THE FINDING OF PETERS'S REEF.
For a couple of weeks the four who had set out from Birralong full of
enthusiasm for the proving of the theory Palmer Billy had formed,
wandered along the course of the creek where they had previously found
gold. Palmer Billy insisted that as the gold must have come from a reef
before it became embedded in the loose gravel of the stream, the proper
way to seek for the reef was to follow up the stream, prospecting
wherever there was a sign of sand or gravel in the bed, and keeping a
sharp look-out for any outcrop of rock which might contain quartz. The
mother-reef whence the gold had been washed must be higher up the
stream, he argued, and if once they found that, they would be in
possession of more wealth than any of them had ever dreamed of
possessing. In the mean time, as they ascended the creek, and
consequently approached the site of the reef, it was only reasonable to
suppose that more pockets and patches of gold-bearing sand would be
discovered. Some might be as rich as that upon which they had chanced at
first; and then, even if they did not locate the mysterious mother-reef,
they would be able to make good wages, and be able to return to the
township and clear off their score with Marmot before setting out to
more recognized auriferous areas.
For two weeks they followed up the creek, tracing its course even when
it looped back upon itself so as to leave a tongue of land barely twenty
yards across between the bends. The bed, as they progressed, was rocky,
but free from quartz, and very little sand was found in the crevices of
the rock, while only a few specks of gold now and again rewarded their
perseverance and their toil.
As soon as the sun was up they were at work, and, except when they
stopped for meals, they worked incessantly till sundown, the fascination
of chance, the prospect of striking at any moment a patch of alluvial
which would, by its richness, wipe away all memory of earlier
disappointment, keeping them steadily going. At sunset they made their
camp for the night, and slept, rolled in their blankets, lulled to sleep
by the rippling stream flowing only a few yards away. As the first sign
of dawn was heralded by the melodious twitters of the bush birds they
were astir; the ashes of the fire, still smouldering, were raked
together, and the billy set to boil, while they spread their blankets
out to catch the first rays of the sun, and performed their simple
toilets in the running stream. Day after day they worked along the
creek, never finding anything more than specks of gold, and never seeing
any token of the reef Palmer Billy was so sure must be somewhere near
the higher reaches.
The stream had led them into more hilly and rugged country, sometimes
flowing between high and steep banks, but more frequently through open
country gradually ascending to higher levels. The size of the stream was
steadily maintained, and no tributary rills were found to run into it,
the long season of drought having apparently dried them all up. The fact
that the volume of water did not diminish suggested that the stream had
its origin in a series of springs higher up. Instead of this, however,
they emerged one day on to a small patch of level land, from one side of
which a steep, thickly wooded hill rose, and towards the centre of which
a shallow, reed-grown pool formed the commencement of the stream. It was
entirely different to what any one had expected, and as they traversed
the area of land, covered with rank vegetation, they saw how in a rainy
season it would be a peaty swamp formed by the drainage from the hills
around.
A more complete overthrow of Palmer Billy's theory could not have
occurred. The miles of country they had patiently journeyed over at the
slow pace necessitated by the constant fossicking and prospecting, had
been practically barren of gold, and the head of the stream, which the
leader had always maintained would be found in a series of springs
bubbling up in stony country, and surrounded by rocks, streaked and
veined by quartz, had been found to be a small pool in the middle of a
partially dried-up swamp.
Palmer Billy for once was silent as the camp was made.
"It's no good," he grumbled, when, with pipes alight, they lounged round
the fire after the evening meal. "It's no good. We've struck a duffer.
It's the old yarn. When we had a pile we didn't know how to keep it from
the sharks, and now--well, we've struck a duffer."
"We're not through yet," Peters remarked, after a moment's silence.
"Not through?" Palmer Billy exclaimed, his raucous voice taking to
itself a touch of scorn. "What do you call this? Are you going to take
this up as a selection and grow pumpkins? Do you think there's any gold
in this mud-pan? Did you ever see nuggets in a swamp of reeds? There's
not an ounce of sand or gravel to the acre. How are you going to work
it? Mine? Sink a shaft and drive tunnels? Not through, you call it, and
never more than a colour to the dish after fourteen days and more of
graft. I'm full of it. There was more of a show on Boulder Creek."
"'Kick at troubles when they come, boys,'" Tony chanted from the other
side of the fire.
"Wot price that?" Palmer Billy interrupted. "Singing a digger's song on
a darned dirty mud-heap. It's a blasphemy."
"Why?" Peters asked quietly.
"Why? Because there's no gold in it, that's why," Palmer Billy retorted.
