>“There’s nobody,” he said, when he reached his mates. “The row +was only a blanky spike that fell from the roof an’ broke itself. The +ground’s covered with ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Come on, then,” said Sweet William; “let’s finish our business.”</p> + +<p>They gathered again round the treasure.</p> + +<p>“You see, I have arranged it in two heaps,” said Dolphin—“nuggets +in one, gold-dust in the other. I propose to measure out +the dust first.”</p> + +<p>Each man had provided himself with one of the leather bags +which had originally held the gold, and their leader filled a pint +pannikin with gold-dust. “That’s one,” he said, lifting it heavily. +“That’s for you, old crooked chops.” And he emptied the measure +into Garstang’s bag.</p> + +<p>“Two.” He emptied a pannikinful of gold into Carnac’s bag.</p> + +<p>“Three.” Sweet William received a like measure.</p> + +<p>“Four.” Dolphin helped himself.</p> + +<p>“That makes four pints of gold,” he said. “What d’you say, +mates, will she go round another turn?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Carnac, “try a half-pint all round.”</p> + +<p>Dolphin fetched a smaller pannikin from the swags, and the division +of the gold continued.</p> + +<p>To share the nuggets equally was a difficult matter, and a good +deal of wrangling took place in consequence. This, however, was +quieted by the simple expedient of tossing a coin for disputed pieces +of gold. The biggest nuggets being thus disposed of, the smaller +ones were measured in the half-pint pot, till at length the envious eyes +of the goldsmith saw the last measureful disappear into its owner’s +bag.</p> + +<p>This exceedingly delicate matter being settled, the bushrangers +sat round the fire, drank tea which they brewed in a black “billy,” +lit their pipes, and—as is invariably the case with a gang of thieves—enacted +again the awful drama in which they had lately played their +horrible parts.</p> + +<p>Shivering on the damp floor of the dripping gallery, Tresco +strained his ears to hear every diabolical detail of the conversation.</p> + +<p>“Garstang, old man, Dolly’s right; you’d better see to that shirt +of yours. It looks as if you’d killed a pig in it.”</p> + +<p>“The chap I chiv’d was as fat as a pig, anyway,” said the +crooked-mouthed murderer, as he attempted to rub out the guilty +stains with a dirty piece of rag. “The blood spurted all over me as +soon as I pulled out the knife.”</p> + +<p>“Take it off, man; it looks as bad as a slaughterman’s,” said the +leader of the gang. “Throw it in the fire.”</p> + +<p>“I consider I did my man beautifully,” said Carnac. “I told +him to say his prayers, and while he knelt I just shot him behind +the ear. Now, I call that a very pretty method of dying—no +struggling, no fuss, no argument, simply a quick departure in an +odour of sanctity.” And the gentlemanly murderer laughed quietly +and contentedly.</p> + +<p>“The blanky banker went ratty when he saw my gun,” said +Sweet William. “I had to fair yank ’im through the supple-jacks +an’ lawyers. It was something horrid—it made my arm ache. At +larst I says, ‘Look ’ere, are you goin’ to walk, or am I to shoot you?’ +An’ he kept on sayin’, ‘All the gold is on the horse; don’t take it all, +please,’ till I felt sick. ‘Up you git,’ I says, an’ I dragged ’im through +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +the bush, and then bli’me if ’e didn’t sit down an’ cough an’ cry. +Such dam’ foolishness made me lose patience. I just ‘squeezed’ ’im +where he sat.”</p> + +<p>“My bloke was the devil to die,” said Garstang. “First I shot +him one way, then I shot him another; an’ at larst I had to chiv ’im +with the knife, though it was the larst thing I wanted to do.”</p> + +<p>“They should all have been ‘squeezed,’” said Dolphin, “and +nothing’s easier if you’ve got the knack—noiseless, bloodless, traceless, +the only scientific way of doin’ the work.”</p> + +<p>“All of which you’ve said before, Dolly.” Sweet William rose +and groped his way to the mouth of the cave.</p> + +<p>“It’s the blamed horses that bother me,” said Carnac. “We left +their carcases too near the track. We should have taken them a mile +or more along, and have shoved them over a precipice, down which +they might have fallen by accident in the storm. As it is, they’ll be +putrid in a fortnight, and make the track impassable.”</p> + +<p>“By which time,” said Dolphin, “we shall be out of reach.”</p> + +<p>“What about the Bank?” Garstang asked the question almost +insolently. “I thought you ’ad such wonderful plans of yer own.”</p> + +<p>“The thing’s easy enough,” retorted Dolphin, “but the question +is whether it’s worth while. We’ve made a haul to be proud of; never +did men have a better streak o’ luck. We’ve taken hundreds of ounces +from a strong escort, which we stopped at the right place, just in +the right way, so that they couldn’t so much as fire a shot. It would +be a crying shame to spoil such a job by bein’ trapped over a paltry +wooden Bank.”</p> + +<p>“Trapped be sugared!” said Garstang.</p> + +<p>“The inference ’ll be”—Sweet William had returned from the +cave’s mouth, and took up the conversation where he left it—“everybody +with any sense’ll say the escort an’ the banker made orf with +the gold—nothin’ but blood’ounds could ever find their bodies.”</p> + +<p>“It’s bin a wonderful time,” said Dolphin, “but we can’t expect +such luck to foller us around like a poodle-dog.”</p> + +<p>“I’m for havin’ a slap at the Bank, anyway,” growled Garstang.</p> + +<p>“Imagine the effect upon the public mind—the robbery of an +escort and a bank, both in one week!” This was how the gentlemanly +Carnac regarded the question. “It’d be a record. We’d make a name +that wouldn’t easily be forgotten. <em>I’m</em> for trying.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s stopped raining, blokes,” said Sweet William, “but +outside it’s dark enough to please an owl. If we want to get into +Timber Town without bein’ seen, now’s the time to start.” So saying, +he picked up his “swag,” which he hitched upon his back.</p> + +<p>The other men rose, one by one, and shouldered their packs, in +which each man carried his gold.</p> + +<p>With much lumbering, stumbling, and swearing, the murderers +slowly departed, groping their way to the mouth of the cave by the +light of the fire, which they left burning.</p> + +<p>Tresco waited till the last sound of their voices had died away, +then he stretched his cramped, benumbed limbs, heaved a deep sigh +of relief, and rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“My God, what monsters!” He spoke under his breath, for fear +that even the walls should hear him. “If they had found me they’d +have thought as little of cutting my throat as of killing a mosquito. +If ever I thanked God in my life—well, well—every nerve of me is +trembling. That’s the reaction. I must warm myself, and have a +bite of food.”</p> + +<p>After carefully scattering the murderers’ fire, he groped his way +to his inner cell, and there he made his best endeavours to restore +his equanimity with warmth, food, and drink.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Perturbations of the Bank Manager.</strong></p> + + +<p>The windows of the Kangaroo Bank were ablaze with light, +although the town clock had struck eleven. It was the dolorous +hour when the landlord of The Lucky Digger, obliged by relentless +law, reluctantly turned into the street the topers and diggers who +filled his bar.</p> + +<p>Bare-headed, the nails of his right hand picking nervously at +the fingers of his left, the manager of the Bank emerged from a +side-door. He glanced up the dark street towards the great mountains +which loomed darkly in the Cimmerian gloom.</p> + +<p>“Dear me, dear me,” murmured he to himself, “he is very late. +What can have kept him?” He glanced down the street, and saw +the small crowd wending its way from the hostelry. “It was really +a most dreadful storm, the most dreadful thunderstorm I ever remember.” +His eye marked where the light from the expansive +windows of the Bank illumined the wet asphalt pavement. “Landslips +frequently occur on newly made tracks, especially after heavy +rain. It’s a great risk, a grave risk, this transporting of gold from +one place to another.”</p> + +<p>“’Evenin’, boss. Just a little cheque for twenty quid. I’ll take +it in notes.”</p> + +<p>The men from The Lucky Digger had paused before the brilliantly +lighted building.</p> + +<p>“Give him a chance.... Let him explain.... Carn’t +you see there’s a run on the Bank.”</p> + +<p>“Looks bad.... Clerks in the street.... All lighted +up at this time o’ night.... No money left.”</p> + +<p>“Say, boss, have they bin an’ collared the big safe? Do you +want assistance?”</p> + +<p>The Manager turned to take refuge in the Bank, but his tormentors +were relentless.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, mate—you’re in trouble. Confide in us. If the books +won’t balance, what matter? Don’t let that disturb your peace of +mind. Come and have a drink.... Take a hand at poker.... First +tent over the bridge, right-hand side.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no go, boys. He’s narked because he knows we want an +overdraft. Let ’im go and count his cash.”</p> + +<p>The Manager pulled himself free from the roisterers and +escaped into the Bank by the side door, and the diggers continued +noisily on their way.</p> + +<p>The lights of the Bank suddenly went out, and the Manager, +after carefully locking the door behind him, crossed over the street +to the livery stables, where a light burned during the greater part +of the night. In a little box of a room, where harness hung on +all the walls, there reclined on a bare and dusty couch a red-faced +man, whose hair looked as if it had been closely cropped with a pair +of horse-clippers. When he caught sight of the banker, he sat up +and exclaimed, “Good God, Mr. Tomkinson! Ain’t you in bed?”</p> + +<p>“It’s this gold-escort, Manning—it was due at six o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Look here.” The stable-keeper rose from his seat, placed his +hand lovingly on a trace which hung limply on the wall. “Don’t +I run the coach to Beaver Town?—and I guess a coach is a more +ticklish thing to run than a gold-escort. Lord bless your soul, isn’t +every coach supposed to arrive before dark? But they don’t. ‘The +road was slippy with frost—I had to come along easy,’ the driver’ll +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +say. Or it’ll be, ‘I got stuck up by a fresh in the Brown River.’ +That’s it. I know. But they always arrive, sometime or other. I’ll +bet you a fiver—one of your own, if you like—that the rivers are +in flood, and your people can’t get across. Same with the Beaver +Town coach. She was due at six o’clock, and here’ve I been drowsing +like a more-pork on this couch, when I might have been in bed. +An’ to bed I go. If she comes in to-night, the driver can darn +well stable the ’orses himself. Good night.”</p> + +<p>This was a view of the question that had not occurred to Mr. +Tomkinson, but he felt he must confer with the Sergeant of Police.</p> + +<p>The lock-up was situated in a by-street not far from the centre +of the town. The Sergeant was sitting at a desk, and reading the +entries in a big book. His peaked shako lay in front of him, and +he smoked a cigar as he pored over his book.</p> + +<p>He said nothing, he barely moved, when the banker entered; +but his frank face, in which a pair of blue eyes stood well apart, +lighted up with interest and attention as Mr. Tomkinson told his tale. +When the narrative was ended, he said quietly, “Yes, they may be +weather-bound. Did you have a clear understanding that the gold +was to be brought in to-day?”</p> + +<p>“It was perfectly understood.”</p> + +<p>“How much gold did you say there was?”</p> + +<p>“From fifteen to twenty thousand pounds’ worth—it depends +on how much the agent has bought.”</p> + +<p>“A lot of money, sir; quite a nice little fortune. It must be +seen to. I’ll tell you what I will do. Two mounted constables shall +go out at daylight, and I guarantee that if the escort is to be found, +<em>they</em> will find it.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Tomkinson. “I think it ought to be done. +You will send them out first thing in the morning? Thank you. +Good night.”</p> + +<p>As the banker turned to go, the Sergeant rose.</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”</p> + +<p>They walked contemplatively side by side till they reached the +main street, where a horseman stood, hammering at Manning’s +stable-gate.</p> + +<p>“Nobody in?” said the Sergeant. “You had better walk inside, +and put the horse up yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I happen to know that the owner has gone to bed,” said Tomkinson.</p> + +<p>The horseman passed through the gateway, and was about to +lead his sweating mount into the stables, when the Sergeant stopped +him.</p> + +<p>“Which way have you come to-day?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“From Bush Robin Creek,” replied the traveller.</p> + +<p>“You have ridden right through since morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Did you overtake some men with a pack-horse?”</p> + +<p>“No. I passed Mr. Scarlett, after the thunderstorm came on. +That was on the other side of the ranges.”</p> + +<p>“How did you find the rivers? Fordable?”</p> + +<p>“They were all right, except that on this side of the range they +had begun to rise.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the men we are expecting,” said the nervous banker, +“took shelter in the bush when the storm came on. You may have +passed without seeing them.”</p> + +<p>“Who are the parties you are expecting?” asked the traveller.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Zahn, the agent of the Kangaroo Bank, was on the road +to-day with a considerable quantity of gold,” replied the Sergeant.</p> + +<p>“You mean the gold-escort,” said the traveller. “It left about +three hours before I did.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know Mr. Zahn?” asked the Sergeant.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +“I do. I’ve sold gold to him.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take your name, if you please,” said the Sergeant, producing +his pocket-book.</p> + +<p>“Rooker, Thomas Samuel Rooker,” said the traveller.</p> + +<p>“Where are you to be found?”</p> + +<p>“At The Lucky Digger.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said the Sergeant, as he closed his book with a +snap and put it in his pocket. “Good night.”</p> + +<p>“Good night,” said the traveller, as he led his horse into the +stable. “If I can be of any use, send for me in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“It’s pretty certain that this man never saw them,” said the +Sergeant, “therefore they were not on the road when he passed them. +They must have been, as you say, in the bush. There is plenty of +hope yet, sir, but I should advise you to get up pretty early to-morrow +morning, if you want to see my mounted men start. Good night.”</p> + +<p>With a gloomy response, Mr. Tomkinson turned his steps towards +the Bank, there to toss on a sleepless bed till morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Quietude of Timber Town Is Disturbed.</strong></p> + + +<p>The crowd which had gathered in front of the verandah of the +Post Office of Timber Town was made up, as is not uncommon with +crowds, of all sorts and conditions of men. There were diggers dressed +in the rough clothes suitable to their calling and broad-brimmed felt +hats; tradesmen, fat with soft living, and dressed each according +to his taste; farmers, in ready-made store-clothes and straw hats; +women, neatly, if plainly, dressed as suited the early hour of the day; +a few gaily-dressed girls, and a multitude of boys.</p> + +<p>Nailed to the wooden wall of the building was a poster, printed +with big head-lines, upon which the interest of all present was +centred.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p class="center">NOTICE.</p> + +<p class="center">FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD!!!</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 4em; text-indent: -2.5em; margin-right: 2em;"> +WHEREAS persons of the names of ISAAC ZAHN, PETER + HEAFY, WILLIAM JOHNSON, and JAMES KETTLE + have mysteriously disappeared; AND WHEREAS it is supposed + that they have been murdered on the road between + Bush Robin Creek and Timber Town; AND WHEREAS, + further, they had in their custody at the time a considerable + quantity of gold, the property of the Kangaroo Bank;</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 4em; text-indent: -2.5em; margin-right: 2em;"> +THIS IS TO NOTIFY that should those persons, or any of + them, have been murdered, a reward of FIVE HUNDRED + POUNDS (£500) will be given to any person who shall give + information that will lead to the conviction of the murderers; + AND A LIKE REWARD will be given to any person who + shall give such information as shall lead to the restoration + of the stolen gold to its lawful owners.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">(Signed)</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">WILLIAM</span> TOMKIN TOMKINSON,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">Manager,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">Kangaroo Bank,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">Timber Town.</span></p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +“Isaac Zahn? He was the gold-buying clerk. I knew ’im well. +An’ if you ask me, I think I know who put ’im away.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right, John. D’you call to mind that long-legged toff +at The Lucky Digger?”</p> + +<p>“I do. ’E caught Zahn a lick under the jaw, an’ kicked ’im +into the street. I seen ’im do it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the bloke.”</p> + +<p>“Hi! Higgins. Here, old man. D’you want five hundred +pounds?”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t partic’lar, George—I don’t know the man’s name.”</p> + +<p>“But you saw that bit of a scrap in The Lucky Digger, between +one of these parties as is murdered and the toff from the Old +Country.”</p> + +<p>“I was in the bar.