SKINNING THE WILD CAT.
The hum of the men's voices and the clatter of their picks and shovels,
as they worked along the banks of the creek with the vigour and energy
of men who thirst for gold and believe it is in the ground under their
feet only waiting to be taken out, were the last sounds that came to
Tony and his companions as they passed over the crest of the rise.
Beyond it the land was level for a distance, but between the trees they
could see where it was densely wooded, as though a creek flowed in the
vicinity.
"There's broken country ahead, if I'm not mistaken," Peters said. "It'll
be as well to push on beyond the scrub, or up to it, before we camp."
Palmer Billy looked round at Peters.
"There's a creek through the scrub, or I ain't no singer," he remarked.
"And if there's a creek through the scrub, there's gold in the creek,
and it's good enough to have a look at it before going on."
"There's no gold in it," Gleeson exclaimed.
"You say you've been there?" Peters asked.
"No, I don't; but I say there's no gold in it. No more than there is in
the creek way-back. There's no gold in the country. Let the others find
it out for themselves; but now Walker's turned up no good, and we're all
mates in the swim, I'll tell you straight. The whole game was a bit of
bluff."
"Here, steady, young feller," Palmer Billy said, as he swung his swag to
the ground and faced Gleeson. "Let's have a plain talk about this.
What's _your_ game, anyhow?"
"You told me----" Peters began, when Gleeson interrupted him.
"You want the yarn, and I'll tell you," he said.
"What's the good of waiting here?" Tony exclaimed. "It's nearly time for
dinner, and you can yarn then. Let's push on to the creek, if there is
one, and have a feed and yarn then."
"Young feller, my lad," Palmer Billy observed, turning towards Tony,
"you've the head of a jayneus. In course. Who wants to yarn with a full
tucker-bag outside and none under the waistbelt? Shove along."
He swung his swag on to his shoulder again and resumed the walk, the
others following, Gleeson silent and morose.
The view of Palmer Billy was correct. A creek, full of clear water
running over a sandy bed, flowed through the scrub; and while a fire was
being lit to boil the billy, Peters went a short distance along the
banks of the creek. When he came back he looked at Gleeson.
"You say you've been here?" he asked.
"No," Gleeson answered. "I say there's no gold in this creek or the
other. It was all bluff--only the game's gone wrong."
"Don't be too sure," Peters said. "We had no chance of prospecting the
other creek, with the mob jumping every one's claims, but I'm on to
wager this is no bluff. There's gold in that creek; not in tons, maybe,
but enough to give us wages, and good wages, for more than a week or
two."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Palmer Billy, standing up beside the fire
over which he had been stooping, as he watched for the water in the
billy to come to the boil.
"You're wrong," Gleeson retorted. "I tell you the whole thing was bluff.
The hole we dug was salted, and the creek was to be salted for a bit;
and then, when the rush set in, the news was to have been published and
our claim offered for sale, and bought, and offered again, just as the
big find was made, the find that was planted in the hole. Only Walker's
turned wrong, and Tap, the chap we left to do the salting, has cleared
with the gold; and if you hadn't stood by me in the row, I should have
cleared too, and left you to get out of the way of the mob as best you
could. Only you stood by me and Walker shied, so he can face the mob and
the music, and we'll clear. But there's no gold in this creek. There may
be a bit in the other; Tap may have dropped some of the stuff we were
fools enough to trust with him; but I'll swear he never came here, so
how could any gold get here?"
The three stood looking at him, Palmer Billy open-mouthed and open-eyed.
"And you calls yourself a miner?" he said, with scornful emphasis.
"No, I don't," Gleeson retorted. "I'm a mining expert--that's my
business. There's money in that; there's none in mining; and I'm after
money, if you want to know."
The outspoken frankness of the man momentarily checked the feeling of
anger or antagonism that was rising in the minds of the other three.
Tony, with the memory of what he had heard in Birralong of the engineers
of wild-cat schemes, winced at the discovery that his leader was only a
specimen of the tribe after all.
"What's the use of talking? You're after the same lay yourselves,"
Gleeson went on. "It's money you want, only you haven't got the savee to
see the quickest way to get it."
Palmer Billy, his hat at the back of his head and his face working,
moved a couple of steps nearer Gleeson.