"No; but there may be under it," Peters answered.
Palmer Billy rose to his feet, and stood with the firelight playing on
his rugged face and figure as he turned towards Peters.
"Oh, there may be some under it! Oh! Very good. Then I suppose you're
going to mine, and sink a shaft and tunnel, and----" the humour of it
was too much for him, and he broke off in a loud laugh, which ended in a
set of expressions not quite relevant, but calculated to relieve his
feelings.
"I'm going to prospect in the morning all the same," Peters said, as
quietly as before.
"Yes; why not? Let's try the hill," Tony exclaimed.
"Young fellow, you're a boy in most things, not forgetting age," Palmer
Billy began; "but in mining you are a baby in a cradle; you----"
"I'm not so sure," Peters interrupted. "It's up the hill I'm going to
prospect in the morning."
"All right," Palmer Billy answered, with a fierce energy. "Then I'll
mind camp and go fishing in the lagoon. Maybe I'll catch a dinner,
anyhow."
But in the morning he had recovered somewhat from the bitterness of the
disappointment he felt at having his theory, elaborated in many a yarn
around the camp-fire on the way up the creek, shattered by the discovery
of the swamp.
"What's the move?" he asked Peters, as soon as breakfast was over.
"You're the boss of the show," Peters answered.
"No, my lad. I'm through. I'm an old hand, but when it comes to striking
a swamp where I said there'd be a reef, it's time to shift. You're the
boss now. I'll be cook and bring along the accordion. A bit of a stave
may change the luck."
"Then we'll go for the hill," Peters said. "We'll prospect any likely
looking stone, and if there are no signs of payable quartz, then maybe
the country will change on the other side of the rise."
"And so will the tucker," Tony added. "There's more than half the stores
gone now, and we're a good three days' journey from Birralong, the
nearest township I know to this range."
"There's time enough for tucker," Peters replied. "When we've got to the
top of the hill we can talk about that; we may have struck the reef by
then, and be able to buy up the township if we want to."
They left the waterhole to face the steep, thickly timbered slope of the
hill. The climbing was awkward and trying work for the horses, and the
men had to lead them the greater part of the day, ever striving to get
through the thick undergrowth nearer the summit of the ridge. Whenever
any rock was seen to crop out, either Palmer Billy or Peters examined it
for any sign of quartz or pyrites, but nothing rewarded their efforts.
For three days they clambered and toiled before they reached the summit.
Wherever the dry bed of a stream was found the four spread along it,
minutely examining the sand which had lodged in the crevices; but still
with the same want of success, until, towards the evening of the third
day from leaving the flat, they reached the top. The timber was slight
and scraggy and the undergrowth ceased there, leaving an open space,
rock-strewn and rugged, but from whence a view could be obtained over a
wide expanse of country. They had had a particularly rough day's
journey from the previous night's camp. A small pool of water, stagnant
and stained with soil and dead leaves, had been discovered on a
scrub-covered ledge, and there the camp had been made. On starting in
the morning the water-bags had been filled and the horses had been
allowed to drink all they cared for; now that they had reached the top
the water in the bags was all they had, for there was none to be seen on
the rough, uneven surface. Neither was there any vegetation for the
horses to eat. There was evidently only one thing to be done. It was too
late to think of attempting to descend the hill that night, so a fire
was lit, a camp was made, and the horses secured. Wearied by the heavy
climb, the four men had few words for one another, and as soon as each
had had his meal, he rolled himself in his blanket and was asleep
without even waiting for a smoke.
At dawn they awakened to find themselves chill and damp. During the
night rain-clouds had gathered, and a steady, fine shower had fallen,
making them wet through. The fatigue from the previous day had caused
them to sleep too soundly to be awakened by anything until daylight, but
now that they were roused it was to discomfort. The fire was out, and
only after a prolonged search did they obtain enough dry wood to light
another and boil their billy.
As they were discussing their breakfast the rain increased, coming down
steadily and heavily.
"Two hours of this and the swamp below will be flooded," Peters said.
"And the track will be in a fine state too," Tony added.
"This comes of new chums prospecting and looking for a reef here, when
the whole countryside hadn't a trace of quartz," Palmer Billy put in
savagely.
He had discovered that the rain had somehow got to his accordion, and as
the instrument was not made to stand the wet, it had suffered seriously,
much to the disgust and indignation of its owner.
"And now we are here, nobody's even chipped a boulder," Murray said. "If
this is what you call mining, I'm full of it."