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there was very bad blood between them—you see that? +And I heard the toff tell Zahn that the next time ’e saw ’im he’d +about stiffen ’im. I heard it, or words to that effect. Now, I want +you to bear witness that what I say is true.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I remember the time. You mean Mr. Scarlett, the +man who discovered the field.”</p> + +<p>“There’s wheels within wheels, my boy. They were rivals for +the same girl. She jilted young Zahn when this new man took up +the running. Bad blood, very bad blood, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“But is he dead? Has there been a murder at all? Collusion, +sir, collusion. Suppose the escort quietly appropriated the gold and +effaced themselves, they’d be rich men for life, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right, Mr. Ferrars. Until the bodies are found, sir, +there is no reason to believe there has been murder.”</p> + +<p>At this moment the local bellman appeared on the scene, and +stopped conversation with the din of his bell. Subsequently, after +the manner of his kind, and in a thin nasal voice, he proclaimed +as follows:—“Five hundred pound reward—Five hundred pound reward.—It +being believed—that a foul murder has been committed—on +the persons of—Isaac Zahn, Peter Heafy, William Johnson, James +Kettle—citizens of Timber Town—a search-party will be formed—under +the leadership of Mr. Charles Caxton—volunteers will be enrolled +at the Town Hall—a large reward being offered—for the +apprehension of the murderers—Five hundred pound—Five hundred +pound!”</p> + +<p>He then tucked his bell under his arm and walked off, just as +unconcernedly as if he were advertising an auction-sale.</p> + +<p>By this time a crowd of two or three hundred people had +assembled. A chair was brought from The Lucky Digger, and upon +this a stout man clambered to address the people. But what with his +vehemence and gesticulations, and what with the smallness of his +platform, he stepped to the ground several times in the course of +his speech; therefore a lorry, a four-wheeled vehicle not unlike +a tea-tray upon four wheels, was brought, and while the orator held +forth effusively from his new rostrum, the patient horse stood between +the shafts, with drooping head.</p> + +<p>This pompous person was succeeded by a tall, upright man, +with the bearing of a Viking and the voice of a clarion. His speech +was short and to the point. If he had to go alone, he would search +for the missing men; but he asked for help. “I am a surveyor,” +he said. “I knew none of these men who are lost or murdered, +but I appeal to those of you who are diggers to come forward and +help. I appeal to the townsfolk who knew young Zahn to rally +round me in searching for their friend. I appeal for funds, since +the work cannot be done without expense; and at the conclusion of +this meeting I shall enrol volunteers in the Town Hall.”</p> + +<p>He stood down, and Mr. Crewe rose to address the crowd, which +had now assumed such proportions that it stretched from pavement +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +to pavement of the broad street. All the shops were closed, and +people were flocking from far and wide to the centre of the town.</p> + +<p>“Men of Timber Town,” said Mr. Crewe, “I’m not so young +as I was, or I would be the first to go in search of these missing +men. My days as a bushman are over, I fear; but I shall have much +pleasure in giving £20 to the expenses of the search-party. All I ask +is that there be no more talking, but prompt action. These men +may be tied to trees in the bush; they may be starving to death +while we talk here. Therefore let us unite in helping the searchers +to get away without delay.”</p> + +<p>A movement was now made towards the Town Hall, and while +the volunteers of the search-party were being enrolled two committees +of citizens were being formed in the Town Clerk’s office—the +one to finance, and the other to equip, the expedition.</p> + +<p>While these things were going forward, there stood apart from +the crowd four men, who conversed in low voices.</p> + +<p>“It’s about time, mates, we got a bend on.”</p> + +<p>“Dolly, you make me tired. I ask you, was there ever such a +chance. All the traps in the town will be searching for these unfortunate +missin’ men. We’ll have things all our own way, an’ you +ask us to ‘git.’”</p> + +<p>“’Strewth, Garstang, you’re a glutton. S’far’s I’m concerned, +I’ve got as much as I can carry. I don’t want no more.”</p> + +<p>The four comrades in crime had completely changed their appearance. +They were dressed in new, ready-made suits, and wore +brand-new hats, besides which they had shaved their faces in such +a manner as to make them hardly recognisable.</p> + +<p>Dolphin, who, besides parting with his luxuriant whiskers and +moustache, had shaved off his eyebrows, remarked, with the air of +a man in deep thought, “But there’s no steamer leaving port for two +days—I forgot that. It seems we’ll have to stay that long, at any +rate.”</p> + +<p>“And I can’t bear bein’ idle—it distresses me,” said Sweet William.</p> + +<p>“This’ll be the last place where they’ll look for us,” remarked +Carnac. “You take it from me, they’ll search the diggings first.”</p> + +<p>“When they’ve found the unfortunate men, they’ll be rampin’ +mad to catch the perpetrators.” This from Dolphin.</p> + +<p>A rough, bluff, good-natured digger pushed his way into the +middle of the group. “Come on, mates,” he said; “put your names +down for a fiver each. It’s got to be done.” And seizing Garstang +and Sweet William, he pulled them towards the Town Hall.</p> + +<p>“G’arn! Let go!” snarled Garstang.</p> + +<p>“Whatyer givin’ us?” exclaimed William, as she shook himself +free. “The bloke’s fair ratty.”</p> + +<p>“Here! Hi!” Dolphin called to the enthusiastic stranger. +“What’s all this about missing men? What’s all the fuss about?—as +like as not the men are gone prospecting in the bush.”</p> + +<p>“A gold-buyer with 5000 oz. of gold doesn’t go prospecting,” replied +the digger. “Come and read the notice, man.”</p> + +<p>The four murderers lounged towards the Post Office, and coolly +read the Bank Manager’s placard.</p> + +<p>“They’ve got lost, that’s about the size of it,” said Garstang.</p> + +<p>“Why all this bobbery should be made over a few missin’ men, +beats me,” sneered Dolphin.</p> + +<p>“Whenever there’s a ‘rush’ in Australia, there’s dozens of men git +lost,” said Sweet William, “but nobody takes any notice—it’s the +ordinary thing.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s gold to the value of £20,000 gone too,” said the +enthusiastic stranger. “Wouldn’t you take notice of <em>that</em>?”</p> + +<p>“It’ll turn up,” said Carnac. “They must have lost their way +in the thunderstorm. But you may bet they’re well supplied with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +tucker. Hang it all, they might come into town any minute, and +what fools we’d look then.”</p> + +<p>“P’r’aps their pack-horse got frightened at the lightning and +fell over a precipice. It might, easy.” This was William’s brilliant +suggestion.</p> + +<p>“An’ the men are humpin’ the gold into town theirselves,” said +Garstang. “There ain’t any occasion to worry, that I can see. None +at all, none at all. Come an’ have a drink, mate. I’ll shout for +the crowd.”</p> + +<p>The five men strolled towards The Lucky Digger, through the +door of which they passed into a crowded bar, where, amid excited, +loud-voiced diggers who were expressing their views concerning the +gold-escort’s disappearance, the four murderers were the only quiet +and collected individuals.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Gold League Washes Up.</strong></p> + + +<p>The amalgamated “claims,” worked upon an economical and +extensive scale, had promised from the outset to render enormous +returns to the members of the Gold League.</p> + +<p>Throughout the canvas town which had sprung up on the +diggings, the news that the “toffs” were to divide their profits +had created the widest interest, and in every calico shanty and +in every six-by-eight tent the organising genius of the “field,” Mr. +Jack Scarlett, was the subject of conversation.</p> + +<p>Such topsy-turvy habitations as the stores and dwellings of +Canvas Town never were seen. The main street, if the thoroughfare +where all the business of the mushroom township was transacted could +be dignified with such a name, was a snare to the pedestrian and +an impossibility to vehicles, which, however, were as yet unknown +on the “field.”</p> + +<p>The “Cafe de Paris” possessed no windows in its canvas walls, +and its solitary chimney was an erection of corrugated iron, surmounted +by a tin chimney-pot. “The Golden Reef,” where spirituous +liquors were to be had at exorbitant prices, was of a more palatial +character, as it had a front of painted wood, in which there hung +a real door furnished with a lock, though the sides of the building +were formed of rough logs, taken in their natural state from the +“bush.” The calico structure which bore in large stencilled letters +the name of The Kangaroo Bank, was evidently closed during the +absence of the Manager, for, pinned to the cotton of the front wall, +was a piece of paper, on which was written in pencil the following +notice:—“During the temporary absence of the Manager, customers +of the Bank are requested to leave their gold with Mr. Figgiss, of +the Imperial Dining Rooms, whose receipts will be duly acknowledged +by the Bank. Isaac Zahn, Manager.” Upon reading the notice, +would-be customers of the wealthy institution had only to turn round +in order to see Mr. Figgiss himself standing in the door of his place +of business. He was a tall, red-bearded, pugnacious-looking man, +with an expansive, hairy chest, which was visible beneath the unbuttoned +front of his Crimean shirt. The Imperial Dining Rooms, +if not spacious, were yet remarkable, for upon their calico sides it +was announced in letters of rainbow tints that curries and stews +were always ready, that grilled steaks and chops were to be had on +Tuesdays and Fridays, and roast pork and “duff” on Sundays.</p> + +<p>But further along the street, where tree-stumps still remained +and the pedestrian traversed water-worn ruts which reached to his +knee, the true glory of Canvas Town stood upon a small elevation, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +overlooking the river. This was the office of the Timber Town Gold +League. It was felt by every digger on the “field” that here was +a structure which should serve as a model. Its sides were made of +heavy slabs of wood, which bore marks of the adze and axe; its floor, +raised some four feet from the ground, was of sawn planks—unheard-of +luxury—and in the cellars below were stored the goods of the +affluent company. Approaching the door by a short flight of steps, +admittance was gained to a set of small offices, beyond which lay +a spacious room, which, at the time when the reader is ushered +into it, is filled with bearded men dressed in corduroy, or blue +dungaree, copper-fastened, trousers and flannel shirts; men with +mud on their boots and on their clothes, and an air of ruffianism +pervading them generally. And yet this is the Timber Town Gold +League, the aristocratic members of which are assembled for the +purpose of dividing the proceeds of their first “wash-up.”</p> + +<p>On an upturned whisky-case, before a big table composed of +boards roughly nailed together and resting on trestles, sits the +Manager of the League, Mr. Jack Scarlett, and before him lie the +proceeds of the “wash-up.”</p> + +<p>The room is full of tobacco-smoke, and the hubbub of many +voices drowns the thin voice of the League’s Secretary, who sits +beside the Manager and calls for silence.</p> + +<p>But Jack is on his feet and, above the many voices, roars, +“Order!”</p> + +<p>“Quiet.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down.”</p> + +<p>“Stop that row.”</p> + +<p>“Order for the boss of the League.”</p> + +<p>Before long all is still, and the lucky owners of the gold which +lies in bags upon the table, listen eagerly for the announcement +of the returns.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,”—Scarlett’s face wears a pleasant smile, which betokens +a pleasant duty—“as some of you are aware, the result of our +first wash-up is a record for the colony. It totals 18,000 oz., and +this, at the current price of Bush Robin gold—which I ascertained +in Timber Town during my last visit—gives us a return of +£69,750.”</p> + +<p>Here Jack is interrupted by tremendous cheering.</p> + +<p>“Of this sum,” he continues, when he can get a hearing, “your +Committee suggests the setting aside, for the payment of liabilities +and current expenses, the sum of £9750, which leaves £60,000 to be +divided amongst the members of the League.”</p> + +<p>Upon this announcement being made, an uproar ensues, an +uproar of unrestrained jubilation which shakes the shingle roof, +and the noise of which reaches far down the street of Canvas Town +and across the flats, where clay-stained diggers pause amid their +dirt-heaps to remark in lurid language that the toffs are having +“an almighty spree over their blanky wash-up.”</p> + +<p>“I rise to make a propothition,” says a long, thin, young Gold +Leaguer, with a yellow beard and a slight lisp. “I rise to suggest +that we send down to Reiley’s for all hith bottled beer, and drink +the health of our noble selves.”</p> + +<p>The motion is seconded by every man in the room rising to his +feet and cheering.</p> + +<p>Six stalwart Leaguers immediately go to wait upon the proprietor +of The Golden Reef, and whilst they are transacting their +business their mates sing songs, the choruses of which float through +the open windows over the adjacent country. The dirt-stained +owners of the Hatters’ Folly claim hear the members of the League +asking to be “wrapped up in an old stable jacket,” and those working +in the Four Brothers’ claim learn the truth about “the place where +the old horse died.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +At length the forage-party arrives with the liquor, and there +follows the unholy sound of the drawing of corks.</p> + +<p>By this time all Canvas Town has learnt what business is going +forward in “the Toffs’ Shanty,” and from both sides of the river the +diggers begin to assemble in anticipation of a “spree.” Across the +scarred, disfigured valley, over the mullock-heaps, from every calico +tent, from out of every shaft, from the edge of the dark forest itself, +bearded men, toil-stained but smiling, bent on festivity, collect in +Canvas Town’s one ramshackle street.</p> + +<p>Between the calico shanties and along the miry, uneven ways, +men stand in groups, their conversation all of the luck of “the toffs.” +But around the Office of the Gold League the crowd is greatest, and +the cheers of the members are echoed by the diggers outside.</p> + +<p>Bill the Prospector and Moonlight are on guard at the door, for +though they have no interest in the League’s claims, as owners of the +two richest patches on the field they stand hand-in-glove with the +leaders of that strong combination. Inside, Scarlett has risen to his +feet, amid prolonged cheering.</p> + +<p>“We have not decided yet, gentlemen,” he says, “whether we shall +take our dividends in gold or in cheques; and this causes me to +allude to a most disagreeable matter. It is well known that the +agent of the Kangaroo Bank has been robbed of a considerable +amount of gold and perhaps murdered, on his way between this field +and Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly the room is filled with groans, deep and sepulchral, +which are immediately repeated by the growing crowd outside.</p> + +<p>“Evidently,” continues Jack, “it is not safe for a man to travel +with gold on his person; I therefore wish to propose that payments +be made by cheque, and that all members not absolutely needed on +the claims form themselves into an escort to convey the gold to +Timber Town. And when we adjourn, I suggest that a meeting of +all diggers on the field be called for the purpose of forming a +vigilance committee, for the detection and suppression of crime on +the diggings.”</p> + +<p>He sits down amid renewed cheering. This has barely subsided +and the long, thin young man, who appears to be a person of importance +in the League, has risen to speak, when a considerable disturbance +occurs outside.</p> + +<p>During Scarlett’s speech four mounted constables have wended +their way through the groups of diggers standing in the street. They +dismount in front of the League’s Office, and ascend the steps, at the +top of which they come into violent altercation with Moonlight and +the Prospector. These are immediately ordered in the Queen’s name +to stand aside, and the four blue-coated men walk into the meeting.</p> + +<p>The tall, thin, young man, catching sight of the intruders, pauses +in his speech, and says, “What the deyvil!” but the constables walk +straight to the improvised table, and their leader, laying his hand +on Scarlett’s shoulder, say, “John Richard Scarlett, you are charged +with the murder of Isaac Zahn. I arrest you in the Queen’s name.”</p> + +<p>For half a minute there rests on the assembly a silence that can +be felt. Then there bursts a roar of indignation from fifty throats. +In a moment the constables have closed round their prisoner, and +with drawn revolvers they stand ready to resist interference.</p> + +<p>Not many of “the toffs” are armed, but such as are quickly +draw their weapons, and it only needs a single shot to start a fight +which must end disastrously for the Law, when Scarlett’s voice rings +out, “Stand back, you fellows! For God’s sake, don’t fire! This thing +is a mistake which will be more quickly cleared up before a Magistrate +than by bloodshed.”</p> + +<p>Expostulating, but obedient to his wish, his friends one by one +lower their weapons.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +“<em>I</em> know nothing of a mistake,” says the Sergeant, as he takes +a piece of paper from his pocket. “But here’s the warrant, which +any gentleman present is at liberty to see. We are but carrying out +our duty.”</p> + +<p>The handcuffs are now on Scarlett’s wrists, and his captors lead +him slowly through the crowded room.</p> + +<p>“Let me speak.” Filled with emotion which he can hardly suppress, +Jack’s voice almost seems to choke him. “Let me speak before +you take me away.”