CHAPTER XVII.

He threw the whole of his money on the table.

“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.”

The digger, who, in spite of his return to the regions of civilisation, retained his wildly hirsute appearance, slowly counted the notes.

“I make it a hundred-and-sixty,” he said.

“That’s right,” said Tresco: “there’s sixty-seven for you, and the balance for me.”

Bill took out the two IOUs, and placed them on the table. They totalled £117, of which Benjamin had paid £50.

“I guess,” said the Prospector, “that sixty-seven’ll square it.” He carefully counted out that sum, and put it in his pocket.

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 whatcomes of backing my luck against ruffians with loaded dice and lumps on their necks.”

“Have you seen them devils since?” asked the Prospector.

“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.”

“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.”

“And then,” said Benjamin, “fetch your swag, and bunk here to-night. It’ll be a most convenient plan.”

“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.”

“That’s so,” said Benjamin. “Your hand on it.”

The digger held out his horny, begrimed paw, which the goldsmith grasped with a solemnity befitting the occasion.

“You’ll need a miner’s right,” said the digger.

“I’ve got one,” said Tresco. “Number 76032, all in order, entitling me to the richest claim in this country.”

“I’ll see, mate, that it’s as rich as my own, and that’s saying a wonderful deal.”

“Damme, I’ll come with you straight away!”

“Right, mate; come along.”

“We’ll start before dawn.”

“Before dawn.”

“I’ll shut the shop, and prospect along with you.”

“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.”

“Jake! Drat that boy; where is he? Jake, come here.”

The shock-headed youth came running from the back yard, where he was chopping wood.

“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.”

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.”

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.”

“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—butIdon’t care: it’s all the same tome.”

The goldsmith made an attempt to box the boy’s ear, but Jake dodged his blow.

“That’s your game, is it?” exclaimed the young rogue. “Bash me about, will you? All right—I’ll set up in opposition!”

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.

Rachel’s Wiles.

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.

“Now, vat you come bothering me this morning, Rachel? Can’t you see I’m pizzy?”

“I want a cheque, father.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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 takehimto 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.”

During this harangue, Rachel had stood, the mute but pretty picture of astonishment.

“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!”

“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.”

“Father! this worry about the mail has turned you silly.”

“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 withmyfather, and I marry your scharming mamma, and you, my tear Rachel, are the peautiful result. Eh? my tear.”

The old man took his daughter’s face between his fat hands, and kissed her on both cheeks.

“You silly old goose,” said Rachel, tenderly, “you seem to think I have no sense. I’m not going to marry Isaacyet—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 Icouldmarry; and because I pick out one for myself, you storm and rage as if I was thinking of marrying a convict.”

“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.”

The tears were now standing in Rachel’s pretty eyes, and she looked the picture of grief.

“I never doanything, 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.

“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!”

The old fellow was almost crying. Rachel put her arms about his neck, and pressed his corpulent person with affection.

“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.”

“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.”

Again her arms were flung round his neck. Again she kissed his bristly cheeks with her ruby-red lips. “Youarean old dear,” she exclaimed. “You’re the kindest old governor going.”

“You loaf your old father?”

“OfcourseI do. But Ido—Idoso want a small cheque. I must have it for the house.”

“You’ll always loaf your father, Rachel?”

“Always.” She renewed her affectionate embraces.

“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.”

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’sawfullypleased,” and gaily tripped from the dingy office into the sunny street.

Digging.

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.

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.”

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.”

“What do you think it will go?”

“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.”

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.

“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.”

“Perhaps what we are getting now has come from the terraces above,” said Jack.

“I think not.”

“Where does it come from then?”

“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.”

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.

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.

All was ready for the momentous operation of washing up, and the men’s minds were full of expectation.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

“Do you think the dam will hold?” asked Scarlett of the experienced digger.

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

“What weight?” asked Jack, as he lifted the precious load.

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.”

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 areyou?”

Turning quickly, they saw standing behind them two men who had emerged from the forest.

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.

“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.”

Moonlight lowered the head of his weapon, and said, “Yes, we’ve got the colour.”

“Blow me if it ain’t my friend Moonlight!” exclaimed the second intruder, advancing towards the diggers. “How’s yerself?”

“Nicely, thank you,” replied Moonlight. “Come far to-day?”

“A matter of eight hours’ tramp—but not so fer; the bush is mighty thick. This is my mate. Here, Ben, shake ’ands.”

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.”

“This ain’t ours,” said the Prospector, “not by chalks. You’re above the gorge, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Moonlight, “I should reckon we must be a mile above it.”

“Where I worked,” continued Bill, “was more’n a mile below the gorge. What are you makin’?”