"It's no use grumbling, anyway," Peters said quietly. "We haven't seen
what's on the other side of the slope. There's no saying. If the creek
starts running we may yet strike Palmer Billy's reef."
"Call it after yourself; I ain't boss now. I've had my shot and failed;
but it seems to me I might as well have had another, seeing the result's
the same."
"Well, anyhow, let's move along out of this and see if we can strike
something. I've not done yet," Peters, still unruffled, replied.
The way up from the previous day's camp had been difficult; the way down
was doubly so. The parched, dry soil absorbed the rain as quickly as it
fell, with the result that the steep surface became loose and slippery,
and the horses could scarcely keep their feet. They slipped and
staggered along in a zigzag fashion, the men leading them, and as the
rain continued to fall, there were shreds and patches of mist sweeping
round the hill, which made it more awkward to pick a safe road and at
the same time keep the direction they desired. With their attention
mostly given to their horses--for if one fell it would be almost
impossible to save it from serious if not fatal injury--and with their
tempers still ruffled by the combined discomfort of the wet, the
fatigue, and disappointment, no one noticed particularly which way they
were going, save that each followed the other, the first man being
Peters. Sometimes they had to ascend and sometimes to descend, as the
lay of the land demanded; and so they struggled along, until suddenly a
sharp cry from the leader roused the others to look up. Then they also
uttered exclamations, for they found that instead of descending they had
only succeeded in travelling round the top of the hill, to emerge again
on to the bare, rugged summit.
The rain was driving in their faces; they were cold and uncomfortable,
and their horses as well as themselves were tired by the useless
scramble they had just accomplished. Peters, with a short-headed miner's
pick-axe, which he had used to steady himself, in his hand, was standing
beside a small boulder, which loomed as a dark, purple shade under the
cold, grey rain-clouds. It was the first sign of anger or irritation he
had displayed, but the expressions of opinion of the other three were
not soothing on top of his own feelings, and, with vindictive malice, he
struck at the boulder with the blunt head of the pick-axe. A sentiment
accompanied the blow, but it was incomplete when Peters dropped the
pick-axe and went down on his knees on the wet ground to gather up the
fragments he had broken off the boulder. Then, with a yell, he leaped to
his feet.
"We've struck it, boys; we've struck it!" he shouted. "It's gold!"
Rain, fatigue, the horses, hunger, bad temper, and disappointment alike
vanished from the minds of the three as they heard the words. They
crowded over to where Peters, laughing in his delight, was hugging the
broken fragments of rock to his breast and capering round the boulder.
Palmer Billy, silent as yet, bent down and examined the spot where
Peters had struck. The fresh-broken face, already moistened by the rain,
showed small heads and points of orange-coloured metal.
"Darned new-chum fool!" he muttered, as he stood up. "Here, you
moonstruck jackeroo, stop that damned corroboree!" he shouted to the
capering Peters. "If you want to know, it's native copper. I've seen
tons of it. On the Cloncurry you can get it by the square mile."
"It's gold," Peters yelled in answer--"gold, you old wind-bag! There's a
fortune in that boulder. Come on, boys. Out with the tools, and let us
dolly a lump and test it."
It might be only native copper, but for the moment neither Tony nor
Murray doubted the opinion of Peters. There was a scurry and a confused
bungle as each tried to get what was wanted, while Palmer Billy stood
by, trying to light his pipe, and muttering uncomplimentary sentences
against all of them.
Peters had with him a rough-and-ready apparatus for testing any mineral
encountered. A blowpipe, a bit of candle, a small bottle of powdered
borax, another of mercury, and a bent platinum wire, packed away in an
empty jam-tin, formed his assayer's kit--a paraphernalia which induced
as much mirth and scoffing contempt from Palmer Billy as it would have
done from a skilled and cultured scientist, who, without hair-balances,
acids, retorts, and a dozen other appliances, would have scorned the
idea of an analysis or anything approaching it. But in the annals of
mining discovery, how often has the resources of a great mine been made
known and available to human enterprise by the crude, simple apparatus
of a travelling prospector, and how many hopeless and worthless
"properties" have swallowed the contributions of a gullable public
through the ornamental reports of the skilled and cultured proprietor of
an elaborate laboratory!