</p> + +<p>“Not a word,” retorts the Sergeant. “You shall say all you want +to the Magistrate.”</p> + +<p>“Men,” cries Scarlett, as he is hustled through the door, “I am +innocent, I swear.” But he has no time to say more. He is hurried +down the steps; he is quickly placed on a spare horse; the constables +spring into their saddles, and ere the great concourse of diggers can +grasp what is happening, Jack is conducted at a trot through the +town of canvas, along the track which leads to Timber Town, and is +soon out of sight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Third Time.</strong></p> + + +<p>The flash digger put his elbows on the table, and leered at Gentle +Annie who sat, radiant, at the other side of the board.</p> + +<p>“You must have made quite a pile.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, it’s never wise to tell a woman all you know or all +you’ve got. But I don’t mind telling you this much: I had luck, or +I wouldn’t be able to satisfy <em>your</em> little whims.”</p> + +<p>He put his hand into his breast pocket, and drew out a plush-covered +case.</p> + +<p>“You asked for the biggest diamond in Timber Town, and here +it is.”</p> + +<p>He opened the case, and took out a gold ring, in which was set a +stone, fully a carat-and-a-half in weight. Gentle Annie’s eyes glittered +almost as brightly as the facets of the diamond.</p> + +<p>“Dear little jewels for our dear girls.” The flash digger held up +the brilliant between his finger and thumb. “That bit of carbon cost +me £30.”</p> + +<p>He passed the ring to the girl, who eagerly tried it, first on one +finger, then on another.</p> + +<p>“Lovely!” she exclaimed: then, as the sudden suspicion struck her, +she asked, “You’re sure it’s real?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll be——.” But he restrained himself. “My dear, if it’s +shnein, the bargain’s off.”</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie had risen, and was scratching with the stone the +glass of a picture-frame which held a gaudy chromo-lithograph.</p> + +<p>As she did so, the digger rose, and encircled her waist with his +arm.</p> + +<p>“Well, are you satisfied?”</p> + +<p>“Quite,” she replied, with a laugh. “It bites like a glazier’s +diamond.”</p> + +<p>“Then give me a kiss.”</p> + +<p>The girl made a pretence of trying to get away, but quickly gave +in, and turned her lips to the digger’s hawk-like face, and kissed his +cheek.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” he said; “that’s as it should be. Mind you: I’m +boss here while I stay; I’m the proprietor of the bloomin’ show. All +other blokes must stop outside.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +His arm still encircled her waist, and she, regarding him through +half-closed, indulgent eyes, leaned her weight against him, when a +low cough startled both of them.</p> + +<p>The door slowly opened, and upon the threshold stood a dark +figure which, advancing towards the light, turned into a man, big, +broad, and stern.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said the flash digger, calm, cool, and collected, while +the girl tried to assume a posture of aloofness. “You must get out, +mister. I’m boss of this show. No one’s allowed here without an +invite from me. So, out you go.”</p> + +<p>But, to his astonishment, the intruder, without saying a word, +quietly took a seat, and began to cut himself a pipeful of tobacco +from a black plug which he drew nonchalantly from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Make no mistake,” said the flash digger, striking a dramatic +attitude. “I’m not the man to give an order a second time. Out +you get, or I’ll drill a hole clean through you.”</p> + +<p>“One minute.” The stranger shut the blade of his knife, which +he placed deliberately in his pocket. “One minute. Do me the +kindness to lower that pistol, and stand where I can see your face +more plainly. I’ve no intention of resisting—unfortunately I left my +shooting-iron behind.”</p> + +<p>As the digger did not move, the stranger jerked his head now +forward, now back, now to this side, now to that, peering at the man +who held his life in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s as I thought,” he said. “I’ve had the pleasure of +seeing you before, on two or three occasions. There’s no need for +you an’ me to quarrel. If we’re not exactly pals, we’re something +even closer.”</p> + +<p>“You’re wasting valuable time, and risking your life for no +reason whatever,” said the digger. “You’d better be quick.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m going,” said the intruder. “Set your mind at rest +about that. I was only trying to think where I had met you—it +was in a cave. You and your mates knew enough to come in out of +the rain. You had made a nice little haul, a very nice little haul.”</p> + +<p>A look of the utmost perplexity came over the face of the flash +digger, and this was followed by a look of consternation. His arm +had fallen to his side, and he was saying slowly, “Who the deuce are +<em>you</em>? How the deuce d’you know where <em>I’ve</em> been?” when the man +who sat before him suddenly pulled his hand from under the table +and covered his aggressor with a revolver.</p> + +<p>“One move,” said Tresco—the reader will have recognised that +the goldsmith had come to town—“one move, Mr. Carnac, and you’re +as dead as the murdered men on the hill.”</p> + +<p>The tension on Gentle Annie’s nerves, which during this scene +had been strung to the highest pitch, had now become too great to be +borne silently.</p> + +<p>“Don’t, don’t!” she cried. “For God’s sake, for <em>my</em> sake, stop! +stop!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be frightened, my dear,” said the goldsmith, without +taking his eye off his rival and antagonist. “If there’s to be trouble +between this man and me, you can’t make or mar it. Now, mister, +kindly drop your revolver on the floor.”</p> + +<p>The man did as he was bid, and the heavy falling of iron sounded +loud through the otherwise silent room.</p> + +<p>“Right turn. Quick march.” Tresco rose slowly, still covering +his man. “Open the door for him, my dear!”</p> + +<p>“It’s a trap! I’m trapped by the woman,” cried Carnac, glaring +awfully at Gentle Annie. “You slut, give me back my ring.”</p> + +<p>“Walk straight out, mister,” said the goldsmith, quietly, “and +don’t call the lady names, or you’ll repent it. She happens to be my +particular friend. And let me tell you before you go, that the one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +thing that will save you from the hangman’s noose is that you don’t +set foot inside this door again. D’you hear?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the robber.</p> + +<p>“You understand my meaning?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly.”</p> + +<p>“Then let him out, Annie.”</p> + +<p>The door swung open, Carnac walked slowly into the night, and +Tresco and Gentle Annie were alone.</p> + +<p>The goldsmith heaved a sigh of relief. “Haaaah! Close thing, +very close; but Benjamin was just one too many for him. You see, +brains <em>will</em> come out on top. Kindly bolt the door, my dear.”</p> + +<p>He picked up Carnac’s revolver, placed it on the table, sat down, +wiped his brow, and again gave vent to another sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>“My dear, it’s brought on my usual complaint—desperate thirst. +Phaugh! a low-lived man, and in this house, too! In the house of +my little woman, curse him!”</p> + +<p>Gentle Annie placed a glass and a bottle before him, and the +goldsmith drank.</p> + +<p>“What’s that about a ring, my dear? Did I understand he had +given you a ring?”</p> + +<p>The girl took the precious diamond from her finger, and handed +it to Tresco.</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s my own work—I recognise the setting; I remember +the stone. Thirty pounds that ring is worth; thirty pounds, if a +penny. Did he steal it, or buy it, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>“Bought it, he said.”</p> + +<p>“If so, he’s not mean, anyway. I tell you what I’ll do—I’ll buy +it back from you. It’s not right you should be defiled by wearing +such a man’s ring.”</p> + +<p>“He shall have it back—I’ll give it him.”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear. What he has given, he has given. Thirty +pounds.”</p> + +<p>From his pocket he drew a small linen bag, from which he took +eight or ten small nuggets. These he balanced in his palm.</p> + +<p>“Seven ounces,” he said, contemplatively. “Say eight, to give +you good value. That’s it, my dear.” With a bump he placed the +gold on the table. “This ring is now mine. The work is of the best; +never did I take more care or pride in my craft than when I set that +stone. But it has been in the hands of a vile fellow; it is polluted.”</p> + +<p>He rose from his chair, placed the jewel on the hearthstone, and +fiercely ground the precious stone beneath his iron-shod heel, and +flung the crushed and distorted gold setting into the fire.</p> + +<p>“That you should have been so much as touched by such a man, +is a thing not to be forgotten quickly.”</p> + +<p>He drank the rest of his liquor at a breath.</p> + +<p>“I must go, my dear. I must go.”</p> + +<p>“What! won’t you stop? I want you to stay a little longer.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing would please me better. But that man is one of a +gang. If I stop here, he may bring seven other devils worse than +himself, and the last end of Benjamin will be worse than the first. +I should be waylaid and killed. And that would be unfortunate.”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose they will come here when you have gone?”</p> + +<p>“No fear of that, after what I’ve told him. That man will shun +this house as if it was his grave. Well, good night.”</p> + +<p>He took Gentle Annie’s face between his hands. Then he held +her at arms’ length, and gazed steadfastly into her face. And, the +next moment, he was gone.</p> + +<p>The girl turned the nuggets over and over with a listless finger. +“Men, men,” she murmured, “how madly jealous—and when there is +so little need. As if I care for one a pennyworth more than another.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Bail.</strong></p> + + +<p>The Pilot of Timber Town sat in his dining-room in the many-gabled +house; Captain Sartoris sat opposite him, and both looked as +miserable as men could possibly look.</p> + +<p>“It’s a bad business, a terrible bad business,” said Captain +Summerhayes, “to be charged with robbery and cold-blooded murder. +I was in the Court. I heard the Resident Magistrate commit him to +the Supreme Court. ‘Your Worship,’ says Jack, ‘on what evidence +do you commit me? I own that I was on the road to Canvas Town, +but there is nothing wrong in that: there is no evidence against me.’ +An’ no more there is. I stake all I’ve got on his innocence; I stake +my life on it.”</p> + +<p>“Same here, same here, Summerhayes,” said Sartoris. “But I +don’t see how that helps him. I don’t see it helps him worth tuppence. +He’s still in the lock-up.”</p> + +<p>“It helps ’im this much,” said the old Pilot: “he can be bailed +out, can’t he?—and we’re the men to do it.”</p> + +<p>“We’d need to be made o’ money, man. Ten thousand pound +wouldn’t bail ’im.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll see, we’ll see. Rosebud, my gal!” The Pilot’s gruff voice +thundered through the house. “We’ll put it to the test, Sartoris; +we’ll put it to the test.”</p> + +<p>Rose Summerhayes hurried from the kitchen; the sleeves of her +blouse tucked up, and her hands and arms covered with flour.</p> + +<p>“What is it, father?”</p> + +<p>“Young Scarlett’s in prison,” growled the Pilot, “and there he’s +likely to stay till the sitting of the Supreme Court.”</p> + +<p>The pink in Rose’s pretty face turned as white as the flour she +had been kneading. “Have they found him guilty, father?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly that, my gal, but it looks black for the lad, as black +as the pit.”</p> + +<p>“But he’s <em>not</em> guilty!” cried the girl. “Nothing will persuade +me to believe that.”</p> + +<p>“We must bail him out,” said her father. “Bring me my deed-box.”</p> + +<p>Rose rustled from the room, and presently returned with a +square, japanned, tin box, which bore her father’s initials upon its +lid.</p> + +<p>The Pilot took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and quickly unlocked +the box.</p> + +<p>Upon the bare, polished table he placed a number of Bank deposit +receipts.</p> + +<p>“I can’t do it,” he said; “no more can Sartoris. But <em>you</em> can, +my gal. Just add up these amounts, Cap’n, while I explain.” He +handed the receipts to Sartoris.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t often I’ve mentioned your uncle to you, Rosebud. But +he’s a rich man, more than ordinary rich, my dear. Ever since you +were a little dot, so high, he’s sent me money as reg’lar as the clock. +I’ve never asked ’im for it, mind ye; and, what’s more, I’ve never spent +a penny of it. I wouldn’t touch it, because I don’t bear him any love +whatever. Before you was born, my gal, he did me a most unforgivable +wrong, an’ he thinks money will wipe it out. But it won’t: +no, no, it won’t. Howsomever, I banked all that money in your +name, as it kept coming in; and there it’s been piling up, till I don’t +really know how much there mayn’t be. What’s the total, Sartoris? +Give us the total, man.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +But the Captain had forgotten his calculation, in open-mouthed +astonishment.</p> + +<p>“’Arf-a-minute, ’arf-a-minute,” he said, quickly giving his attention +to the papers which lay before him. “Fifteen hundred and two +thousand is three thousand, five hundred; and thirteen hundred is four +thousand, eight hundred; and seven hundred and seventy-five is—— Why, +there’s more money here than ever I saw in a skipper’s house +before. I’ll need a pencil and a bit o’ paper, Miss Rose. There’s a +mint o’ money—as much as would bail out a duke.”</p> + +<p>Supplied with stationery, he slowly made his calculation; the +Pilot watching him unconcernedly, and Rose checking the amounts +one by one.</p> + +<p>At last he found his total, and drew a line under it.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is it?” asked the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“I make it ten thousand, seven hundred and seventy-five pound,” +he said. “Goodness, girl, here’s all this money!—and you baking +and scrubbing as if you was a servant. Summerhayes,” he added, +turning upon the Pilot, “I think you’ve been doing an injustice, sir; +a gross injustice.”</p> + +<p>“Personally,” replied the Pilot, “I don’t intend to receive a +pennyworth o’ benefit from that money. If the gal likes to be a +lady now, there’s nothing to stop her; but I don’t share in the spending +o’ that money, not in a penny of it. Of that I’m determined.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a contumacious, cantankerous old barnacle,” retorted +Sartoris, “that’s what you are. It’d serve you right if your daughter +was to cut the painter and cast you adrift, and leave you to sink or +swim.”</p> + +<p>“We can very well settle that point by and by, Sartoris. The +present question is, Shall we bail out young Scarlett, or not? I put +it to you, Rosebud. Here’s all this money—what are you going to +do with it? If you go bail for Scarlett and he runs away, you’ll lose +it. If he stands his trial, then you’ll get it all back and have the +knowledge, I believe, that you helped an innocent man. Which will +you do?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t hesitate,” replied Rose. “I’m sure Mr. Scarlett +wouldn’t commit such a dreadful crime as that he’s charged with. +I—I—feel,” her breath caught in her throat, and she gave vent to +something very like a sob, “I should be glad to do anything to get +him out of prison.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right, quite right!” thundered the old Pilot. “There +speaks my gal, Sartoris; there speaks my dar’ter, Rosebud!” Rising +from his chair, he kissed her heartily, and stood, regarding her with +pride and pleasure.</p> + +<p>“My dear young lady,” said Sartoris, as he took Rose’s hand in +his, and warmly pressed it, “it does you great honour. Young Mr. +Scarlett an’ me was shipmates; we was wrecked together. I know +that lad better than I know my own brother—and, I say, you may +safely back your opinion of him to any amount.”</p> + +<p>“Get my hat, gal,” said the Pilot. “We’ll be going.”</p> + +<p>And so, after she had hastily performed her toilet, Rose walked +into town, with the two old sea-dogs as an escort.</p> + +<p>First, they went to the Kangaroo Bank, where the Pilot placed +the sheaf of deposit receipts on the manager’s table, and said, “It +comes to something over ten thousand pound, sir. What we want +to know is, will you allow my dar’ter to draw five or ten thousand, +and no questions asked?”</p> + +<p>“Ah—really,” said Mr. Tomkinson, “it would be most unusual. +These deposits are made for a term, and the rule of the bank is that +they can’t be drawn against.”</p> + +<p>“Then what is the good of all this money to my gal, if she can’t +use it?”</p> + +<p>“She can draw it as it falls due.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +“But suppose that don’t suit? Suppose my dar’ter wants it at +once, what then?”</p> + +<p>The manager rubbed his chin: that was his only reply.</p> + +<p>“These bits o’ paper are supposed to be as good as gold,” continued +the Pilot, rustling the receipts as they lay upon the table, “ain’t +they?”</p> + +<p>“Better,” said the manager, “in some ways much better.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” retorted the Pilot. “Then what’s the good o’ them, if +nothing can be done with ’em?”</p> + +<p>“For the matter o’ that, Summerhayes,” said Sartoris, “if this +gen’leman don’t quite like to trust himself in the matter, there’s +plenty outside will take them there bits o’ paper as security, and be +glad to get ’em. I’ve seen the thing done, Summerhayes, though I +can’t say I’ve done it myself, never having had enough money to +deposit in a bank.”</p> + +<p>“Ah—well,” said the banker, “of course it <em>can</em> be managed, +but you would lose the interest.”</p> + +<p>“The interests be—be—the interest be hanged!” exclaimed the +Pilot.