"What a pity!" chorused the lads.
"Dunno 'bout that; cause, yer see, it's proof ter me no one's bin
interferin.'"
"'Twon't be a heavy job to clear it out, will it?" continued Joe.
"Carn't say; depends on the amount that's fallen. But 'tain't my notion
ter use the tunnel at all. Yer see, it's this way: it may take us an
hour or a day to clear the rubbage outer the tunnel. When we'd done
that, we'd have ter do two other things afore we could tackle the
wash-dirt. Fust an' foremost, there's plenty of foul air in the far end
of the drive, like wot nearly pisened you coves in the caves. Let me
tell you, it's hard work clearing the stinkin' air outer a tunnel. You
can git it outer a shaft easy enough, by tyin' a bunch o' bushes onter a
rope and running 'em up an' down; but it's mighty hard work clearin' a
tunnel, an' orften a long job. Then, s'posin' we got it out, we'd have
ter shore up the whole blessed length; for, let me tell you, I'm not
goin' ter run any risks in this 'ere job. We've had fright enough over
Joe an' the shark, an' I cuddent face the Boss an' the missus if
anything happened to any of you here. Now, to shore up this blessed
tunnel'd take a power of timber, an' ter git it an' fix it'd take a far
longer time than we've got."
"Oh, I say, Harry," cried Tom in tones of deep disappointment, voicing
the feelings of the group of boy diggers, "don't tell us it's all a go,
an' we're to return without havin' a try! Can't you find some other
spot?"
"Harry, ye spalpeen, Oi dhramed all laast night Oi was diggin' up
gowlden prr-aties, an', ochone! Oi'd just stuck th' pick into a
monsther iv a prr-atie, a ton weight at the laast, an' was tryin' me
best to upind her wid a laver, whin owld Jago comes bangin' at th' dure.
Begor! Oi was sweatin' loike a stoker whin th' owld mahn woke me. Jist
give me wan little chanst, me bhoy, an' be Saint Michael Oi'll----"
"Ye'll git yer charnse, Denny, never fret. They's more ways of killin'
a pig besides chokin' 'im with a lump o' butter. It never was my plan,
boys, ter use the ole tunnel. There's a better way nor that. When me
an' ole Humpy drove in 'ere, we wus follerin' a lead, an' ye niver can
tell 'ow far yer 'ave ter go: maybe a few feet, maybe a 'undered yards
afore it opens out inter a body. So we did the right thing then. Now I
propose ter put down a shaft, to tap the wash-dirt jist erbout the end
of the tunnel, or, maybe, a little furder up nor that. I calkerlate
we'll tap it in twenty feet or so. I know the clarss of country we'll
have to go through. All this bank's wot we call 'made up.' It's a
formation called pudden stone. It's formed o' river wash, an' is pretty
pebbly. The pebbles is the plums. We'll go through it in a couple o'
days at most, an' that'd give us two days more afore we need clear orf
'ome."
The boys were delighted beyond measure at Harry's proposal, and set
about rigging up the camp near the spot which the leader had selected to
put down the shaft.
While the pals were doing this, Harry and Denny set to work at sinking
the shaft. So expeditious were they that by night they had sunk the
hole about ten feet and had rigged up the windlass. All the boys had a
turn at digging, which they enjoyed immensely because of the novelty of
the work. Harry and Denny, however, did the main part, while the lads
manned the windlass, and hauled up the stuff from time to time, as the
buckets were filled.
At daylight next morning the party were eating breakfast preparatory to
a long day's work at the shaft. They had to do a good deal of blasting,
for some of the stones were too heavy to haul up, and that consumed
time. It was verging on evening when, clearing up a rather heavy blast,
Harry, who had gone down to fill the bucket, cried out, "Haul up quick!
we've broken through. Foul air!"
On winding their comrade up, he declared that the blast had broken the
ground into the tunnel, and that the foul air was coming freely into the
bottom of the shaft. "We'll let it stay as it is till termorrer, an'
then we'll clear it out."
The pals went to sleep that night to dream about the El Dorado which, in
their imagination, they had struck. The earliest dawn found them at the
shaft's mouth. Harry tied several bushes to the end of the rope, and
this was rapidly lowered and raised for about a couple of hours, the
condition below being tested from time to time by a lighted candle
placed in a bucket and lowered to the bottom. At last it remained
alight, though it burned very feebly. About half an hour after this,
the candle, on being sent below again, burned brightly.
"It's all right, now, boys! We've got rid of the gas, that's a
blessing. Lower away!" In a few seconds Harry was filling the buckets
with the broken rock and earth. In a short time it was all cleared up,
and the leader had started to drive along the line of the vein. He had
not cut in more than a couple of feet when he threw down the pick and
shouted up the shaft, "Hurroar, boys! I've struck a patch. Be gosh, it
looks like a pocket!"