“A few pennyweights,” responded Moonlight.

“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!”

Moonlight laughed, and so did Scarlett.

“Well, we might do worse than put our pegs alongside theirs, eh, Ben?”

“Oceans worse,” replied Tresco.

“Did you prospect the gorge?” asked Moonlight.

“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.”

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?”

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.”

“Then you’ve been through it?” queried Bill.

Moonlight nodded.

“How did it pan out?”

“There was gold there.”

“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.”

“Instinct,” replied Moonlight. “Instinct and the natural attraction of the magnet.” He desired to take no credit for his own astuteness in prospecting.

Scarlett had so far said nothing, but he now invited the newcomers to eat, before they pitched their tent.

“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.”

“Wearea 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.”

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.

When the four men sat down to their frugal meal of “billy” tea, boiled bacon, and “damper,” they chatted and laughed like schoolboys.

“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.”

A Den of Thieves.

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.

“Carny!” he called.

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.

“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?”

“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.”

“Petticoats an’ourbusiness don’t go together,” gruffly responded Dolphin. “Best give ’em a wide berth till we’ve finished our work here and got away.”

The two men entered the house, and the door was shut.

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.

“Come in, come in,” said the latter, “and stop barrackin’ like two old washerwomen. Keep yer breath to discuss the biz.”

Dolphin and Carnac drew chairs to the table, on which stood a guttering candle, glued to the wood with its own grease.

“Charming residence,” remarked Carnac, elegant in a black velvet coat, as he glanced round the bare and battered room.

“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.”

“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.”

He drew a handful of notes and gold from his pocket, and placed it on the table.

“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.”

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.

“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.”

“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.”

“You mean the bank,” said Carnac.

The leader of the gang nodded.

“I’ve fossicked around the premises,” continued the gentleman in the velvet coat, “and I must confess that they’re the most trifling pushIever 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.”

“I reckon there’s a rusty old revolver hanging on a nail somewheres,” remarked Garstang.

“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.”

“But suppose there’s a mob of customers in the place?” asked Garstang.

“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.”

“Sounds O.K.,” remarked Sweet William, “but there’ll be a picnic before morning. I reckon we’ll need to get away pretty sudden.”

“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.”

“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——”

“But what?” asked Dolphin gruffly. “Are you going to back down? Frightened of getting a bit of lead from a rusty old revolver, eh?”

“It ain’t that,” replied the ugliest member of the gang, “but supposin’ there’s no money in the bloomin’ bank, what then?”

A roar of laughter greeted his surmise.

“What d’you suppose the bank’s for,” asked Carnac, “if not to store up money?”

“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.”

“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.”

“If they have,” remarked Dolphin, “you’ll get two-fifty. Isn’t that good enough?”

“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?’”

“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.”

“That’s so,” echoed Carnac, drumming the table with his white fingers.

“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 aboutme, 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.”

“’Ere, ’ere,” said Sweet William. “I’m there. Same sentiment ’ere,” and he smote his narrow chest.

“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.”

“Get me took in as extry clerk,” suggested William. “Blame me, if I don’t apply for the billet to-morrow morning.”

“Go on chiacking,” said Garstang; “poke borak—it don’t hurtme. 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.”

“’Ere, ’ere!” cried Sweet William, smacking the now leering Garstang on the back. “Good on you. Maximum return for minimum risk.”

Carnac joined in the laugh. “You’re not so thick-headed after all,” he said to the crooked-faced man.

“Nor ’e ain’t so awful white-livered neither,” said William.

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?”

“First rate,” answered William. “Where there’s gold there’ll be a steamer to take it away, won’t there?”

“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?”

“I’m agreeable,” said the sour-faced man.

“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?”

The three answered affirmatively, and Sweet William said, “Don’t never any of you chaps come near my shanty. This meetin’ stands adjournedsine die.”

“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?”

“Yes, that’s clear,” said Garstang.

“Certainly,” said Carnac, “perfectly clear.”

“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.”

The four men were now standing round the table.

“Good night all,” said Dolphin, and he went out quietly by the front door.

“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.”

Carnac smiled. “You might be my grandfather, William,” he said.

“Personally,I’ma 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?”

“D’you suppose I swam out to this blanky country?” said the crooked-featured gentleman.

“Then you’re a sailor that’s bin paid off and taken your discharge.”

Carnac had his hand on the latch of the door through which Dolphin had disappeared.

“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.

When the youthful William returned, Garstang was smoking; his elbows on the table, and his ugly head resting in his hands.

“You seem bloomin’ comfortable, Garstang.”

“I’d be a darn sight more comfortabler for a drop of grog, William.”

William took a bottle from beneath his bed.

“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.”

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.