</p> + +<p>“But the young lady must act under no compulsion, sir.” Mr. +Tomkinson spoke with a dignity worthy of the great institution which +he represented. “She must do it of her own free will.”</p> + +<p>“Ask her,” said the Pilot.</p> + +<p>The manager looked at Rose, who said, “I want to draw seven +thousand pounds of this money,” but she felt as though she was +speaking in a dream, so unreal did the situation seem to her.</p> + +<p>“The best way for your daughter to act,” said the manager, turning +to the Pilot, “will be for her to sign seven thousand pounds’ worth +of these receipts over to the bank, and to open in her own name an +account, on which she can draw to the amount specified.”</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said the Pilot, “that would suit; but why couldn’t +you say so at first, instead o’ boxing the compass?”</p> + +<p>The business was soon concluded, and Rose, for the first time +in her life, drew a cheque, which was for nothing less than £7000.</p> + +<p>“This is a large sum,” said the manager, “a large sum to take +in a lump.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it her own money she’s taking?” said the Pilot. “I’m her +father, and I don’t see anything wrong about it.”</p> + +<p>“But there her credit ceases,” said the manager.</p> + +<p>“Let it cease,” said the Pilot.</p> + +<p>The cheque was cashed at the counter, and Rose walked out of +the bank with a mighty sheaf of notes in her hand.</p> + +<p>For safety’s sake, the Pilot relieved her of some of her wealth, +and Captain Sartoris relieved her of the rest, and thus the three +walked briskly towards the Red Tape Office. Here, with difficulty and +much climbing up and down stairs and traversing of corridors, they +found the room of the District Judge, who was, in his minor capacity, +likewise the Resident Magistrate.</p> + +<p>He was a man of benign countenance, who, after the customary +greetings and explanations had been made, politely asked them to be +seated. This invitation the Pilot neglected to comply with, but, advancing +to the table behind which the Judge sat, he said,</p> + +<p>“I believe you have locked up a young man of the name of +Scarlett.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” said the Judge.</p> + +<p>“Well, he’s a friend o’ mine,” said the Pilot, “a partic’lar friend.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said the Judge, smiling kindly. “I’m glad that Mr. +Scarlett is not without friends.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve a great respect for the Law,” continued the Pilot. “I always +had, but that don’t make me feel less anxious to help a friend +o’ mine that’s got into its clutches.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +The Judge continued to smile at the Pilot from behind his gold-rimmed +spectacles. “I can quite believe it,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Cap’n Sartoris,” said the Pilot, in his gruffest manner. “Stand +up, sir!”</p> + +<p>Sartoris stood.</p> + +<p>“Scarlett was your shipmate, Cap’n?” continued the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“Certainly he was,” answered Sartoris.</p> + +<p>“And he was my very good friend, sir,” added Summerhayes, +turning to the Judge.</p> + +<p>“So you have said,” said the Judge.</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ve come to bail him out,” said the Pilot; “that’s what +has brought us here. How much will it take, Judge?”</p> + +<p>“A—really—this is very sudden,” replied the Judge. “Er—this is—ah—most +unusual. In fact, I might say that this is quite an unparalleled +case.”</p> + +<p>“We’re plain, sea-faring men,” said Sartoris, who felt he was +bound to back up the Pilot, and to say something; “law isn’t our strong +point.”</p> + +<p>“Would you consider a matter o’ five thousand pound might do +it?” asked the Pilot.</p> + +<p>The old Judge leaned over his table, and took up a book.</p> + +<p>“Bail?” he said. “Page 249. Listen to this. ‘On charges of +murder, it is the uniform practice of Justices not to admit the person +charged to bail; although in point of law, they may have power to +do so.’ That is from The Justice of the Peace—it seems perfectly +plain.”</p> + +<p>“You <em>may</em> give bail, but you make a practice of refusing it,” +commented the Pilot. “Might I suggest that you set an example to +the other Justices, an’ come out strong in the matter o’ bail? If +you’ve got power to make the lot of a well-known citizen a little +happier, why not use it? Hand over them notes, Sartoris.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot emptied his pockets of all the money that Rose had +handed him, and placed it on the Judge’s table, and Sartoris contributed +his quota to the pile.</p> + +<p>“There you are, Judge,” said the Pilot, pushing all the money +towards the legal magnate, “that should be enough to bail out a +Member of the Legislative Council, or even the Governor himself. That +should fix it. But don’t think, Judge, that me and Cap’n Sartoris is +doing this thing. No, sir, it’s my dar’ter. She supplies the motive-power +that works the machinery. All this money belongs to her. She +it is that wishes to bail out this young man who, we believe, has +been falsely accused.”</p> + +<p>“Ah—really,” said the good old Judge, “I must say—now listen +to this: I have here the newest edition.” He took another and bulkier +volume from his table. “Page 66, section 176. Allow me to read. +‘The exercise of discretion with respect to taking of bail for the appearance +of an accused person, where such discretion exists—namely, +in all crimes except treason, being accessory after the fact to +treason’——”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” interrupted the Pilot, “that’s the Law, an’ very good it +is, very good to them as understands it; but what Sartoris, my dar’ter, +and me want is for you to let this young feller out of gaol till the +trial, an’ we’ll be responsible.”</p> + +<p>A perplexed look came over the Judge’s face. He took off his +glasses, and wiped them; readjusted them; gave a bewildered look +at the Pilot, and said, “Yes, yes; but listen to what I am reading. +The first question is whether bail ought to be taken at all; the second, +what the amount should be.”</p> + +<p>“Place it high, Judge,” said the Pilot. “We’ve come prepared for +that. We’ve come prepared with seven thousand.”</p> + +<p>“Really, this is most irregular,” complained the Judge, his finger +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +marking the place on the page from which he was reading. “The—ah—object +of bail, that is the amount of bail should be sufficient to +secure the appearance of the accused to answer the charge.” He had +found his place, and read on determinedly, “‘And it may be remarked +here, that it is not the practice in England, under any circumstances, +to take bail on charges of murder.’”</p> + +<p>“Jus’ so, Judge,” said the Pilot. “Jus’ so. It’s not the custom +in England. That’s as I should ha’ thought. But here, where murders +don’t occur every day, you may grant it if you like. That’s as +I thought, just as I thought. What’s your opinion, Cap’n Sartoris?”</p> + +<p>“Same here,” said Sartoris, tapping his chest. “I’m with you, +Pilot; with you on every point.”</p> + +<p>“Theoretically, that is so,” said the Judge, “but practically, how +are you going to assess bail for a man who is to be tried for his life? +What amount of money will guarantee his reappearance? Why, no +sum, however great.”</p> + +<p>The Judge shut his book with a snap, and set his mouth firmly +as one who had made up his mind.</p> + +<p>“This young man,” he continued, “whom I knew and respected as +well as you yourselves, has been accused of most serious crimes. He +is said, with the aid of other persons at present at large, to have +murdered the members of a gold-escort and to have stolen gold to +the value of something like twenty thousand pounds.”</p> + +<p>The two seamen stood attentively, with their eyes fixed earnestly +on the Judge, whilst Rose covered her face with her hands.</p> + +<p>“Besides which,”—the Judge had now regained his judicial composure, +and his words flowed smoothly, as though he were on the +bench—“we must remember that the accused is reputed to be a wealthy +man. Supposing him to have augmented his means by murder and +malpractice, what would ten, twenty or even thirty thousand pounds +be to him in comparison with his life? That is the question. There +can be no guarantee of his reappearance. Bail is impossible. But +I will do this: I will extend you the privilege—seeing your affection for +this man, who, for your sakes as well as his own, I hope may be acquitted—I +will allow you leave to visit him on certain days, between +the hours of 10 a.m. and 12 noon, and I will write an order to that +effect.”</p> + +<p>He looked at Jack’s sympathisers, who remained dumb. Dipping +his pen in the ink, he asked them their names in full, and wrote.</p> + +<p>Handing each of them an order, he said, “You will present those +to the gaoler when you desire to visit your friend. I may say that +I very much admire the strong affection which you have shown towards +one who is under such a serious charge as that made against +the prisoner, John Scarlett. I wish you good morning.”</p> + +<p>So saying, he rose from his chair, and, when they had gathered +up their money, ushered them out of the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>In Durance Vile.</strong></p> + + +<p>With a basket on her arm, Rose Summerhayes issued from the +creeper-covered verandah of the many-gabled house, and stood in +her garden of roses.</p> + +<p>It was the time of the autumn blooms. With a pair of garden +scissors she cut the choicest flowers, and placed them upon the +snowy napkin which covered the contents of her basket. Then she +tripped into the town.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +She passed by Tresco’s shop, where Jake Ruggles, worried by +the inquiries of the police, and overwhelmed with orders which he +could not execute, strove to act the absent goldsmith’s part. At the +door of The Lucky Digger, where stood a noisy throng of men from +the gold-field, she heard the words, “It never was the work of one +man. If he did it, he had accomplices. How could one man lug +the four of ’em up that mountain-side,” and she hurried past, knowing +too well to whom the talk referred.</p> + +<p>As she passed the Kangaroo Bank, a florid man, wearing a +white waistcoat, came out through the glass doors with a digger +who had been selling gold.</p> + +<p>“So you thought you’d bring your gold to town yourself?” said +the florid man.</p> + +<p>“After that, yes,” replied the digger. “I sold the nugget to +Zahn for six-pound-ten, and, when next I see it, the Sergeant’s got +it. There never was a clearer case. It’s a good thing they’ve got ’im +safe in gaol.”</p> + +<p>Rose hurried on, feeling that all the town, watching her with +unsympathetic eyes, knew well where she was going. But at last she +stood before the gate of the wooden prison. After ringing for admittance, +she was ushered into a room, bare of furniture save for a +pine table and a couple of chairs, where a warder read the Judge’s +order, made some entries in a big book, and examined the contents +of the basket.</p> + +<p>She was next conducted through a species of hall which opened +into a small, covered yard, on either side of which stood rows of +white-washed, wooden cells.</p> + +<p>Unlocking the second cell on the left-hand side, the warder said +in a loud voice, as though he were speaking to some one who was +either a long way off or very deaf, “Visitor to see you. Stand up, +man. ’Tisn’t every day that a pris’ner has a young lady to see him.”</p> + +<p>Rose entered the cell, and the door was closed behind her. The +walls were white and bare. On a small bench at the further end +sat a figure she saw but indistinctly until her eyes became accustomed +to the dim light which crept through the grating in the door, +against which she could observe the head of the watchful warder +who stood inside the cell.</p> + +<p>Jack rose slowly to his feet, and stood speechless, with his hand +extended.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought you a couple of fowls and some fruit,” said Rose.</p> + +<p>“Thank you.” Jack’s voice was very low, and his words came +very slowly. “Do you know the crime I’m accused of?”</p> + +<p>“Please don’t talk of that,” said Rose. “I know all about it.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder you come to see me. No one else does.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps they’re not allowed to. But my father and Captain +Sartoris will be here presently.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed! It’s very kind of them.”</p> + +<p>“But, you see, we don’t believe you’re guilty; we think you’ll +be able to prove your innocence at the trial.”</p> + +<p>Conversation goes but tamely when a prison warder dwells on +every word. The two stood in the centre of the cell, Jack holding +tightly the girl’s right hand, while with her left she held the basket. +Withdrawing her hand from his ardent clasp, she placed the roses +on the bench and uncovered the dainties which the basket contained. +There being no table on which to place them, she spread the napkin +on the bench, and laid the delicacies upon it.</p> + +<p>“I am allowed to come every other day,” she said, “and next +time I hope to bring my father with me. He’s engaged to-day with +a ship.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +“I never saw the men after they passed me on the track. I +never did this thing.”</p> + +<p>Rose took his hand in hers, and gently pressed it. “If you don’t +wish to hurt me, you will not speak about it. At home we agree to +say nothing. We hear all sorts of things, but we keep silent—it +makes it hurt less.”</p> + +<p>“You still have faith in me?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Do others take that view?”</p> + +<p>“I hope so.”</p> + +<p>“But I’m afraid the men on the diggings think hardly of me.”</p> + +<p>“Why should they? They are all coming to town, I am told, +in order to attend the trial.”</p> + +<p>“So much the greater will be my degradation, if I am found +guilty.”</p> + +<p>“On the other hand, so much greater will be your triumph, when +you prove your innocence.”</p> + +<p>The conversation had got thus far, when voices were heard +without, the door of the cell opened, and the Pilot and Captain +Sartoris entered.</p> + +<p>“Well, lad,” exclaimed old Summerhayes, as he vigorously shook +Jack’s hand. “Keeping her head well to the wind, eh? That’s the +style, lad. You’ll find she’ll weather the storm.”</p> + +<p>“Aye, aye,” said Sartoris. “If she goes down with all hands +it’s not the fault of the skipper, providing he’s steered his true +course.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” said the Pilot; “providing he’s steered his true +course. We were thinking o’ bail, Jack. We thought to make you +comfortable till you’d proved they’d arrested the wrong man; but +that old barnacle of a Judge wouldn’t budge an inch. He consulted +his log, and neither Sartoris, nor me, nor my dar’ter, could drive any +sense into him. So we gave it up: we intend to do our best to +make you happy here.”</p> + +<p>“Lord bless you,” said Sartoris, “it won’t seem no time at all +before you are out an’ about. Then the whole affair will be but +an episode,”—he dwelt on the word, which he had been treasuring +in his mind for hours past—“simply an episode, only made to be +forgotten.” This speech was a great effort of oratory, and the +Captain drew a long breath, looking sideways at the Pilot, as though +he had given a cue.</p> + +<p>“Luck goes in streaks, lad,” said Captain Summerhayes. +“You struck a bad one when you set sail with Sartoris here. I +don’t mean no offence to you, Captain; but I do not, never did, and +never shall, admire the way you handled <em>The Mersey Witch</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” remarked Sartoris; “rub it in. I can bear it.”</p> + +<p>“Having got into a bad streak, Jack, you must expect it to stick +to you for a time. I did think as how you’d lost it when you come +home with all that gold. But, you see, I was right at first; you’re +in it yet. There’s no cure but to bear it. An’ that you will, lad, like +the man you are.”</p> + +<p>“We’ve come to cheer you up, Jack,” said Sartoris, “an’ I hope +we’ve done it. But there’s one thing that I believe is usual in these +cases, an’ that’s a sky-pilot. I have heard as how a sky-pilot’s more +comfortin’ to a man in gaol than anything else. What’s your special +brand? What kind do you fancy? I’m ashamed to say we’ve talked +so little religion, Jack, that I don’t know what religious crew you +signed on with when you was young, but if there’s any special breed +o’ parson you fancy, you’ve only got to give him a name, and if +he lives in this town or within a radius of ten miles, he shall come +an’ minister to you reg’lar, or I’ll know the reason why.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +During this remarkable speech, Rose had quietly slipped out of +the cell and, with her empty basket on her arm, had turned her +steps homeward.</p> + +<p>On rounding a corner of a street in the centre of the town, +she almost ran into Rachel Varnhagen.</p> + +<p>“Well, well, well, where have you been?” was the Jewess’s greeting, +as she stopped to talk to Rose.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been to the gaol.”</p> + +<p>“To the gaol! Goodness, what for?”</p> + +<p>Rose did not reply.</p> + +<p>“I do believe you’ve been to see that contemptible murderer.”</p> + +<p>“If you mean a friend of mine, who was also a friend of yours +who did you a great service, I beg you to stop.”</p> + +<p>“I mean that man Scarlett.”</p> + +<p>“And so do I.”</p> + +<p>“What! you’ve been speaking to <em>him</em>? You must be mad. The +man’s a murderer. It’s awful!”</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t judge him before he has been tried.”</p> + +<p>“The evidence is the same now as it will be then. There was a +nugget of a strange shape, which a digger sold to poor Isaac Zahn, +and it was found on your precious Scarlett when he was arrested.”</p> + +<p>Rose made no answer.</p> + +<p>“And to think,” Rachel continued, “that I was almost engaged +to him.”</p> + +<p>“I never heard that,” said Rose, coldly.