The excitement above at this good news may be better imagined than
described. The vein of wash-dirt suddenly expanded into a cube of about
sixty buckets of auriferous earth. It was a genuine though small
pocket. Whether rich or poor could be determined only by washing.
Harry filled a bucket with the dirt, which was speedily hauled up. The
next minute he was pulled to the surface, and, spreading the stuff on
the ground, examined it. To the great delight of the pals, he picked
out several large specks and a small nugget, scaling about half an
ounce.
"It's all right, mates!" cried the stockman, now almost as excited as
the boys. "We've struck it rich, I do believe. Sandy, me boy, git your
nag an' a packhorse, an' streak fur Jago's as fast as yer can git, an'
borry a cradle. It'd take too long ter pan this stuff--must have a
cradle. But, look 'ere, don't give the show away. Tell 'im I got a few
specks from a bit o' stuff I came acrost, an' that I'm jist goin' ter
give it a try. He'll most likely call me a big fool, an' don't yer
conterdict 'im."
A cradle, it may be said, is a machine on rockers for washing the
auriferous earth. The machine is fed with the wash-dirt, a stream of
water being poured on while it is rocked like a child's cradle. The
heavy sand and gravel, together with the precious metal, sink to the
bottom and are retained by the "ridges," whilst the earth and all light
matter pass away with the water. It is finally treated in a dish so
skilfully that only the pure metal is left.
While Sandy is speeding off to Jago's the rest are busy picking the
pocket and carrying it down to a flat by the side of the tiny stream
which ran along the gully bottom. The work was hard, for the wash-dirt
was heavy, and the buckets big; but they made fun of the hardships of
bruised fingers and strained muscles, as they hauled the precious earth
from the shaft mouth, and then humped it to the stream.
They had not quite finished their work ere Sandy reappeared upon the
scene with the cradle. Very little grass had grown during the
performance of his task.
Scarcely allowing themselves time to bolt down their midday meal, the
party were grouped around the cradle, which Harry had fixed within a
yard of the stream. The stockman soon made his dispositions of the
forces. Joe and Tom are to lift the water and pour it on as required,
while he and Sandy work the cradle. Denny is to feed the machine with
the dirt.
So the work of "washing up" started. Every now and then Harry stopped
the work and "cleaned up" the cradle--that is, took out the heavy golden
sand which was caught in the cross-bars of the machine and emptied it in
a bag, to be "panned" later. From time to time the party were gladdened
by the sight of large specks, and now and then a tiny nugget of some
grains' weight. The gold, for the most part, however, was fine. The
work went on continuously till night closed in upon them. Though
dreadfully tired, they reluctantly abandoned their work for the day, and
after supper threw themselves upon their primitive beds and slept the
sleep of the just.
"Be up betimes in the morning, boys," was Harry's last word.
The party had to thank a pair of laughing jackasses[#] for their early
waking. Perched on the limb of a tree close to the tent, they began
their morning orisons at the first paling of the stars, making such a
cachinnation as to cause Tom to fly out from his bunk, crying in
startled tones, "Dressin', dad; goin' for the cows this minute." While
Denny was disturbed sufficiently to turn over on his side, saying in
sleepy tones, "Jist repa-ate they swa-ate wurrds agin, Bridget me
darlin'! an' sa-ay ye---- Howly Moses, 'tis th' owld Johnny-axes at
their thricks!"
[#] Giant kingfisher.
In a few minutes the fire is burning briskly, and as soon as breakfast
is demolished the lucky diggers make their way to the gully to start
operations. The work was a repetition of yesterday's, and, according to
Harry's calculation, they would be finished by noon if they stuck well
to the job; bullock teams couldn't have drawn them from it.
After working for about an hour, Denny, who was shovelling the dirt,
picked up a lump of rock, saying at the same time, "Oi'll pitch this
awa-ay, annyways. It feels moighty heavy, though, for a sthone: 'tis as
heavy as lead. Musha, but the sthones ar-re heavy hereabouts!"
"Hey, you fool! don't throw that away. Let's see it," cried Harry,
seizing the piece of rock, which was about the size of the lad's head.
"Why, great jumpin' Jehosaphat! it's a bloomin' nugget. You precious
duffer! if you'd thrown that away I'd 'a' pitched you down the shaft."
The pals dropped their buckets and crowded round the leader as he held
the lump with both hands.
"See 'ere, this white rock's quartz, an' all these yaller veins is gold.
It isn't wot you'd call a pure nugget, but by the weight of it I guess
there's a power of the yaller stuff inside. 'Ere, Tom, streak up ter
the tent fur a tommy an' we'll soon see."