"See here, young feller," he began. "I'm more than fifty by a long
chalk, and I've been mining since I was fifteen; mining, I say--earning
every slab of damper and pannikin of tea I've swallerd, not to mention
'bacca and sometimes a bender on rum, by as tough a share of graft as a
man wants whose muscles ain't flabby. Fifty times I've struck a duffer
on one field or another; twenty times I've struck a good show that
petered out in a week; three times I struck it rich--rich enough to set
me up if I'd stuck to the find, but always I've been had--had by darned
dirty I-talyans from the towns on the coast, who've come up with their
glib tongues and doctored tangle-foot and bested me, me and my mates,
and shunted us to yacker and graft while they fattened on our find. And
for years I've waited for the chance of meeting one of those scabs, just
to get a bit even on one of them. There's three of you here, and there's
one of me, but----"
"Don't make no error," Peters exclaimed quickly. "I'm a miner myself. I
joined this show as a fair deal, and so did the lad there."
"Good for you," Palmer Billy replied. "The lad maybe don't know, but you
and I don't want telling what's the pay for mining sharks. Here, put up
your dooks," he added, as he sparred up to Gleeson.
"We're mates, don't I tell you?" Gleeson said. "I'm on for a square
deal. I'm full of the others. I'll stand in----"
Palmer Billy, sparring round him in the approved methods of Boulder
Creek, came within reach and hit. Behind the blow there was a lifetime
of outraged humanity, as well as the strength of a toil-trained,
toughened frame, and Gleeson fell like an ox under the pole-axe. He lay
where he fell, and Palmer Billy, far from satisfied at such a brief
exercise of his pugilistic talents, stirred him with his foot.
"Here, no sleepy 'possum tricks, if _you_ please," he said, with what he
considered appropriate politeness demanded by the occasion. "There's two
more waitin' after me, and I ain't through yet. _I_ don't want to keep
you waiting. Get up and have yer smile out."
But Gleeson made no response, and Peters came over and looked at him.
Palmer Billy's bony fist had left an unmistakable mark on the bridge of
his nose, and the closed eyelids were already thickened and
discoloured.
"You've punished him for the three of us," Peters said.
"Punished him? Don't you believe it," Palmer Billy answered. "I've only
begun. He's going to learn what mining means before I've done with him,
and then you two can take him on, and after that the boys over the rise.
He's going to enjoy himself, I tell you, now we know who he is."
"It's no good hammering a chap like that; he wouldn't stand up to a
black-fellow," Tony, who had been watching the proceedings, observed.
"If there's gold in the creek, why----"
"That's just it," Palmer Billy interrupted. "If there's gold in the
creek, he'll get it out while we take charge of it. He's used to all pay
and no work. This journey he'll have all work and no pay. Oh, you're
waking up, are you?" he added, as Gleeson recovered his senses
sufficiently to make an ineffectual effort to rise. "Let _me_ give you a
hand," he went on, as he grabbed Gleeson by the back of his collar and
jerked him on to his feet, where he stood, swaying to and fro and
holding his head with both hands. "Now, maybe, you'll go on with this
little affair," Palmer Billy continued. "Not that I want to hurry yer.
Take your own time, only just say when you're ready to go on."
Gleeson, still dazed, looked round at the three standing in front of
him. His head was throbbing with the knock-down blow he had received,
and he had not yet had time to gather the exact meaning of his
sensations. The words Palmer Billy used suggested journeying, and
somewhere in the muddled confusion of his mind there was a decided
impulse to journey.
"I'm ready now," he said indistinctly, as he dropped his hands. "I'm
only waiting for you."
Palmer Billy, watchful, suspicious, and wroth, heard the words and saw
the movement. He cut both short by getting his blow in before the ruse
he believed Gleeson was trying to use could develop. The second smashing
blow in his face, for which he was totally unprepared, sent Gleeson
again to the ground, and also brought home to him the fact that he was
very much at a disadvantage, and to a man who was by no means loth to
profit by it.
He was not a fighter, either by instinct or training. In the matter of
words he might hold his own, and, to any one who believed him, appear a
man of great strength and courage. But when, by any mischance, he
stumbled across an opponent who knew enough to correctly estimate the
value of his professions, and who was self-reliant and sturdy enough to
face him and challenge a proof of his assertions, Gleeson retired, or,
failing escape, subsided rapidly. Usually his tact, as he called it, was
successful in extricating him from positions where an exercise of brute
force was imminent against him; he had never before been called on to
cope with such a situation as he now realized he was in.