</p> + +<p>“My dear, I’m thankful to say nobody did, but he used to come +regularly to our house when he was in town, and my stupid old +father used to encourage him. Such an escape I never had. Fancy +being married to a murderer. Ugh!”</p> + +<p>“There’s no need to fancy anything of the sort. You couldn’t +have married him till he asked you.”</p> + +<p>“But, dear, if he <em>had</em>, I should have accepted him. You know, +he is so handsome. And he is awfully rich. My father wouldn’t +have heard of my refusing him. Certainly, he’s not of our religion, +but then we’re not very orthodox. I’m afraid I should have accepted +him: I’m sure I should. And then, think of poor Isaac. I really +<em>was</em> fond of him. I know it now; but he was <em>so</em> slow in making +money—I couldn’t waste all my life in waiting.”</p> + +<p>“You must feel his death dreadfully,” said Rose.</p> + +<p>“But it doesn’t comfort me very much, when my friends go to +see his murderer.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t been to see a murderer.”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious! If that awful Scarlett didn’t murder him, who +did?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the least idea, but I feel sure there’s been a mistake +on the part of the police.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no mistake: they found the bodies yesterday in the +bush.”</p> + +<p>As Rachel spoke, the two girls saw a strange procession coming +down the street.</p> + +<p>“Look!” cried Rachel, seizing Rose’s arm for support. “Look +what is coming.”</p> + +<p>In single file, slowly the searchers were carrying the bodies of +the murdered men, wrapped in canvas and strapped to poles cut +from the forest trees. As they advanced, a crowd, bare-headed and +at every step increasing, accompanied the doleful procession. They +passed the spot where stood the two girls, the one supporting the +other, and so disappeared out of sight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Benjamin’s Redemption.</strong></p> + + +<p>The Supreme Court sat in the large hall of the wooden building, +ornate with all the decorations of the Elizabethan style, which +has been referred to in these pages as the Red Tape Office.</p> + +<p>The hall was divided by a barrier, on one side of which were +arranged the bench, dock, jury-box, and everything else appertaining +to the functions of Justice; and on the other side stood the +general public. But as yet the Court was not assembled, save for +half-a-dozen be-wigged barristers and a few policemen; and the +public, crowded like cattle in a pen, discussed in suppressed tones +such matters as seemed good.</p> + +<p>Presently, a door beside the bench opened, and a very fat bailiff, +preceding the Judge himself, who was followed by many minions of +the law, advanced into the body of the court, and cried, “Silence for +His Honor the Queen’s Judge!” struck the butt of his long staff upon +the floor, and proceeded to deliver a long rigmarole, couched in early +English, the tenor of which was that the proceedings about to take +place were most solemn and dignified, and all men must keep silence +in order that His Honour the Judge might hear himself speak.</p> + +<p>Then the Judge seated himself on the bench, nodded to all the +barristers, who thereupon immediately sat down likewise, and then +the policemen, looking fiercely at the harmless, herded public, cried +in angry tones for “Silence! Silence! Silence!” though not a man +had so much as coughed since the great Judge had entered.</p> + +<p>There seeming to be no fear of a demonstration against Law, +Order, and Justice, a be-wigged gentleman who sat immediately in +front of the Judge, in the manner that the clerk used to sit before +the parson in the days of the three-decker pulpit, stood up, and +after consulting various little bits of paper, called and empanelled +the Grand Jury, a most important body of men, comprising all that +was substantial and wealthy in Timber Town—short, fat men; tall, +thin men; men of medium height; bullet-headed men, long-headed +men, bald-headed men, and one man who was known to dye his hair; +men whose stomachs rested on their knees as they sat; men who +looked as though they had not had a full meal for a month; men +dressed in tweeds; men dressed in black broad-cloth as if for a +funeral; men with gay flowers in the button-holes of their coats; +bearded men, and shorn men; as varied an assortment of men as +could pronounce opinion on any case.</p> + +<p>Each member of this queer company having been furnished with +a little testament, the legal luminary administered the oath, and they +kissed the book literally like one man, and sat down with a shuffling +of feet that was truly disgraceful in so sedate an assembly.</p> + +<p>They having chosen the fattest man of them all as their foreman, +the Judge addressed them: “Mr. Foreman and gentlemen of +the Grand Jury,” he said, “give me your attention. Great crimes +have been committed in your district,”—and not a man of them all +but dropped his eyes and looked as if he felt himself guilty—“and +great excitement has been caused in the public mind. But it is one +of the highest triumphs of civilisation that we possess a wholesome +system of procedure, whereby time is afforded to elapse for the abatement +of popular excitement,”—here he glanced searchingly at the +exemplary public on the other side of the barrier, as though he challenged +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +one of them to move—“before such cases as those which will +come before you, are heard.” Here the Judge paused, and the jurymen +looked at each other, as much as to say that after all they might +escape. “But,” continued His Honor, “we must take all proper precautions +in such grave affairs as we are here to consider, lest the +eye of reason should be jaundiced by prejudice, or become dazzled +by passion, or lest the arm of Justice should smite wildly and without +discrimination.” Every juryman looked at the Judge, to see if +the state of his eye was clear and in keeping with this grave injunction. +“The first case which will come before you is that of +John Richard Scarlett, who is charged with the murder of Isaac +Zahn and others. I am not sure as to what will be the form of +the indictment, but I should suppose there will be four separate indictments, +that is to say, the prisoner will be charged with the +murder of each man killed. I now ask you to retire and consider +this grave case with that perspicacity and unbiassed judgment which +I feel sure you are capable of exercising in so large a degree.”</p> + +<p>The Judge had made every juryman’s breast swell with pride, +and from their box they poured in a long stream, and clattered over +the floor of the Court to the jury-room, the door of which stood ajar, +ready to receive them.</p> + +<p>The public portion of the hall was now crowded to excess, and +the gallery above the main entrance was quickly filling. The people +maintained perfect order, but on every face was an eager look which +showed the intense interest that was being taken in the proceedings. +But when the Judge retired, pending the decision of the +Grand Jury, there broke out a hum of conversation, subdued but incessant. +On the public side of the barrier there was nothing to be +seen but a sea of faces, the faces of all sorts of men, and of not a few +women, all waiting for the appearance of the prisoner. Suddenly +at the back of this tightly-packed throng there arose a slight commotion, +caused by a wild, unkempt man pushing his way through the +doorway into the middle of the crowd. His hair was long and +matted, his clothes were torn and covered with clay, his face was +anxious yet determined. Having wedged himself into the living +mass, his identity soon became merged and lost in the multitude +of men, work-stained and way-worn like himself. For almost the +entire population of Canvas Town was assembled to hear the case +against Scarlett; the aristocratic members of the League had come +to see what fate awaited their president; solitary “hatters” had +come to witness the discomfiture of “the boss of the toffs”; the +female portion of the concourse had been attracted by the romance +which was believed to underlie the tragedy; while the townsmen were +there out of sympathy with the young banker whom they had all +known. Filling all available space in the hall and overflowing into +the great quadrangle outside, this motley crowd discussed the case +against Scarlett in all its bearings, though there was a dense ignorance +on the part of the critics as to the evidence that would be +called. To everything he heard the wild, unkempt man turned a +deaf ear; regarding, as he undoubtedly did, the self-appointed +judges around him with silent contempt and some degree of amusement.</p> + +<p>At length the door of the jury-room opened, and the head of a +Grand Juror was thrust out. To him a constable immediately whispered. +The Grand Jury had come to a decision, and the Judge was +summoned from his room.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the great man taken his seat, than amid a murmur +of excitement the prisoner was placed in the dock. He looked +thin and care-worn. On his legs were heavy irons, and handcuffs +were upon his wrists. Otherwise he was as when first arrested; +he wore the same riding-breeches and leggings, and the same tweed +coat.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +Then the Grand Jury filed solemnly in, and stood in a big semicircle +between the barrier and the Court, the foreman standing a +little in front of his fellows.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Foreman and gentlemen of the Grand Jury, how do you +find in the case of John Richard Scarlett, charged with the murder +of Isaac Zahn?”</p> + +<p>“A true bill, Your Honour,” answered the foreman.</p> + +<p>“How do you find in the case of John Richard Scarlett, charged +with the murder of James Kettle?”</p> + +<p>“A true bill, Your Honour.”</p> + +<p>A like answer was returned in respect to the other three charges, +and the Judge then discharged the Grand Jury, who promptly filed +out of Court, only to reappear in the gallery above the Judge’s bench.</p> + +<p>A Special Jury—which, the Judge was careful to tell Jack, was +a great privilege extended to him by the Court—was empanelled to +try the case, but not without a great deal of challenging on the +part of the Crown Prosecutor and of Jack’s counsel.</p> + +<p>“Prisoner at the bar, you are charged with the wilful murder of +Isaac Zahn. How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?”</p> + +<p>“Not Guilty!”</p> + +<p>Scarlett’s voice rang clear through the hall.</p> + +<p>There was a shuffling amongst the barristers on the floor of +the Court; papers were rustled, law-books were opened or placed +neatly in rows, and a general air of business pervaded the scene.</p> + +<p>Then the Crown Prosecutor rose and, after clearing his throat +several times, declared that he would call certain witnesses to prove +that the prisoner was on the road between Timber Town and Canvas +Town on the day of the murder, that he was at open variance with +the murdered man, Isaac Zahn, that he possessed when arrested +certain property belonging to the murdered man, and certain other +important facts, all of which went to prove the prisoner’s guilt.</p> + +<p>First, he called a constable who deposed as to the finding of the +bodies; next, a doctor, who gave evidence as to how Zahn met his +death. Then followed a member of the search-committee, who supplied +various details respecting the track, the position of the body +of Zahn when found, and of the effects found upon it.</p> + +<p>These three witnesses but fulfilled the formalities of the Law in +proving that the dead man was murdered and robbed, but there +was a great stir in the hall when the next witness entered the box.</p> + +<p>This was a corn-stalk of a man who wore a long yellow beard, +and seemed to consist of legs, arms, and head; his body being of +such small importance in the scheme of his construction as to be +hardly noticeable.</p> + +<p>“John Rutherford,” said the Crown Prosecutor, “kindly tell the +jury your trade or calling.”</p> + +<p>“Digger,” answered the witness, as laconically as possible.</p> + +<p>“The witness means,” said the barrister, turning to the jury, +“that he mines for gold,” an explanation which nobody needed. “But +be so good as to inform the Court if you know a hostelry named +The Lucky Digger.”</p> + +<p>A smile stole over the lean witness’s face. “I reckon I’ve bin +there,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Were you there on the afternoon of Saturday, the 25th of +February, last?”</p> + +<p>“I might ha’ bin.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t be certain?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve hit it, mister—I can’t be certain.”</p> + +<p>“Then we’ll try to assist your memory. Do you know the +prisoner at the bar?”</p> + +<p>The witness looked at Scarlett with a grin. Then he turned, +and confronted the lawyer. “I know him,” he said. “He was boss +of the gentlemen diggers.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +“Did you know the deceased, Isaac Zahn, with whose murder the +prisoner is charged?”</p> + +<p>“I did—he bought gold of me.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever know the two men, John Scarlett and Isaac Zahn, +to quarrel?”</p> + +<p>“I did.”</p> + +<p>“Please be so good as to describe to the jury the nature of the +quarrel.”</p> + +<p>“I was standin’ in the bar of The Lucky Digger, havin’ a pint +with a friend,” said the long, thin witness, “when I heard the +prisoner exchangin’ words with Zahn.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! a very important matter,” said the counsel for the Crown. +“What was the subject of their conversation?”</p> + +<p>“Seemed to me they were both sparkin’ up to the bar-maid,” +said the digger, “an’ consequently there was bad blood between ’em, +specially on the part of Scarlett.”</p> + +<p>“Did he strike the deceased?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. Struck ’im in the bar, in the passage, an’ kicked +’im into the street.”</p> + +<p>“You swear to that?”</p> + +<p>“Decidedly. I seen ’im do it.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. You may stand down—unless, of course, my friend +the counsel for the defence would like to ask a question.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett’s barrister, a man of jovial countenance, smiled, and +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Call Rachel Varnhagen.”</p> + +<p>The pretty Jewess, dressed in black, walked modestly into the +Court, mounted the step or two which led to the witness-box, and +bowed to the Judge and jury.</p> + +<p>“I should be pleased to spare you the pain of appearing as a +witness in this case,” said the barrister for the Crown, looking his +softest at the lovely Rachel, “but the importance I attach to the +evidence I believe you will give, is so great that I am forced to +sacrifice my private feelings upon the altar of Justice. I believe you +know the prisoner at the bar?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” replied Rachel, in a very low voice.</p> + +<p>“Did you know Isaac Zahn, with whose murder he is charged?”</p> + +<p>“I did.”</p> + +<p>“Is it a fact that you were engaged in marriage to Isaac Zahn?”</p> + +<p>“I was, but the engagement was broken off some six weeks before +his death.”</p> + +<p>“And that you afterwards became engaged to John Scarlett?”</p> + +<p>“I was never engaged to marry the prisoner.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then I have been misinformed. Were not the prisoner and +the deceased rivals for your hand?”</p> + +<p>“I believed them to be so.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever know them to quarrel?”</p> + +<p>“I once saw the prisoner throw Isaac Zahn out of a house.”</p> + +<p>“What house?”</p> + +<p>“I was passing along the street, when through the door of a +public-house I saw the prisoner throw or kick Isaac Zahn into the +street, and he fell on the pavement at my feet.”</p> + +<p>“Can you remember the name of the public-house?”</p> + +<p>“It was The Lucky Digger.”</p> + +<p>The barrister sat down, and looked at the ceiling of the Court—he +had finished his examination—and the Judge motioned the fair +Rachel to stand down.</p> + +<p>The next witness to be sworn was Amiria.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember the 3rd of March last?” asked the Crown +Prosecutor.</p> + +<p>The brown eyes of the Maori girl flashed, and, drawing herself +up with dignity, she said, “Of course, I do. Why should I forget it?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +“What did you do on that day—where did you go?”</p> + +<p>“I went for a ride, though I can’t see how that can interest you?”</p> + +<p>“Did you go alone?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Who accompanied you?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Scarlett.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed. Where did you ride to?”</p> + +<p>“In the direction of Canvas Town.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well. This is most important. Did you accompany the +prisoner all the way?”</p> + +<p>“No. We parted at the last ford before you come to the mountains, +and I returned alone to Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>“What time of day was that?”</p> + +<p>“Between nine and ten in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“And which way did the prisoner take after leaving you?”</p> + +<p>“He crossed over the ford, and went towards Canvas Town.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you.” Then the counsel for the Crown turned to the +Judge. “I have finished with the witness, Your Honour,” he said.</p> + +<p>“But I have not finished,” cried Amiria, lifting her voice so that +it rang through the Court. “There were others on the road that +day.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the Judge. “I understand you desire to make a statement?”</p> + +<p>“I desire to say that at the ford were four horrible-looking men.”</p> + +<p>The Crown Prosecutor laughed. “Yes, yes,” he said. “You +would tell the Court that there were others on the road besides yourself +and the prisoner. What were the names of the men to whom +you refer?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. How should I know their names?”</p> + +<p>Again the Crown Prosecutor laughed. But Scarlett’s counsel +was on his feet in a moment.