Furnished with the tomahawk, the stockman laid the quartz nugget on a
flat stone that cropped out of the ground near by, and dealt vigorous
blows upon it with the head of the weapon. In this way he crushed the
quartz crystal sufficiently for them to see that the gold formed a mass
in the centre.
"That's all we'll do at present; we'll crush it out properly in a mortar
when we get home. Guess there's full twenty ounces o' gold in 'er."
There were no more such finds in the dirt, but the last few lots yielded
a good deal of coarse gold, one piece weighing about four ounces.
By nightfall they had washed out the bagged ore. There it lay on a cloth
before the fire, a little heap of pure gold, and beside it the quartz
nugget, so to call it.
"Call me a frog-eater if there ain't full seventy ounces o' gold in that
there lot--close on three 'undered pounds' worth!"
*CHAPTER XXXIII*
*BULLION AND BUSHRANGER*
"And if you doubt the tale I tell,
Steer through the South Pacific swell,
Go where the branching coral hives
Unending strife of endless lives,
Go where the rivers roll down through the sand
Under skies that are blue in a golden land."
KIPLING.
"Pull up a moment, chaps. I want ter say a word afore we strike Jago
Smith's--we'll sight it over the next ridge. No blabbin' erbout the
gold. The ole cove's sure ter arsk erbout our luck. You keep mum, an'
leave me ter answer 'im. He's er good ernuff sort in hes way, is ole
Jago, an' me an' 'im always got on well, as 'e sort er took a fancy ter
me. All the same, 'im an' Ben Bolt is, or was great friends. That's
why I steered clear o' the shootin the night we stayed there. 'E might
'a' cut up rusty, like. Many's the time 'e's planted the 'ranger when
the p'lice 'as been 'ot on 'is trail. 'Twuddent s'prise me a bit if the
kid that wus Ben's mate wus 'idin' somewheres erbout Jago's. 'E's
several good plants. At any rate, there must be no blow. Bes' be on
the safe side."
In a few minutes the party sighted the accommodation house at a distance
of a quarter of a mile or so. They could see the old man in the front,
talking to a man who held a horse by the bridle. Even as the party
sighted the pair they were themselves seen. After a few hasty words
with Jago the horseman threw his bridle over the steed's neck, vaulted
to the saddle, and rode away briskly.
"By George, that 'ere cove's ridin' a good nag. See the style o' 'im!
'E's a beauty, 'e is; all muscle an' spirit. If ole Ben wusn't a goner,
I'd say 'twas 'im on Samson; blamed if I wuddent."
The mounted band have approached the house by this time. The owner
stood awaiting them by the hitching posts. Saluting them as they rode
up, he jeered good-humouredly--
"I 'opes yer left a few specks fur them fossikers, gintilmin? 'Twud be
too bad to scoop the pool an' leave the old uns nothin' but mullock
heaps. At any rate, ye've brought back the tools--cradle an' all. Come
now, 'ow did the stuff pan out?"
"I'll tell yer wot we did git, ole man, sore bones an' blistered 'ands.
Blame me, but yer soon gits outer the diggin' business. Tried that bit
o' stuff I come acrost, wot the kid tole yer erbout. Waal, speakin' in
confidence, we didn't git ernuff ter hire a gold escort ter fetch it
erlong. We did git a bit--ernuff ter make these young coves a
breast-pin apiece. But let me tell yer, one of these days I'm comin'
back ter have a good prospect. Keep it close, Smith; I don't want any of
these blessed gully-rakers ter smell anythin'."
"Dark it is, young feller. Yer can trust me fer not givin' the show
away. Comin' in?"
"No, we're makin' fer 'ome. Just tote the tools ter where youse got
'em, boys, an' then we'll be orf."
The lads speedily discharged, and were in the saddle again. The party
was moving off when Harry said to Jago--
"Forgot ter arsk yer whether yer 'eered that Ben Bolt wus shot by
Hennessey t'other day."
"Yes, I 'eered it," replied Smith dryly.
"Kid not collared yet?"
"You're more likely ter 'eer about 'im than me: so-long."
"Ole Jago's a deep un," soliloquised Harry as they rode along. "I
forgot ter arsk 'im erbout the man we saw ridin' away as we came up," he
remarked a few minutes later to Joe, who was riding at his side. "If
that 'ere 'orse 'e wus ridin' warn't Samson, I'm a greenhorn."
"It might have been the young fellow that got away when Ben was shot.
It struck me Jago was bluffin' you, Harry."
"My word, Harry," said Tom, riding up on the other side, "you bluffed
ole Jago over the gold."
"Ain't so sure o' that," replied the stockman.
"No one could have done it better," broke in Joe. "You circumnavigated
the truth."
"Don't know wot yer mean, my boy: unless it's somethin' in the circus
line."
"Not exactly that," replied Joe laughingly; "but it reminds me of an
epitaph I heard about, that was stuck on a fellow's tombstone--