The second blow, directed more at his mouth, had not had the stupefying
effect of the first, though it brought him to the ground with what
Palmer Billy regarded as expert thoroughness. As he lay there, he
understood the turn matters had taken; he was in the middle of what he
had always managed to avoid, a rough-and-tumble bout of fisticuffs, and
with a man stronger and more expert than himself. He partly raised his
head from the ground in order to ascertain the disposition of the other
two members of the party. He saw them behind Palmer Billy, looking on
with apparent indifference to what was transpiring, and realized that
they were certainly not on his side.
Palmer Billy, as he saw Gleeson raise his head, stepped over to him.
"You'd like to get up, I take it," he said, and reached down to catch
him by the collar.
"Don't hit me. I never did you any harm," Gleeson whined, shrinking from
the extending hand which he expected was about to administer another
blow, and hiding his face on his arms.
Palmer Billy, standing up, glanced round at the other two with a look of
scorn on his face.
"What price _that_?" he asked, with a mixture of savagery and contempt
in his voice. "Here, get up," he went on before they could answer him,
as he stirred Gleeson roughly with his foot. "Get up on to yer bended
knees, or I'll sink a shaft through you as you lay."
Gleeson, fearful and subdued, scrambled up as he was told.
"Now," said Palmer Billy, with a fine tone of indignant authority,
"we'll go on to the second portion of this 'ere drama. Pass me over them
straps, my lad," he added, turning to Tony, and pointing to the
weather-worn thongs he had bound round his swag.
As soon as he had them, he placed one in a noose round Gleeson's neck,
and drew it tight enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to check
breathing.
"You hold this, lad," he said to Tony, who took the loose end of the
strap and, just to see that it was all secure, jerked it slightly.
"I haven't done you harm," Gleeson began to whine; "I haven't done you
harm. I'll do anything----"
"Dry up," Palmer Billy snarled. "We'll tell you when to talk."
Taking up one of the picks, he stepped in front of Gleeson, and held the
pick so that the point of it rested on the crown of his head. Peters,
following a hint, took up another, and stood by the side, holding it
over his shoulder as though ready to strike.
"Now then, you scab of a mining shark," Palmer Billy said, in the full
force of his raucous voice, "you'll say what I bid you, or we'll sink a
shaft through your skull and see where your brains lie. D'ye hear?"
Gleeson, muddled, dazed, and terrified, mumbled out that he had never
done them any harm.
"We ain't talking about that, because there ain't no talk in it. We
ain't sharks, but you are, and we're just going to teach you something
of what work is like. First you'll tell us just what your game was and
who were in it. Then we'll tell you what we'll do."
"You're choking me," Gleeson whined. "I can't breathe, and you're
breaking my head. I never did----"
"What was your game?" Peters interrupted to ask.
"I told you. I never meant to harm you. It was a fair deal. The claim
was to be sold between ourselves, and then the big find was to be made
and the claim sold again, only to some one else, and then----well,
that's all. There's nothing wrong in that. It's done every day in
mining. It's the only thing that pays in mining. Grubbing for nuggets is
no good. Not one in ten thousand makes anything out of that; any fool
can make a pile out of the other, if he only does it properly. I know
the ropes. I'll put you all into a good thing later on, you see;
something with more money in it than you'll make in a lifetime at
grubbing after nuggets. You trust me. I'm square. I don't want to harm
you. We're all mates, and----"
"Who were standing in over this swindle with you?" Peters asked.
"It wasn't a swindle. It was a fair speculation--a good open deal, and
it would have made the fortune of every one who had the savee to see
through it. Where's the swindle to sell what others want to buy and at
their own valuation? We don't ask them to buy. We don't put up the
price. We only tell people what a good thing we've got, and let it get
known that so much gold has been found on our claim. If they come in and
offer us big sums for our chance, and we take the offer, where's the
swindle?"
Palmer Billy, moved to intense indignation, dropped the pick he was
holding, and walked away for ten yards, swinging round and coming back
with an angry stride.
"Swear, you slippery-tongued shark, you; swear by all the bones in your
body that if you----"
The oath, whatever it might have been, was never completed nor
administered, for his emotions becoming too much for him to hold in
check, Palmer Billy sprang upon Gleeson, and gave vent to his feelings
in a manner which was more satisfying to him than a mere oratorical
outburst. Had he been allowed to complete his intention, the future
career of Gleeson would not have been connected with mining swindles.
For a time Peters and Tony, neither being predisposed in favour of
Gleeson, stood by watching the chastisement Palmer Billy meted out,
undisturbed by the cries for mercy and the yells of pain which the
resounding blows of the raging digger called forth from his victim. It
was only when both cries and yells ceased, and Gleeson lay senseless and
inert, that they interfered.