</p> + +<p>“Would you recognise them, if you saw them again?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I think so,” answered the Maori girl.</p> + +<p>“What should you say was their occupation?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, but they looked much more like murderers than +Mr. Scarlett did.”</p> + +<p>“Look if you can see the men you speak of, in Court.”</p> + +<p>The dark girl glanced at the sea of faces on the further side of +the barrier.</p> + +<p>“They may be here, but I can’t see them,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Just so. But do you see any persons like them?”</p> + +<p>“In dress, yes. In face, no.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, don’t trouble yourself further. That will suffice.”</p> + +<p>And Amiria was ushered from the Court.</p> + +<p>“Call William Tomkin Tomkinson.”</p> + +<p>The Bank Manager stood trembling in the box, all the timidity +of his soul brought to the surface by the unusual situation in which +he found himself.</p> + +<p>“What quantity of gold do you suppose your agent, Mr. Zahn, +was bringing to town when he was thus foully murdered?” asked the +Crown Prosecutor.</p> + +<p>“I really don’t know the exact amount, but I should imagine it +was between £15,000 and £20,000.”</p> + +<p>“You know the prisoner?”</p> + +<p>“I have met him in the way of business?”</p> + +<p>“What was the nature of his business?”</p> + +<p>“He came to ask the Bank to send an agent to the field for the +purpose of buying gold.”</p> + +<p>“And you told him you would send one?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +“I called Mr. Zahn into my room. I told him he would be sent +to the field, and I suggested that the prisoner should conduct him to +Canvas Town.”</p> + +<p>“Was that suggestion acted upon?”</p> + +<p>“No. Scarlett was willing to comply, but Zahn refused his offer.”</p> + +<p>“Why did he refuse?”</p> + +<p>“He was frightened to trust himself with the prisoner.”</p> + +<p>“This is very important, Mr. Tomkinson. I must ask you to repeat +the murdered man’s exact words when he refused to accompany +the prisoner to the field.”</p> + +<p>“I do not recollect his exact words. As nearly as I can remember, +he said that he would rather run the risk of getting lost in the bush +than be thrown over a precipice.”</p> + +<p>“Did you know they had quarrelled previously?”</p> + +<p>“I learnt so, at the time to which I refer.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir. Your evidence has proved to be valuable, very +valuable indeed. I shall ask the witness no more questions, Your +Honour.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett’s counsel was contemplatively tapping his front teeth +with his forefinger throughout this examination. He now rose, and +informed the Judge that though he desired to ask the witness no +questions at the present time, perhaps he might ask for him and the +witness Amiria to be recalled at a later stage of the proceedings.</p> + +<p>The next witness was a digger, a short man with a bushy, red +beard. But even more extraordinary than the man’s beard was his +casual, almost insolent, bearing. He glanced at the Judge contemptuously, +he looked pityingly at the jury, he regarded the barristers +with dislike, and then he settled himself resignedly against the +front of the witness-box, and fixed his eyes superciliously upon the +Sergeant of Police.</p> + +<p>“Are you the owner of a claim on Bush Robin Creek?”</p> + +<p>“I am, and it’s a good claim too.” The witness evidently considered +himself on familiar terms with the counsel for the Crown.</p> + +<p>“Did you sell gold to Isaac Zahn?”</p> + +<p>“I did, an’ he give me £3 15s. an ounce. The result of a month’s +work, yer Honour.”</p> + +<p>“How much did you sell?”</p> + +<p>“Forty-six ounces fifteen pennyweights; but, bless yer, I’d on’y +begun to scratch the top of the claim.”</p> + +<p>The idea of the witness blessing the Crown Prosecutor convulsed +the bar with merriment; but, looking straight at the witness, the +Judge said, “I beg you to remember, sir, that you are in a Court of +Law, and not in the bar of a public-house.” To which admonition the +digger was understood, by those nearest to him, to murmur, “I on’y +wish I were.”</p> + +<p>“Was there anything unusual in the appearance of the gold that +you sold to Zahn?”</p> + +<p>“It was very ’eavy gold,” replied the witness, “an’ there was +one nugget that ’e give me extry for, as a curio.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said the counsel, as though this fact was quite new +to him. “What was it like?”</p> + +<p>“It weighed close on two ounces, an’ was shaped like a kaka’s +head.”</p> + +<p>“What is a <em>kaka</em>, my man, and what shape is it’s head?”</p> + +<p>“I thought you’d ha’ known—it’s a parrot, mister.”</p> + +<p>“Would you know the nugget, if you saw it again?”</p> + +<p>“’Course, I would,” replied the witness with infinite contempt. +“I got eyes, ain’t I, an’ a mem’ry?”</p> + +<p>“Is that it?” The barrister handed a bit of gold to the witness.</p> + +<p>“That’s the identical nugget,” replied the witness: “you may +make your mind easy on that. I sold it to Zahn soon after he come +to the field.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +“Thank you,” said the Crown Prosecutor, and, turning to the +jury, he added, “That nugget, gentlemen, is an exhibit in the case, +and is one of the effects found on the prisoner at the bar, when he +was searched after his arrest.”</p> + +<p>The witness left the box amid a murmur of excitement, and from +the gestures of the jurymen it was clear that his evidence had impressed +them. The case against Scarlett wore a serious aspect, and +the Crown Prosecutor, smiling, as though well pleased with his work, +was preparing to examine witnesses to prove the prisoner’s arrival +at Canvas Town on the night of the murder, when there arose a considerable +commotion amongst the public, by reason of a wild, unshorn +man pushing his way violently towards the barrier. The Police +Sergeant and his constables cried, “Silence in the Court!” but amid +noisy protestations from the crowd, the ragged, struggling figure +reached the barrier, vaulted over it, and stood on the floor of the +Court. The barristers rose to stare at the extraordinary figure; the +Judge, open-mouthed with astonishment, glared at everybody generally; +the Sergeant made three strides towards the intruder, and +seized him roughly by the arm.</p> + +<p>“I desire to give evidence!” cried the disturber of the proceedings. +“I wish to be sworn.”</p> + +<p>With his clothes in tatters and earth-stained, his boots burst at +the seams and almost falling to pieces, his hair long and tangled, his +beard dirty and unkempt, thus, in a state of utter disreputableness, +he unflinchingly faced the Court; and the crowd, forgetful of the +prisoner, Judge, and jury, gave its whole attention to him.</p> + +<p>Beckoning with his hand, the Judge said, “Bring this man forward. +Place him where I can see him.”</p> + +<p>The Police Sergeant led the would-be witness to the space between +the dock and the jury-box.</p> + +<p>“Now, my man,” said the Judge, “I imagine that you wish to +say something. Do you wish to give evidence bearing on this case?”</p> + +<p>“I do, Your Honour.”</p> + +<p>“Then let me warn you that if what you have to say should +prove frivolous or vexatious, you will be committed for disturbing +the Court.”</p> + +<p>“If what I have to say is irrelevant, I shall be willing to go to +gaol.”</p> + +<p>The Judge looked at this ragged man who used such long words, +and said sternly, “You had better be careful, sir, exceedingly careful. +What is your name?”</p> + +<p>“Benjamin Tresco.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed. Very good. T-r-e-s-c-o-e, I presume,” remarked +the Judge, making a note of the name.</p> + +<p>“No, T-r-e-s-c-o.”</p> + +<p>“No ’e’?”</p> + +<p>“No, Your Honour; no ’e’.”</p> + +<p>“Benjamin Tresco, of what nature is the evidence you desire to +give?”</p> + +<p>“It tends to the furtherance of Justice, Your Honour.”</p> + +<p>“Does it bear on this case? Does it deal with the murder of +Isaac Zahn?”</p> + +<p>“It does.”</p> + +<p>“Would it be given on behalf of the Crown, or on behalf of the +prisoner?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say. It has no bearing on the prisoner, except indirectly. +It affects the Crown, perhaps—the Crown always desires to promote +Justice.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +“Let the man be sworn.”</p> + +<p>So Benjamin was placed in the box, and stood prominent in his +rags before them all. After he had been sworn, there was a pause; +neither the prosecution, nor the defence, knowing quite what to make +of him.</p> + +<p>At length the counsel for the Crown began, “Where were you +on March the 3rd, the supposed day of the murder of Isaac Zahn?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t keep a diary. Of late, I haven’t taken much account +of dates. But if you refer to the date of the thunderstorm, I may +state that I was in my cave.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed. In your cave? That is most interesting. May I ask +where your cave may be?”</p> + +<p>“In the mountains, not far from the track to Canvas Town.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, that’s very novel. When you are at home, you live in +a cave. You must be a sort of hermit. Do you know the prisoner?”</p> + +<p>“Slightly.”</p> + +<p>“Did you meet him in your cave?”</p> + +<p>“No; but there I saw the men who ought to be in the dock in his +stead.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? What? Do you understand what you are saying?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly.”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly? Indeed. Have you come here to give evidence for +the Crown against the prisoner at the bar?”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to do with the prisoner. I have come to disclose +the guilty parties, who, so far as I am aware, never in their +lives spoke two words to the prisoner at the bar.”</p> + +<p>“Your Honour,” said the bewildered barrister, “I have nothing +further to ask the witness. I frankly own that I consider him hardly +accountable for what he says—his general appearance, his manner +of life, his inability to reckon time, all point to mental eccentricity, +to mental eccentricity in an acute form.”</p> + +<p>But the counsel for the defence was on his feet.</p> + +<p>“My good sir,” he said, addressing the witness, with an urbanity +of tone and manner that Benjamin in his palmiest days could not +have surpassed, “putting aside all worry about dates, or the case for +the Crown, or the prisoner at the bar, none of which need concern +you in the slightest degree, kindly tell the jury what occurred in +your cave on the day of the thunderstorm.”</p> + +<p>“Four men entered, and from the place where I lay hid I overheard +their conversation. It referred to the murder of Isaac Zahn.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly what I should have imagined. Did you know the four +men? Who were they? What were their names?”</p> + +<p>“I knew the names they went by, and I recognised their faces as +those of men I had met in Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>“Tell the jury all that you heard them say and all that you saw +them do in the cave?”</p> + +<p>“I had returned from exploring a long passage in the limestone +rock, when I heard voices and saw a bright light in the main cave. +For reasons of my own, I did not desire to be discovered; therefore, +I crept forward till I lay on a sort of gallery which overlooked the +scene. Four men were grouped round a fire at which they were +drying their clothes, and by the light of the flames they divided a +large quantity of gold which, from their conversation, I learned they +had stolen from men whom they had murdered. They described the +method of the murders; each man boasting of the part he had played. +They had stuck up a gold-escort, and had killed four men, one of +whom was a constable and another a banker.”</p> + +<p>“That was how they described them?”</p> + +<p>“That is so. The two remaining murdered men they did not +describe as to profession or calling.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +“You say that you had previously met these fiends. What were +their names?”</p> + +<p>“They called each other by what appeared to be nicknames. +One, the leader, was Dolly; another Sweet William, or simply William; +the third was Carny, or Carnac; the fourth Garstang. But how +far these were their real names I am unable to say.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you first meet them?”</p> + +<p>“In The Lucky Digger. I played for money with them, and lost +considerably.”</p> + +<p>“When next did you meet them?”</p> + +<p>“Some weeks afterwards I saw two of them—the leader, known +as Dolphin, or Dolly, and the youngest member of the gang, named +William.”</p> + +<p>“Where was that?”</p> + +<p>“On the track to Bush Robin Creek. I had come out of the +bush, and saw them on the track. When I had hidden myself, they +halted opposite me at a certain rock which stands beside the track. +From where I lay I heard them planning some scheme, the nature +of which I then scarcely understood, but which must have been the +sticking-up of the gold-escort. I heard them discuss details which +could have been connected with no other undertaking.”</p> + +<p>“Would you know them if you saw them again?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“Look round the Court, and see if they are present.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin turned, and looked hard at the sea of faces on the +further side of the barrier. There were faces, many of which he +knew well, but he saw nothing of Dolphin’s gang.</p> + +<p>“I see none of them here,” he said, “but I recognise a man who +could bear me out in identifying them, as he was with me when I +lost money to them at cards.”</p> + +<p>“I would ask you to point your friend out to me,” said the +Judge. “Do I understand that he was with you in the cave?”</p> + +<p>“No, Your Honour; I knew him before I went there.”</p> + +<p>“What is his name?”</p> + +<p>“On the diggings, he is Bill the Prospector, but his real name is +William Wurcott.”</p> + +<p>“Call William Wurcott,” said the Judge.</p> + +<p>William Wurcott was duly cried, and the pioneer of Bush Robin +Creek pushed his way to the barrier and stood before the Court in +all his hairiness and shabbiness.</p> + +<p>Tresco stood down, and the Prospector was placed in the box. +After being sworn according to ancient custom, Bill was asked all +manner of questions by counsel and the Judge, but no light whatever +could he throw on the murder of Isaac Zahn, though he deposed that +if confronted with the visitors to Tresco’s cave, he would be able to +identify them as easily as he could his own mother. He further gave +it as his opinion that as the members of the gang, namely, Sweet +William and his pals—he distinctly used the words “pals” before the +whole Court—had drugged him and stolen his money, on the occasion +to which Tresco had referred, they were quite capable, he thought, +of committing murder; and that since his mate Tresco had seen them +dividing stolen gold in his cave, on the day of the thunderstorm, he +fully believed that they, and not the prisoner at the bar, were the real +murderers.</p> + +<p>All of which left the minds of the jury in such a confused state +with regard to the indictment against the prisoner, that, without +retiring, they returned a verdict of Not Guilty, and Jack left the Court +in the company of Rose, the Pilot, and Captain Sartoris.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Way to Manage the Law.</strong></p> + + +<p>It may have been that the Prospector’s brief appearance in Court +had roused the public spirit latent in his hirsute breast, or it may +have been that his taciturnity had been cast aside in order that he +might assume his true position as a leader of men; however that may +have been, it is a fact that, on the morning after the trial, he was +to be seen and heard haranguing a crowd outside The Lucky Digger, +and inciting his hearers to commit a breach of the peace, to wit, the +forcible liberation of a prisoner charged with a serious crime.</p> + +<p>“An’ what did ’e come for?—’e come to see his pal had fair play,” +Bill was exclaiming, as he stood on the threshold of the inn and faced +the crowd of diggers in the street. “’E proved the whole boilin’ of +’em, Judge, law-sharks, police, an’ bum-bailies, was a pack of fools. +He made a reg’lar holy show of ’em. An’ what does ’e git?—Jahroh.”</p> + +<p>Here the speaker was interrupted by cries, approving his ruling +in the matter.</p> + +<p>“He come to give Justice a show to git her voice ’eard, and what’s +’e find?—a prison.” Bill paused here for effect, which followed immediately +in the form of deep and sepulchral groans.</p> + +<p>“Now I arsk you, ain’t there plenty real criminals in this part +o’ the world without freezin’ on to the likes of <em>us</em>? But the Law’s +got a down on diggers. What did the police know of this Dolphin +gang? Nothing. But they collared Mr. Scarlett, and was in a fair +way to scrag ’im, if Justice hadn’t intervened. Who have you to +thank for that?—a digger, my mate Tresco. Yes, but the Law don’t +thank ’im, not it; it fastens on to the very bloke that stopped it from +hangin’ the wrong man.”</p> + +<p>Here there arose yells of derision, and one digger, more vociferous +than his fellows, was heard to exclaim, “That’s right, ole man. +Give ’em goss!”</p> + +<p>The crowd now stretched across the broad street and blocked all +traffic, in spite of the exertions of a couple of policemen who were +vainly trying to disperse Bill’s audience.</p> + +<p>“Now I want to know what you’re goin’ to do about it,” continued +the Prospector. “All this shoutin’ an’ hoorayin’ is very fine, +but I don’t see how it helps my mate in the lock-up. I want to know +what you’re goin’ to <em>do</em>!”</p> + +<p>He paused for an answer, but there was none, because no one in +the vast assembly was prepared to reply.</p> + +<p>“Then,” said the Prospector, “I’ll tell you what. I want six men +to go down to the port for a ship’s hawser, a thick ’un, a long ’un. I +want those men to bring that there hawser, and meet me in front of +the Police Station; an’ we’ll see if I can show you the way to manage +the Law.”