He would try from the tree this time. He walked to it, then turned, and
paced fifteen steps in a line with the tent. Here the ground was covered
with broken pieces of quartz, but there was no mark or sign that would
attract a bushman's eye. Then he walked about twenty feet more, when,
suddenly, the ground seemed to give way under his feet, and he felt
himself falling down a hole. He had just time to throw himself forward
and clutch the solid earth. With a great effort he managed to hold on to
the side of the hole and drag himself up. The excavation had been
lightly covered with brushwood and earth. This was no doubt the key to
the diagram, and something perhaps was to be unlocked here. Peering into
the hole he saw a rough ladder, and went down it about fourteen feet. A
marvellous sight filled his eyes with wonder! The cap of a reef had
been broken off, and the stone blazed with gold. In half an hour he had
picked out about twenty ounces.
He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. What was that noise? He heard
a muffled rumbling, and the ground seemed to vibrate. Some animal was in
the Devil's Punch Bowl, and was moving northwards. He lay motionless for
a little while, then, as the footsteps grew fainter, he crept up the
ladder, and raised his left eye above the top of the hole. A horse, with
a man on his back, was slowly climbing the steep bank, and in a moment
disappeared over the other side. Bill drew a sigh of relief. Last night
he longed for company, now he did not wish to see a human creature. The
rich shoot of gold he had come upon would make up for the poor
surroundings and the awful solitude of the Devil's Punch Bowl. The gold
would compensate for all.
He drew the brushwood over the mouth of the hole, then descended the
ladder and lay down to rest. The excitement of finding the gold and the
fear of being discovered had unnerved him. He was as a bow unstrung.
If it were known that he was working a rich claim near where the old man
was found, it might be said that it was the dead man's, and that Bill
had murdered him in order to get it. What a position to be placed in!
This was the mess the Devil's Punch Bowl had brewed for him. "Double,
double toil and trouble."
He must work like a mole, silently and in the dark, and must on no
account show himself in the light of the sun. He would pick out as much
gold as he could, and then, when night came on, he would creep up, cover
the mouth of the hole, and grope his way to the tent. Of course he could
go to Mopoke to-morrow and register the claim, so as to secure it
against all comers. An innocent man like himself would have nothing to
fear, but tongues would wag, wiseacres shake their heads, and envious
eyes wink. Would it not be asked, "Why shouldn't Bill Marlock have
murdered the old man?" "Wasn't it as plain as a foot-rule that he had
ridden hot-haste to the place where the old man was working, and had
murdered him for the sake of the rich claim?" "Dead men tell no tales."
"Out of sight out of mind." "Then, when the secret was buried six feet
under ground, he had gone back to take possession of his victim's
property, just as Ahab had done, long ago, when he went to take
possession of Naboth's vineyard. As Ahab had suffered, so would Bill
Marlock."
These and such thoughts rushed over the grey matter of Bill's brain, as
the wind rushes through the tree-tops.
He lay on the rock, and picked out the nuggets with his jack-knife. When
the last gleam of light faded overhead his trousers' pockets were full.
There was plenty more in sight. He had come upon a veritable goldsmith's
shop.
When he could see no longer, he slowly ascended the ladder and listened.
All was still. Putting the brushwood aside, he scrambled out of the
hole, stood up to his full height, and drew a long breath. A cricket
chirped, and made him tremble. His blood raced, and his bones seemed out
of joint. No further sound smote the stillness. Then he covered up the
hole, as carefully as he could, and crept away to the tent.
He dared not make a fire to-night, nor light a candle. The flickering
stars eyed him, now and again, through rifts in the clouds, and enabled
him to see a little.
His only thought now was to bury the gold. After a while he took a
spade, and cut a solid square of earth in front of the bed, then he
lifted it, unbroken, and poured the gold in the vacant space, as into a
mould. This done, he fitted the piece of earth to its place again, and
smoothed the edges with his fingers. Well satisfied with his work, he
gave a sigh of satisfaction when he thought that Mother Earth's Bank was
perhaps as safe as that of the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street. "As safe
as a bank" has slipped out of our language now. We say "As unsafe as a
bank," after what has occurred in Melbourne.