“What do you intend to do when you’ve made your pile, Garstang?”

“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.”

“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?”

“Nice and complete. But I rayther expect the Crown ’Eads’d be one too many foryou. The Czar o’ Rooshia, f’r instance, I fancy he’d exile you to Siberia.”

“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?”

“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.”

“How’d a theayter do?”

“Too noisy an’ unrestful, William. An’ then think of all the wimmen—they’d bother a man silly.”

“What d’you say to a song and dance ’all?”

“’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’ad’is experiences, don’t exactly wantthat. No, I’m dead set on a public. I think that fills the bill completely.”

“But we can’tallgo into the grog business.”

“I don’t see why. ’Tain’t as if we was a regiment of soldiers. There’s but four of us.”

“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.”

“And they’re dead nuts on the ’eads of the likes of you, William. Good-night.”

“So-long, Garstang. Keep good.”

And with those words terminated the gathering of the four greatest rogues who ever were in Timber Town.

Gold and Roses.

The Pilot’s daughter was walking in her garden.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?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.

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.

“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.”

The girl quickly took up her flowers.

“Who can it possibly be, father?”

“Come and see, my gal; come and see.”

The old fellow went before, and his daughter followed him into the house. There, in the parlour, seated at the table, was Captain Sartoris.

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.

“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.

“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.”

“Are you out for good, Captain?”

“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.”

“But what was the disease?” asked the Pilot.

“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.”

“And run her on the rocks, at the end of the voyage,” growled the Pilot.

“I never came ashore to argify,” retorted the Captain. “But if it comes to a matter of navigation, therearepoints I could give any man, even pilots.”

Seeing that the bone of contention was about to be gnawed by the sea-dogs, Rose interposed with a question.

“Have you just come ashore, Captain?”

“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.”

“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 ofthe barque died. I remembered it well. ‘Summerhayes,’ I said, ‘I have a notion.’ And this is the result, my dear.”

From the capacious pocket of his thick pilot-jacket he pulled a brown and charred piece of canvas.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I haven’t the least idea,” replied Rose.

“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 atthat.” He drew from the deep of another pocket a rusty knife.

“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!”

“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.”

“I know him quite well,” said Rose: “he’s the goldsmith. What would he have to do with the delivery of mails?”

“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.”

“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?”

“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.”

“Oh, you will!” exclaimed Sartoris. “You’d better advertise: ‘Poor, distressed sailor. All contributions thankfully received.’ No, sir, don’t think you can pauperiseme. 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!”

Just at that moment there were heavy footsteps upon the verandah, and a knocking at the front door.

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.

“So you think of visiting the police sergeant?” she asked, by way of keeping up the conversation.

But the skipper’s whole attention was fixed on the voices in the next room, into which the Pilot had conducted his visitor.

“H’m,” said Sartoris, “I had an idea I knew the voice, but I must have been mistaken. Who is the party, Miss Rose?”

“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.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth, when the Pilot, wearing a most serious expression of face, entered the room.

“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’ askedme, 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.”

“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.”

“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,Inever 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.”

“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?”

“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.”

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.

Without a word of introduction, he held out his hand to Miss Summerhayes, who took it frankly.

Captain Sartoris had risen to his feet.

“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?”

“I’ve come a matter of twenty miles or so to-day,” said the tall stranger.

“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,veryglad I see you well.”

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.

Summerhayes’s huge person was heaving with suppressed merriment, his face was red, and his mouth was shut tight lest he shouldexplode 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.

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

They stared, and were speechless.

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.

“And there’s some left in camp,” he said. “I couldn’t carry it all to town.”

“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!”

“There must be a matter o’ two thousand pound,” said the Pilot. “Two thousand pound!”

“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.”

“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.”

But all that Rose said was, “How nice it must be to meet with such success.”

“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.”

The girl untied the neck of the small bag, and three heavy pieces of gold tumbled on the table.

“I can’t take them,” she exclaimed. “They’re worth too much. I can’t make any adequate return.”

“I hope you won’t try. Pilot, shemusttake them.”

“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.”

Rose weighed the bits of virgin gold in the palm of her little hand.

“Of course, I never really meant you to give me any of your gold,” she said. “I only spoke in joke.”

“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.”

“I take it under compulsion; hoping that you’ll find so much more that you won’t feel the loss of this.”

“There’s no fear of that,” said Jack. “As for repayment, I hope you won’t mention it again.”

“I’ll have to give it you in good wishes.”

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.”

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.”

She handed the bud to Jack, who put it in the button-hole of his worn and shabby coat.

“Thanks,” he said, “I’m more than repaid.”

Sartoris burst out laughing.

“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.”

“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.”

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.

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.

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