</p> + +<p>The concourse surged wildly to and fro, as men pushed and +elbowed their way to the front.</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said Bill, as he surveyed the volunteers with the +eye of a general; “you’ll do fine. I want about ten chain o’ rope, +thick enough and strong enough to hold a ship. Savee?”</p> + +<p>The men detailed for this special duty answered affirmatively, +seized upon the nearest “express,” and, clambering upon it, they +drove towards the sea amidst the cheering of the crowd.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +The Prospector now despatched agents to beat up all the diggers +in the town, and then, accompanied by hundreds of hairy and excited +men, he made his way towards the lock-up, where the goldsmith, who +had been arrested immediately after Scarlett’s trial, lay imprisoned. +This place of torment was a large, one-storied, wooden building which +stood in a by-street facing a green and grassy piece of land adjacent +to the Red Tape Office.</p> + +<p>By the time that Bill, followed by an ever increasing crowd, had +reached the “station,” the men with the hawser arrived from the port.</p> + +<p>No sooner were the long lengths of heavy rope unloaded from +the waggon, then deft hands tied a bowline at one end of the hawser +and quickly passed it round the lock-up, which was thus securely +noosed, and two or three hundred diggers took hold of the slack of +the rope.</p> + +<p>Then was the Prospector’s opportunity to play his part in the +little drama which he had arranged for the edification of Timber +Town. Watch in hand, he stepped up to the door of the Police +Station, where he was immediately confronted by no less a person +than the Sergeant himself.</p> + +<p>“’Day, mister,” said Bill, but the policeman failed to acknowledge +the greeting. “You’ve got a mate of ours in here—a man of the +name of Tresco. It’s the wish of these gentlemen that he be liberated. +I give you three minutes to decide.”</p> + +<p>The infuriated Sergeant could hardly speak, so great was his +anger. But at last he ejaculated, “Be off! This is rioting. You’re +causing a breach of the peace.”</p> + +<p>“Very sorry, mister, but time’s nearly up,” was the only comment +that the Prospector made.</p> + +<p>“I arrest you. I shall lock you up!”</p> + +<p>Bill quickly stepped back, and cried to his men. “Take a strain!” +The hawser was pulled taut, till it ticked. “Heave!” The building +creaked to its foundations.</p> + +<p>Bill held up his hand, and the rope slackened. Turning to the +Sergeant, he said, “You see, mister, this old shanty of yours will go, +or I must have my mate. Which is it to be? It lies with you to +say.”</p> + +<p>But by way of answer the Sergeant rushed at him with a pair of +handcuffs. Half-a-dozen diggers intervened, and held the Law’s +representative as if he had been a toy-terrier.</p> + +<p>The Prospector now gave all his attention to his work. “Take +a strain!” he cried. “Heave!” The wooden building creaked and +cracked; down came a chimney, rattling upon the iron roof.</p> + +<p>“Pull, boys!” shouted the Prospector. “Take the time from me.” +With arms extended above his head, he swayed his body backwards +and forwards slowly, and shouted in time to his gesticulations, +“Heave! Heave! Now you’ve got her! Altogether, boys! Let her +’ave it! Heave!”</p> + +<p>The groaning building moved a foot or two forward, the windows +cracked, and another chimney came down with a crash. Bill +held up his hand, and the hawser slackened.</p> + +<p>“Now, mister,” he said, addressing the helpless, struggling Sergeant, +“when’s my mate a-comin’? Look sharp in saying the word, +or your old shed’ll only be fit for firewood.”</p> + +<p>At this point of the proceedings, a constable with an axe in his +hand issued from the tottering building; his intention being to cut +the rope. But he was immediately overpowered and disarmed.</p> + +<p>“That fixes it,” said the Prospector. “Now, boys; take a strain—the +last one. Heave, all! Give ’er all you know. Altogether. +Heave! There she comes. Again. Heave!”</p> + +<p>There was a crashing and a smashing, the whole fabric lurched +forward, and was dragged half-way across the road. Bill held up +his hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +“Now, Sergeant, have you had enough, or do you want the whole +caboose pulled across the paddock?”</p> + +<p>But the answer was given by a constable leading a battered, +tattered, figure from the wrecked building.</p> + +<p>It was Benjamin Tresco.</p> + +<p>Led by the Prospector, the great crowd of diggers roared three +deafening cheers; and then the two mates shook hands.</p> + +<p>That affecting greeting over, Benjamin held up his hand for +silence.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, I thank you,” he said. “This is the proudest day +of my life. It’s worth while being put in limbo to be set free in this +fashion. I hardly know what I’ve done to deserve such a delicate +attention, but I take it as a token of good feeling, although you +pretty near killed me with your kindness. The Law is strong, but +public opinion is stronger; and when the two meet in conflict, the +result is chaos for the Law.”</p> + +<p>He pointed to the wrecked building, by way of proof; and the +crowd roared its approval.</p> + +<p>“But there’s been a man worse man-handled than me,” continued +the goldsmith, “a man as innocent as an unborn babe. I refer to +Mr. Scarlett, the boss of the Robin Creek diggings.”</p> + +<p>The crowd shouted.</p> + +<p>“But he has regained his liberty.” Benjamin’s face shone like the +rising sun, as he said the words. “I call upon you to give three +cheers for Mr. Jack Scarlett.” The response was deafening, and the +roar of the multitude was heard by the sailors on the ships which +lay at the wharves of Timber Town.</p> + +<p>From the mixed crowd on the side-path, where he had been +standing with Cathro and Mr. Crewe, Scarlett stepped forward to +thank the man who by his intervention had delivered him from +obloquy and, possibly, from death. Immediately the diggers marked +the meeting, they rushed forward, seized Scarlett, Tresco, and the +Prospector; lifted them shoulder high, and marched down the street, +singing songs appropriate to the occasion.</p> + +<p>At the door of The Lucky Digger the procession stopped, and +there the heroes were almost forcibly refreshed; after which affecting +ceremony one body-guard of diggers conducted Scarlett to the +Pilot’s house, and another escorted Bill and Ben to the goldsmith’s +shop. But whereas Scarlett’s friends left him at Captain Summerhayes’ +gate, the men who accompanied Tresco formed themselves +into a guard for the protection of his person and the safety of his +deliverer.</p> + +<p>When Scarlett walked into the Pilot’s parlour, he found the old +sailor poring over a pile of letters and documents which had just +arrived by the mail from England.</p> + +<p>“Well, Pilot, good news, I hope,” said Jack.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the gruff old seaman; “it’s bad—and yet it’s good. +See here, lad.” He pushed a letter towards Jack, and fixed his eyes +on the young man’s face.</p> + +<p>“I had better not read it,” said Jack. “Let Miss Summerhayes +do so.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve no secrets from <em>you</em>, lad. There’s nothing in it you +shouldn’t know; but, no, no, ’tain’t for my dar’ter’s eyes. It’s from +my brother’s lawyers, to say he’s dead.”</p> + +<p>“What, dead?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, died last January. They say he had summat on his +mind; they refer me to this packet here—his journals.” The Pilot +took up two fat little books, in which a diary had been kept in a +clear, clerkly hand. “I’ve been looking them through, and it’s all as +clear as if it had been printed.”</p> + +<p>Scarlett sat down, and looked at the old man earnestly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +“I’ve told you,” continued Summerhayes, “how I hated my +brother: you’ve heard me curse him many a time. Well, the reason’s +all set down in these books. It worried him as he lay sickening +for his death. To put it short, it was this: He was rich—I was +poor. I was married—he was single. He had ships—I had none. +So he gave me command of one of his tea-clippers, and I handed +over to his care all I held dear. But I believed he proved unworthy +of my trust. And so he did, but not as I thought. Here in his +diary he put down everything he did while I was on that voyage; +writing himself down blackguard, if ever a man did. But he owns +that however base was his wish, he was defeated in the fulfilment of +it. And here, as he was slowly dying, he puts down how he repents. +He was bad, he was grasping, he was unscrupulous, but he wasn’t as +bad as he wished to be, and that’s all you can say for him. I bury +my resentment with his body. He’s dead, and my hatred’s dead. To +prove his repentance he made his Will, of which this is a certified +copy.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot handed to Jack a lengthy legal document, which had +a heavy red seal attached to it, and continued, “To my dar’ter he +leaves the bulk of his money, an’ to me his ships. There, that ends +the whole matter.”</p> + +<p>Jack read the deed while the Pilot smoked.</p> + +<p>“You’re a rich man, Captain Summerhayes,” said he, as he handed +back the document to its owner.</p> + +<p>“If I choose to take the gift,” growled the Pilot.</p> + +<p>“Which you must, or else see an immense sum of money go +into the maw of Chancery.”</p> + +<p>“Chancery be smothered! Ain’t there my dar’ter Rose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but she couldn’t take the ships except at your wish or +at your death.”</p> + +<p>“Then she shall have ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Pilot. You know now that your brother never +wronged you unpardonably. You own that in a large measure you +misjudged him. Now then, place your unfounded charge against his +evil intention, and you are quits. He tried to square himself by +leaving you half his wealth, and you will square yourself with him +by accepting his gift. If you don’t do that, you will die a worse man +than he.”</p> + +<p>The Pilot was silent for some time, and drummed the table with +his fingers.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like it,” he complained.</p> + +<p>“You must take it. If you don’t, you will drag before the public +a matter that must grieve your daughter.”</p> + +<p>“All right, I’ll take it; but I shall hold it in trust for my gal.”</p> + +<p>“That is as you please.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s one good thing in it, Jack. Sartoris! Rosebud! +Come here. There’s a gentleman wants to see you.”</p> + +<p>Rose Summerhayes and the shipless Captain, when the Pilot +opened his mail, had retired to the kitchen, in order that the old +man, who was evidently upset by his news, might digest it quietly. +They now reappeared, looking half-scared lest the heavens had fallen +on the Pilot.</p> + +<p>They were astonished to see him radiant, and laughing with +Jack.</p> + +<p>“Now, my gal and Captain Sartoris, sir, I’ve got a little matter +to clear up. I own there was a problem in them letters as almost +bamfoozled me. I confess it almost beat me. I own it got the better +of me considerably. But this young man, here—stand up, Jack, and +don’t look as if you’d stolen the sugar out of the tea-caddy—this +young man, my dear, pulled me through. He put it to me as plain +as if he’d bin a lawyer an’ a parson rolled into one. The difficulty’s +overcome: there’s nothing of it left: it don’t exist.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +Sartoris’ eyes opened wider and wider as he gazed in astonishment +at the Pilot, who continued, “Yes, Sartoris, you well may look, +for I’m goin’ to tell you something you don’t expect. You are to +have another ship. I have letters here as warrant me in saying that: +you shall have command of another ship, as soon as you land in +England.”</p> + +<p>“D’you mean to say your brother has forgiven the wreck of <em>The +Witch</em>? You must be dreaming, Summerhayes.”</p> + +<p>“Probably I am. But as soon as you reach home, Sartoris, there’s +a ship waitin’ for you. That ends the matter.”</p> + +<p>He turned abruptly to Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“There’s something I have to say to you, young feller. My gal, +here, came to me, the night before last—when some one we know of +was in a very queer street—she came to me, all of a shake, all of a +tremble, unable to sleep; she came to me in the middle of the night—a +thing she’d never done since she was six years old—an’ at first I +thought it was the hysterics, an’ then I thought it was fever. But +she spoke plain enough, an’ her touch was cool enough. An’ then she +began to tell me”——</p> + +<p>“Really, father,” Rose exclaimed, her cheeks colouring like a +peony, “<em>do</em> stop, or you’ll drive me from the room.”</p> + +<p>“Right, my dear: I say no more. But I ask you, sir,” he continued, +turning to Scarlett. “I ask <em>you</em> how you diagnose a case like +that. What treatment do you prescribe? What doctor’s stuff do +you give?” There was a smile on the old man’s face, and his eyes +sparkled with merriment. “I put it to you as a friend, I put it to you +as a man who knows a quantity o’ gals. What’s the matter with my +dar’ter Rose?”</p> + +<p>For a moment, Jack looked disconcerted, but almost instantly a +smile overspread his face.</p> + +<p>“I expect it arose from a sudden outburst of affection for her +father,” he said.</p> + +<p>But here Sartoris spoilt the effect by laughing. “I suspect the +trouble rose from a disturbed condition of the heart,” said he, “a +complaint not infrequent in females.”</p> + +<p>“An’ what, Cap’n, would you suggest as a cure?” asked the +Pilot; his eyes twinkling, and his suppressed merriment working in +him like the subterranean rumbling of an earthquake.</p> + +<p>“Cast off the tow-rope, drop the pilot, and let her own skipper +shape her course”—this was the advice that Sartoris gave—“to my +mind you’ve been a-towin’ of her too long.”</p> + +<p>“But she’s got no skipper,” said Summerhayes, “an’, dear, dear, +she’s a craft with a deal too much top-hamper an’ not near enough +free-board to please me, an’ her freight’s valued at over fifty thousand. +Where’s the man, Sartoris, you’d guarantee would take her +safely into port?”</p> + +<p>The two old sailors were now bubbling with laughter, and there +were frequent pauses between their words, that their mirth might not +explode.</p> + +<p>“There was a time,” said Sartoris, “there was a time when I’d +ha’ bin game to take on the job meself.”</p> + +<p>“What!” exclaimed Rose. “You? Why, you’re old and shaky and +decrepit.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I don’t deny it—I’m a bit of a hulk, my dear,” but Sartoris +laughed as he spoke. “I may have to pass in my cheques, any day. +That’s why I stand aside; but I’ll find you the man to take my place. +Here ’e is!” The grizzled old sailor seized Scarlett by the arm, and +pushed him towards the girl. “This is him. He’s got his master’s +ticket all right; an’ though he’s never had command of a ship, he’s +anxious to try his hand. Pilot, my advice is, let ’im have her.”</p> + +<p>“Thank ’e, Cap’n.” Here the Pilot’s laughter, too long suppressed, +burst forth with a terrific roar, in which Sartoris joined. “I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +mark what you say, Cap’n. I take your advice.” His words again +halted to make way for his Titanic laughter. “I believe it’s about +the best thing I can do.” He had now caught hold of Scarlett’s hand. +“Come here, my gal.” Taking hold of Rose’s hand also, he said, “My +dear, I built you—an’ I pride myself your lines are beautiful, though +I’ve never told you so till now—I launched you in life, an’ now I put +you in charge of the best skipper I can lay hands on. Always answer +your helm quick, take care you don’t fall away to lee-ward in making +your course, an’ I’ll go bail he’ll treat you fair an’ safely carry you +into port.”</p> + +<p>He put his daughter’s hand into Jack’s.</p> + +<p>“There,” he said. “A long voyage an’ a happy one. May you +weather every storm.” And, walking to the window, the Pilot made +pretence of looking out on the roses in the garden, in order to hide +the moisture which clouded his eyes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>Tresco Makes the Ring.</strong></p> + + +<p>The goldsmith sat at his bench; his spectacles on his nose, his apron +round the place where his waist should have been, and in his hands +the implements of his craft. Nobody had told him, he had hardly +told himself, that it was for the last time that he was sitting within +the four boarded walls where he had spent so many hours during the +last four years, at the bench which bore on every square inch of its +surface the marks of his labour. But Tresco knew, as did also Jake +Ruggles and the Prospector who watched him, that the end of his +labours had come.</p> + +<p>The goldsmith’s thoughts were in keeping with his work: he was +about to make a wedding-ring, and his speech was of Love.</p> + +<p>First, he took a little ingot of pure gold, and, laying it on the +smooth surface of what looked like an upturned, handleless flat-iron, +he wrought upon the precious, yellow metal with a hammer, till it +was shaped like a badly-made rod.</p> + +<p>This he handed over to Jake, who put it on the wire “devil” and +strove with blow-pipe and flame to bring it to a red heat.</p> + +<p>“Woman,” said Benjamin, “Woman is like a beautiful scene, or +the perfume of a delicate rose—every man loves her, be he prince or +pauper, priest or murderer. To labour for Woman is the sweetest +work of Man—that’s why a goldsmith is in love with his craft. Think +of all the pretty creatures I have made happy with my taste and +skill. While there are women there must be goldsmiths, Jake!”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked the apprentice, taking his lips from the stem of +the blow-pipe, and looking at his master.</p> + +<p>“You’re sure this is the correct size?” Tresco held an old-fashioned +ring between his forefinger and thumb, and tested with the +point of a burnisher the setting of the rubies in it.