"You're only wasting it," Peters said quietly, as he took hold of Palmer
Billy's arm. "He can't feel it now."
Tony caught the other arm in time to prevent it delivering a blow at the
man who had interrupted Palmer Billy's pleasant entertainment of
thrashing one of a tribe who had so often lured him to destruction.
"Darned dirty I-talyan," he gasped, as he struggled to break away and
re-open the campaign on the prostrate Gleeson.
"Give him a chance," Peters said. "Let him get his wind. There'll be
none left for us to go for if you don't ease up a bit."
"That's fair, boys; that's fair," Palmer Billy exclaimed. "It's your go
next; I'll stand by while you have your go."
"But what have you left for us?" Tony asked, as he let go Palmer Billy's
arm.
Gleeson, very much bruised and dishevelled, lay on the broad of his
back, breathing heavily.
"Put him in the shade, with a bucket of water on his head. He'll
understand what honest mining means when he wakes up," Palmer Billy
remarked, as he looked down at the prostrate figure.
They carried him into the shadow of the scrub and poured some water from
the creek over his head. Then they left him to recover, while they gave
their attention to the meal which had been so unceremoniously postponed.
When they had finished, they turned their attention again to Gleeson.
But they had not hurried over their meal, having little care or
consideration for him; and he, recovering consciousness while yet they
were engaged, felt no qualms about making his retreat as quickly and as
quietly as possible. Aching in every bone, and with every muscle
bruised, he crept away through the shelter of the scrub, not daring to
look for the swag he had thrown down, or the hat which had been knocked
from his head. There was only one instinct or desire in his being--the
instinct which drives the wounded rat back to its hole to die, the
instinct of self-preservation working in its meanest range. His swagger
and bluster had been hopelessly crushed out of him by the vigour of
Palmer Billy's attack; and to have been, as he considered, twice
deserted by his own comrades, rendered his subjugation even more
complete.
By the time that his flight was discovered he had over half an hour's
start. The opinion as to the direction he had taken was unanimous--he
must have gone back to the other creek to join his mate Walker.
"You slip over and pass the word along the creek," Palmer Billy said to
Tony. "Tell the boys we were keeping him for them to deal with when they
found how they'd been sold. They'll be about fit to boil him when they
find out they're all sold."
"If a few of them come along," Peters said, "we can run him down in a
few hours, and then we can----"
"Roast him," Palmer Billy interrupted savagely.
"Better let him get bushed. It's a hundred chances to one if he'll
travel far after the hammering you gave him," Tony said.
"No, that would be cruel," Palmer Billy exclaimed. "He's only a mining
shark, but still, white men ain't cruel."
So Tony left them, and returned to the creek in full expectation of
finding Gleeson there before him. But as he approached the slope which
extended down from the level track to the creek, he was astonished to
see his own horse and Gleeson's quietly feeding, with their bridles,
broken, trailing from their heads. To catch and mount his own was soon
accomplished, and he rode on to the creek.
His approach was entirely ignored by the men along the banks, and he sat
still on the bare back of his horse for a time looking with amazement
before him.
Up the creek and down the creek men were stooping over the water, and
many of them standing in it, as they washed, in every description of
utensil, from a billy-lid to a soft felt hat, the gravel they obtained
from immediately beneath the scanty turf on the banks. There was no
talking, no shouting, no quarrelling. Behind each man there was a small
patch where the turf had been turned back so as to enable the gravel to
be scooped up, and the energies of every one seemed to be wholly devoted
to the washing of the gravel, handful by handful, while the eyes were
strained to catch a sight of the smallest particle of gold in the muddy
swirl the gravel and water made in the article used for a dish. The
intentness with which the work was done; the feverish movements of the
men; the quick gestures and the grasping care exercised by them over the
gravel,--all suggested that their anticipations had been realized, and
they were really obtaining gold from the dirt.
Tony rode nearer the line of men. One had a small square of flannel open
on the ground beside him, with a stone at each corner to prevent its
being blown away, and in the centre Tony saw a small but steadily
growing pile of yellow metal. Another man was using the lid of his billy
as a dish to wash the gravel, while into the billy itself he was putting
what he picked out of the slush. Yet another, as low down on his luck,
perhaps, as it was possible even for a Boulder Creeker to be, was
washing the gravel in his old felt hat, and had stripped the shirt from
his back to lay on the ground as a receptacle for the gold he found; and
the pile on the shirt showed he had struck a promising patch.