He tried to sleep, but the nuggets seemed to rattle through his brain
like castanets at a Spanish dance. His riches oppressed him. The finding
of the gold was a delight, but the keeping of it brought sorrow and
trouble. He could not rest. He felt like a sentinel within forty yards
of the enemy's guns, and expecting them to leap into flame every
moment. To his disordered imagination the rustle of a leaf was an
assassin's tread, the croak of a frog the whistle of a bullet.
But the night with its darkness passed away, and the sun came up over
the white-gums on the ridge, with security and protection in his face.
It was when his back was turned that the trouble would begin again, for
when the street lamps of heaven were lit terrors crouched at every
corner.
He would not pass another night in the tent: nothing would induce him!
He would sleep in it all day, and work in the hole all night. There he
would feel safe. He would pick out as many nuggets as he could, and flee
to-morrow from this hateful spot.
He found a little stock of flour in the tent, with which he made a flat
cake, then baked it in the ashes of his fire, fried a chop, and ate a
hearty breakfast. His nerves, which had been unstrung, were screwed up
again, and he felt as perky as the first fiddle in the orchestra.
He slept the sleep of the just, daylight standing surety for his safety.
When he awoke it was late in the afternoon. The sun was on the edge of
the hill, and running down it like a coach wheel, without haste and
without rest, and would soon be at the bottom.
As it would soon be dark he had to think in a hurry. It would not be
safe to leave the tent for any marauder to enter and plunder under cover
of night, while he was working at the mine. His plans were made quickly,
and what he ought to do was flashed into his brain in a moment.
He went into the tent, took down the photograph of Mary, gazed into the
eyes, and kissed the mouth. "All for you, Mary!" he said, then put the
likeness in his pocket. He gave the poles on which the tent rested a
kick, and the canvas collapsed about his shoulders. He dragged his late
dwelling to the creek, loaded it with stones, and sank it in a deep
pool, then hid a few utensils and useful things among the ferns.
When he could not have discerned a wild-cat's eye at ten paces, he crept
to the mine and went down the ladder. He took a candle from the packet
he had brought with him, and lit it. No glimmer of light could be seen
from the upper regions, and no wayfarer would seek this lonely spot at
night. He thought he would be safe here, but ghosts would come trooping
down the ladder, in spite of all he could do.
The words of the ninety-first Psalm suddenly came into his mind, and
illumined the mine: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most
High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." He was down on his
knees like a shot, asking guidance and protection; then rose in perfect
peace, feeling safer than in chain armour, or with swords and guns by
his side.
He worked steadily, breaking up the pliable stone, and taking out the
gold as if he were picking plums from a pudding. When dawn showed over
the top of the shaft he had obtained about fifty pounds weight, which he
put in a bag. He was satisfied: he had enough. This loneliness and
secrecy were too much for him. He could not bear the strain another
night. Something would break.
He left the bag of gold in the mine, hidden among some loose stones, and
went in search of his horse, which he found grazing by the side of the
creek. He dug up the gold which he had buried in the tent, wrapped it
in a towel, and rolled his blanket round it, then put the bundle on the
horse, led the animal to the mouth of the mine, and fetched the bag of
gold, which he strapped inside the blankets.
He was too excited to feel hungry. If food had been placed before him he
could not have eaten any. The gold fever had taken away his appetite, as
is the nature of fevers, yellow fever especially.
He covered the mouth of the hole with sticks and brushwood, then placed
stones and earth over them. The excavation was cleverly hidden.
"Gee up, Brownie!"
He led the horse down the gulley to the main road, and went along it due
east, up hill and down dale. In three hours he looked down upon the blue
smoke, which ascended from fires that cooked late breakfasts in the
sleepy town of Mopoke. In another half-hour he had caused the manager of
the Bank of Victoria to raise his eyebrows an inch higher than usual in
pure astonishment, when he unpacked the gold and laid it in a glittering
heap on the counter.
"For heaven's sake," said the manager to his assistant, "lock both the
front and back doors, and bring out the revolvers! The bank is closed
till the escort goes out."
The gold was weighed, and kicked the beam in pure frolicsomeness, at 77
lbs. 7 oz. 7 dwt. It changed hands, becoming the property of the bank;
and Bill went away, feeling as light as a feather, with a deposit
receipt for a handsome amount, and a lot of sovereigns in his pocket.
Then he went to the hotel, put his horse in the stable, with a feed of
oats under his nose, and took a square meal himself of the best the
house afforded.