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the shock-headed youth. “I seen her take it orf +her finger, when the toff bought her engagement-ring. I was ‘all +there,’ don’t you make no mistake. ‘Leave this,’ I said, looking at the +rubies; ‘the settin’ is a bit shaky,’ I says. ‘Allow me to fix it,’ I says. +An’ there you are with a pattern. Savee?”</p> + +<p>Benjamin laughed.</p> + +<p>“Mind you make it real good,” said the Prospector, who stood, +watching the operation. “Person’lly, I’d say put a good big diamond +in the centre.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +“’Twouldn’t do,” replied the goldsmith. “Unfortunately, Custom +says wedding-rings must be plain, so plain it must be.”</p> + +<p>“Then let it be pure,” said the Prospector. “Anyway it’ll bring +good luck.”</p> + +<p>He had divided his lucky nugget, the same that he had refused to +sell when he made the goldsmith’s acquaintance and sold the first +gold from Bush Robin Creek, and while he had retained one half of +this talisman, out of the other half Tresco was fashioning a wedding-ring +for Scarlett.</p> + +<p>The red-hot piece of gold had been cooled suddenly by being cast +into the “pickle,” and was now subjected to another severe hammering, +after which it was drawn, by means of a gigantic pair of tongs fixed +to the windlass of a bench by a long leather strap through graduated +holes in a strong steel plate. Next, it was branded, by means of +certain steel punches, with the goldsmith’s private marks, and afterwards +it was bent with pliers into a circle, and its clear-cut ends were +soldered together under the blow-pipe.</p> + +<p>Benjamin peered over the tops of his glasses at the Prospector. +“I owe you luck, fortune, and freedom,” he said, “and yet, Bill, your +power to create happiness is distinctly limited.”</p> + +<p>“I dessay,” replied the Prospector. “But what’d you have me do? +Would you ask me to make you into a gold-plated angel with a pair +o’ patent wings, twelve foot in the spread? It’d save me a deal o’ +trouble if you could fly away from the police an’ Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t thinking of the police. I was thinking of adorable, +elusive Woman. I ought to be making my own wedding-ring: instead +of that I must roll my bluey and be footing it over the mountains before +to-morrow morning. I’m turned into a perfect Wandering Jew.”</p> + +<p>“You should be darn glad I give you the opportunity.”</p> + +<p>“I leave behind the loveliest fallen angel you ever set eyes on.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll find plenty more o’ that sort where you’re goin’.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps: but not one of ’em the prospective Mrs. T. Ah, well, +all through life my hopes of domestic bliss have invariably been +blighted; but the golden key of wealth will unlock the hardest +woman’s heart. When I have leisure and freedom from worry, I’ll +see what can be done. In the meanwhile, Jake, go and fetch some +beer.” He took a shilling from his pocket, and gave it to the apprentice. +“Make tracks,” he said, “or my sorrow will have fled before +I’ve had time to drown it.”</p> + +<p>Jake disappeared, as if shot from a cannon, and his master +placed the roughly-formed ring on a steel mandril.</p> + +<p>“But this,” said the goldsmith, tapping the ring skilfully with +a diminutive hammer, “this is for the finger of an angel. Just think, +Bill, what it would be to be spliced to a creature so good that it’d be +like being chained to a scripture saint for the rest of your life.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I’d be on the wallaby in a fortnight,” said the Prospector. +“Personally, I prefer a flesh-and-blood angel, with a touch +of the devil in her. But at best marriage is on’y a lottery. A wife’s +like a claim—she may prove rich, or she may turn out to be a duffer.”</p> + +<p>The goldsmith was now working upon the ring with a file. Next, +he rubbed it with emery paper, and finished it with a burnisher.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he, as he filled his pipe, and lighted it at the pilot-flame +of the gas-jet which stretched its long, movable arm over the +bench, “men, like flies, are of two kinds—those that fall into the +soup, an’ those that don’t. I have borne a charmed life: you have +fallen into the tureen. Here comes the beer!”</p> + +<p>There was a scuffling on the side-path, and Jake’s voice was +heard in shrill altercation. Up to that point, Benjamin’s body-guard +had attended rigidly to its self-imposed duty, but now, following close +on the heels of the apprentice, its members burst into the workshop.</p> + +<p>Shaking with laughter, Tresco addressed the thirsty influx.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +“I’m sorry, mates,” he said, “but I can’t see my way to make +that quart of beer into two gallons. But I give largess to my vassals—that, +I believe, is real, toff, Court dialect. Drink this.”</p> + +<p>He took a crumpled one-pound bank-note from his pocket, and +handed it to the self-appointed captain of his guard, who immediately +withdrew his fire-eaters, and the goldsmith was left to complete his +work in peace.</p> + +<p>“Here’s health to the bride that’s to wear it,” said Benjamin, +as he raised his glass to his thirsty lips.</p> + +<p>“I’m not much at sentiment,” said the Prospector, “but may she +always ring as true as the metal it’s made of, for she’s got a Man +for a husband.”</p> + +<p>“May Luck go with them.”</p> + +<p>To the Prospector the ring now seemed perfect, but the goldsmith +placed a jeweller’s magnifier in his eye, and scrutinised the +shining marriage-token lest it might contain the slightest flaw. But +his work stood the test and, placing the ring in a dainty velvet case, +he rose and put on his hat.</p> + +<p>“That finishes my career as a goldsmith,” he said. “I don’t suppose +I shall sit at a bench again. To you, Bill, I owe my fortune, +to you I owe my liberty. No words of my misshapen tongue can express +what I feel; but you, mate, can guess it.”</p> + +<p>The two men looked silently at each other, and solemnly shook +hands.</p> + +<p>The Prospector might have said a great deal: he might have +expatiated in lurid language on his admiration of Tresco’s self-sacrifice, +but he said nothing. He silently held the goldsmith’s hand, till +a tell-tale moisture dimmed the craftsman’s eyes, so that they could +not see through their spectacles.</p> + +<p>Pulling himself together with a sudden effort, Benjamin said +firmly, if a little loudly, “Is my swag packed, Jake?”</p> + +<p>“Bill done it himself,” answered the apprentice. “I seen him +do it when he packed his own.”</p> + +<p>“That’s one more little kindness. Thanks, mate.” Tresco placed +the ring-case in his pocket, and led the way to the kitchen. There +the “swags” lay on the table, and each man took his own and hitched +it on his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Two such valuable swags,” said the Prospector, “it’s never been +my fortune to see. Twenty thousand couldn’t buy ’em.”</p> + +<p>With these words, he passed into the street; Tresco following.</p> + +<p>The body-guard of diggers closed round them, and escorted them +to the house of Pilot Summerhayes.</p> + +<p>Inside the garden-gate, the party of rough, ill-clad, warm-hearted +men paused, and one of their number went forward, and knocked at +the front door. Rose opened it.</p> + +<p>“We want to see Mr. Scarlett,” said the digger.</p> + +<p>The girl vanished, and Jack, followed by the Pilot, appeared.</p> + +<p>“Hullo! hullo!” exclaimed the gruff old sailor, as he caught sight +of the gold-miners in the garden. “We’re invaded, Jack: it’s another +warrant. How now, my man; what have we been doing? Are there +more murderers to be lodged in gaol?—I thought they’d caught the +lot.”</p> + +<p>“There’s four of ’em in quod, boss,” replied the digger; “I guess +that’s the whole gang, s’far’s Tresco’s evidence goes to prove.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! there’s the goldsmith himself,” exclaimed the Pilot, pressing +through the throng in the garden. “How d’you do, sir? I have to +thank you, on behalf of my dar’ter and myself.” He gripped the +goldsmith’s hand, and almost wrung it off.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” said Tresco. “Yes, that’s all right. I +couldn’t stand by and see an innocent man murdered. Certainly not.” +Here he got his hand free, and proffered it to Scarlett, who grasped +it with a warmth which quite equalled the Pilot’s.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +“Tresco,” said Jack, looking straight into the goldsmith’s face, +“you have accumulated against me a debt I can never pay.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” replied the goldsmith, laughing; “I’m not so sure +of that. Sometimes Justice miscarries. How about that <em>kaka</em> +nugget? When you’ve explained that, I shall feel I was justified in +saving you from the hand of the Law.”</p> + +<p>Jack laughed too. “You dog! You know the facts as well as I +do. Moonlight took a fancy to the piece of gold and offered a good +price, which the Jew took. I bought it from my mate. That point +is perfectly clear. But I see you’ve got your swag on your back: +your days in Timber Town are numbered.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” said Tresco.</p> + +<p>“I can only say this,” continued Jack: “if ever you are in a tight +place, which God forbid, I hope I shall be near to help you out of it; +if I am not, wire to me—though I am at the end of the earth I will +come to your help.”</p> + +<p>Tresco smiled. “Yes,” he said, “you’re going to be married—you +look on everything through coloured glasses: you are prepared to +promise anything. You are going to the altar. And that’s why we’ve +come here.” He had taken the little velvet case from his pocket. “As +you’ll be wanting something in this line”—he opened the case and displayed +the wedding-ring—“I have made this out of a piece of Bush-Robin +gold, and on behalf of Bill and myself I present it to you with +our best wishes for a long and happy life.”</p> + +<p>Jack took the gift, and drew a feigned sigh. He knew the meaning +of such a present from such givers. He looked at the ring: he +looked at the assembled diggers.</p> + +<p>“After this, I guess, I shall <em>have</em> to get married,” he said. “I +don’t see any way out of it. Do you, Pilot?”</p> + +<p>“I reckon he’s hooked, gen’lemen,” replied the old sailor. “There’s +many a smart man on the ‘field’—I’m aware of that—but never a one +so smart but a woman won’t sooner or later take him in her net. I +give my dar’ter credit for having landed the smartest of the whole +crowd of you.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Jack, as he turned the glittering ring between his +fingers, “I’ve got to go through with it; but such tokens of sympathy +as this ring”—he placed it on the first joint of his forefinger, and +held it up that all might see—“will pull me through.”</p> + +<p>“And when is the happy day?” asked Tresco.</p> + +<p>“The choice of that lies with the lady,” replied Jack; “but as the +Pilot has just received news of his brother’s death, I expect my +freedom will extend for a little while yet.”</p> + +<p>“My mate and me’ll be far away by then,” said the Prospector, +and he looked at Benjamin as he spoke. “But you may bet we’ll +often think of you and your wife, and wish you health an’ happiness.”</p> + +<p>“Hear, hear.” The crowd was beginning to feel that the occasion +was assuming its proper aspect.</p> + +<p>“We hope,” continued Bill, “that your wife will prove a valuable +find, as valuable a find as your claim at Robin Creek, an’ that she’ll +pan out rich in virtue an’ all womanly qualities. H’m.” The Prospector +turned for sympathy to his friends. “I think that’s pretty +fair, eh, mates?” But they only grinned. So Bill addressed himself +once more to the subject in hand, though his ideas had run +out with his last rhetorical effort. “I don’t think I can beat that,” +he said; “I think I’ll leave it at that. I hope she’ll pan out rich +in virtue, an’ prove a valuable claim. Me an’ Tresco’s got a long +way to go before night. I hope you’ll excuse us if we start to make +a git.” He held out his hand to Jack, and said, “Health an’ prosperity +to you an’ the missis, mate. So-long.” Then he hitched up +his swag, and walked down the gravelled path regardless of Tresco +or anyone else.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +The goldsmith tarried a moment or two.</p> + +<p>“It’s hardly possible we shall meet again,” he said. “If we +don’t, I wish you a long good-bye. It is said that men value most +those to whom they have been of service; but whether that is so or +not, I shall always like to think of the days we spent together on +Bush Robin Creek.”</p> + +<p>“When this little bit of a breeze has blown over,” said Jack, +“I hope you’ll come back.”</p> + +<p>“Not much.” The reply was straight and unequivocal. “I may +have retrieved my character in the eyes of the people of Timber +Town, but in the eyes of the Law never, even if I satisfy its requirements +in its prescribed manner. I shall go to some other +country and there live, happy in the knowledge that I expiated my +wrong-doing by saving my innocent friend from the danger of death, +at the price of my own liberty. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>Jack’s hand clasped the craftsman’s, each man took a long, +straight look at the other’s kindly face, and then they parted.</p> + +<p>The body-guard closed round the goldsmith and the Prospector, +and escorted them through the Town to The Lucky Digger, where +they saw their charges fed and refreshed for the journey. Then they +conducted them out of the town to the top of the dividing range, and +there bade them a long adieu.</p> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 79px;"> +<img src="images/decoration3.png" width="79" height="56" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> +<h2>EPILOGUE.</h2> + + +<p>When the play is over, it is customary for the curtain to be raised +for a few moments, that the audience may take a last look at the +players; and though the action of our piece is ended and the story is +told, the reader is asked to give a final glance at the stage, on which +have been acted the varied scenes of the tale of Timber Town.</p> + +<p>In the inner recess of Tresco’s cave, where he had made his +comfortless bed, the dim light of a candle is burning. As its small +flame lights up the cold walls, stained black with the smoke of the +goldsmith’s dead fire, a weeping woman is seen crouching on the +damp floor.</p> + +<p>It is Gentle Annie.</p> + +<p>Between the sobs which rack her, she is speaking.</p> + +<p>“While he lived for weeks in this dripping hole, I lodged comfortably +and entertained murderers! Vile woman, defiled by hands +stained with blood! despised, loathed, shunned by every man, woman, +or child that knows me. Yet <em>he</em> did not despise me, though I shall +despise myself for ever, and for ever, and for ever. And he is gone—the +only one who could have raised me to my better self.”</p> + +<p>Rising from the ground, she takes the candle, and gropes her +way out of the cave into the pure light of the Sun.</p> + +<p>In a common Maori <em>whare</em>, built of <em>raupo</em> leaves and rushes, +sits a dusky maiden, filled with bitterness and grief. Outside the +low doorway, stand Scarlett and his wife.</p> + +<p>Forbidden to enter, they beg the surly occupant to come out to +them. But the only answer is a sentence of Maori, growled from an +angry mouth.</p> + +<p>“But, Amiria, we have ridden all the way from Timber Town +to see you,” pleads the silvery voice of Rose Scarlett.</p> + +<p>“Then you can ride back to Timber Town. I didn’t ask you to +come.”</p> + +<p>“Amiria,” says Jack; his voice stern and hard, “if you insult my +wife, you insult me. Have not you and she been friends since you +were children?”</p> + +<p>Amiria emerges from her hut. On her head is a man’s hat, +and round her body is wrapped a gaudy but dirty blanket.</p> + +<p>“Listen to what I say.” The same well-moulded, dusky face is +there, the same upright bearing, the same musical voice, but the tone +is hard, and the look forbidding. “I learnt all the <em>Pakeha</em> ways; I +went to their school; I can speak their tongue; I have learnt their +<em>ritenga</em>: and I say these <em>Pakeha</em> things are good for the <em>Pakeha</em>, but +for the Maori they are bad. The white man is one, the Maori is one. +Let the white man keep to his customs, and let the Maori keep to his. +Let the white marry white, and let the brown marry brown. That is +all. Take your wife with you, and think of me no more. I am a +Maori <em>wahine</em>, I have become a woman of the tribe. My life is in +the <em>pa</em>, yours is in the town. Now go. I want to see you no more.” +So saying she disappears inside the hut.</p> + +<p>Scarlett draws himself to his full height, and stands, contemplating +the sea. Then his eye catches a fleck of white at his side; and +he turns, to see his wife drying the tears which cannot be restrained.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +He takes her by the hand, and leads her through the little crowd +of natives standing round.</p> + +<p>“Come away, little woman,” he says; “we can do no good here. +It’s time we got back to Timber Town.”</p> + +<p>So mounting their horses, they ride away.</p> + +<p>It so happens that as they reach their journey’s end, and pass +the big “emporium” of Varnhagen and Co., they catch sight of the +gay figure of a girl, dressed in fluttering muslin and bright ribbons, +beside whom walks a smart young man.</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t that Miss Varnhagen?” asks Jack after they have passed +by at a trot.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replies Rose.</p> + +<p>“Who was the fellow with her?”</p> + +<p>“He’s the new gold-clerk at the Kangaroo Bank. She’s engaged +to him.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 79px;"> +<img src="images/decoration3.png" width="79" height="56" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tale of Timber Town, by Alfred Grace + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF TIMBER TOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 28906-h.htm or 28906-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/9/0/28906/ + +Produced by Nick Wall, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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