Everywhere it was the same; everywhere the men were silent and busy, and
everywhere they were finding gold. The discovery drove all idea of
Gleeson out of Tony's head, and he turned his horse back towards the
rise, and rode rapidly up it and across to the scrub where he had left
Peters and Palmer Billy.
"They're on gold; there's gold all along the creek," he shouted out, as
he galloped up to where the two were standing.
For answer Peters held out the lid of the billy-can, and Tony saw in it
four large nuggets and a quantity of coarse gold dust.
"That came out of the first two dishes," he said.
"We've struck it rich since you've been away, lad, struck it rich, which
is all through killing that damned shark," Palmer Billy cried, capering
up to him. "But--what price?" he exclaimed, as he stopped and stared at
the horse. "Where did you raise this?"
"Down by the creek. Gleeson's was there as well," Tony answered.
"It's your own horse?" Peters said. "The one that was stolen?"
"That's so," Tony replied. "But there were only the two, and I left
Gleeson's where it was."
"It's right into our hands," Peters went on. "We were just yarning
about it as soon as we saw there was gold in the creek."
"Tucker, lad, tucker," Palmer Billy interrupted. "We're going to work
along the creek while the stores last, but there's only enough for a few
days, and we were wondering. Now it's all straight. You can ride off for
enough to keep us going for a month if needs be."
While the stores lasted they worked in the creek; when the stock became
so low as to threaten a famine, Tony, with the gold already won in his
possession, started off, riding bare-backed for the spot where the
saddles had been "planted," and carefully avoiding the men along the
other creek. Finding the saddles where they had been left, he took his
own and rode away towards Birralong, anticipating the entertainment he
would have at the expense of the wise men who had prophesied so freely
about the results of following up a wild-cat scheme.
The sun was nearing the horizon when he came out on the Birralong road,
after a short cut across country, a little above the township. He made
direct for Marmot's store, on the verandah of which he saw that several
men were gathered. As he rode up, they looked round at him with apparent
indifference, not even replying to the wave of the hand he gave when
they turned their heads towards him. It did not occur to him that, as he
was coming from the direction of Taylor's Flat, each of the men believed
that he had returned to the selection after discovering that the
gold-field yarn was all a wild-cat scheme, as they had prophesied, and
had been lying low at the selection ever since, keeping out of the way
until something else should have transpired so as to prevent them
dwelling on the folly he had shown. The coolness the men displayed
nettled him, and he rode up to the store in a free, careless fashion,
while Marmot and his companions sat still looking at him, resenting the
fact that he should not have come in at once and given them the
opportunity of reminding him, constantly and plainly, that they had
"told him so" before he set out on the trip with gully-raking
dead-beats.
"How are you?" he called out to them, as he reined in his horse by the
row of posts, but made no move to alight. "I'll be round in the morning
with a pack-horse for some stores and tools we want," he added,
addressing Marmot, who had not moved from the tobacco-box by the door.
The indifference displayed towards him was irritating.
"Well, aren't you coming in?" Marmot said after a moment's silence.
"No; I'm just riding over first to see--to see how Godson's been all the
time," Tony replied, as he pulled his horse's head round towards the
road.
"Godson? Why, here--Tony, hold on," Marmot called out, as he jumped up
and, stepping off the verandah, caught hold of a stirrup-leather just as
Tony was moving his horse forward.
All the other men had also risen, and were standing staring at Tony in a
manner that was as unintelligible to him as their previous indifference.
"Get off and come in," Marmot was saying. "We ain't quite clear on
things, it seems to me. Where have you come from?"
Tony jerked his head towards the west.
"Away down the creek--I can't say nearer," he answered.
"Not from the Flat?"
"No; I'm going on there later. I----"
"Here, you come inside," Marmot said quickly. "You come inside, and hold
yourself together."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"Come up here, lad; there's news for you to hear," some one called from
the verandah; and Tony, undecided and uneasy, got out of the saddle and
walked on to the verandah where the men were still standing.
Marmot waved him to the tobacco-box.
"Godson's dead," he said.
"_And_ buried," Smart added, with pardonable pride, for he was the local
undertaker as well as saw-miller.
Tony, sitting on the tobacco-box, gazed at them open-mouthed.
"It was sudden--it's curled Cold-blood Slaughter clean up," Cullen put
in as further explanation.
"And Yaller-head--she's gone to Barellan," another man, wishing to have
some share in the proceedings, put in.
It was the last remark which brought Tony to his feet.
"Sit down, lad; sit down," Marmot explained. "We had to break it gently
lest it scared you. Sit down and have a smoke. We're all with you."