By the time the jam-tin and its contents had been obtained from the
confusion of Peters's swag, he had crushed on the blade of a shovel,
with the blunt head of the miner's pick, a fragment of the
mineral-bearing stone. Tony lit the stump of candle, taking the hat from
his head and holding it over the flame to protect it from the rain,
while Murray held the jam-tin of implements. With a pinch of the
powdered stone in the palm of his hand, Peters took the blowpipe, and
blew the candle-flame on to the end of the bent platinum wire until it
became red-hot. Then he plunged it into the borax, and again placed it
in the flame, until the borax hung at the end of the wire in a white,
transparent bead. Touching it on the powdered stone, he again placed it
in the flame, and watched it until he saw creep into it the rich, ripe
colour which denoted gold.
"Native copper!" he cried in scorn, as he held out the ruddy bead to
Palmer Billy. "Did you ever see copper go that colour? It's gold,
boys--gold!"
Palmer Billy came nearer, and looked at the bead with a fine scepticism.
"Is it?" he said. "Well, dolly a lump of the stone, and let's see you
wash the gold out."
"I'll do it with mercury," Peters exclaimed, as he seized the small
bottle from the tin and shook it triumphantly towards the three.
"We don't want no fakes," Palmer Billy retorted. "If it's gold it'll
wash out when the stone's crushed. You crush a bit of the rock; I'll
look after the water."
He took up a dish from the disorder of Peters's kit, and started off to
collect water in it from the little pools formed by the rain; while the
others, forgetful of the rain and of everything save the prospect of
proving the find, set to work to crush pieces of the boulder into a fine
powder. By the time Palmer Billy returned with the dish half-full of
water, they had a handful of the powdered stone ready, and he, with much
solemnity, as became a sceptic, emptied it into the water, and slowly
swished it to and fro, gradually spilling the water, and with it the
finer dust of the stone, until only a little wet sand remained in the
bottom of the dish. With his head on one side he lifted the dish, tilted
over until the sand caught the light at the proper angle; then he slowly
revolved the dish in his hands, the three others closely watching the
expression of his face.
Without a word he put the dish on the ground, and, walking over to
Peters, slapped him vigorously on the back.
"I'm an old hand," he exclaimed--"old enough in years and mining to be
grandfather to the lot of you, and I don't give a shearer's curse for
your fakes and your fiddlements; and I struck a swamp where I said
there'd be a reef--but, as I'm a singer, it's gold."
[Illustration: CAPERED ROUND THE BOULDER. [_Page 216._]
The conversion of the sceptic completed the triumph of Peters, and,
giving way once more to the enthusiasm of the moment, he capered round
the boulder, yelling and shouting, the others joining in, despite their
weariness and their saturated clothes. What were a few temporary
inconveniences compared with the significance of Palmer Billy's
admission? A night's sound sleep, a few hours' sunshine, a couple of
good meals, and their discomforts were at an end; while there in the
boulder they had tapped, and probably in others that they saw around
them, and perchance in the hill up which they had clambered so
tediously, there was gold, and gold which was theirs by right of
discovery, by the right of the mining laws, written and unwritten, and
the right of their future toil. The tucker might be getting scarce; but
what of that? A few hours' work and one of them could ride away back to
Birralong to clear off the score they had left and bring more stores,
more horses, more anything they wanted--whatever it was, in a week it
would be paid for. The gold was at their feet; the strength to win it in
their muscles; the craving for possession in their minds. What
wonder, then, that they knew nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, as
they yelled and danced, but the delight that was upon them--the wild,
untrammelled, ravenous delight which only comes to those who know
success in the midst of desolation and despair.
When they had relieved somewhat the fury of delight, they bethought
themselves of their creature comforts and the needs of their horses. The
latter, profiting by their freedom, had found a way for themselves down
the hillside to a spot where there was something they could eat; and
when the men found them, they found also that the spot was very much
more suitable for a camping-ground than the summit of the hill. A
shelter of branches was constructed, under which they placed their
stores, and a fire, after some difficulty, was lit. Then, primeval
instincts being strong, they removed the wet clothes they wore, and hung
them in the shelter where the heat of the fire could reach and dry them,
the while they busied themselves with the preparation of the meal of
which they were in so much need. A break in the clouds, as they partook
of it, added to the contentment they felt, for by the cessation of the
rain an undisturbed night's rest seemed assured to them, and they needed
that to fit them for their attack on the morrow upon the treasures they
had found.
They were in calmer mind on the following morning, which was fortunately
fine, and set out to systematically examine the extent of the
gold-bearing stone they had stumbled across. It was all on the side of
the hill which was farthest from the swamp, and it seemed as though the
whole side of the hill was composed of it.
"What's to be done now?" Palmer Billy asked, when they met at the midday
meal.
"We'll get as much of the gold as we can in a couple of days, and then
send Murray back with two horses for stores enough to last another two
months. By that time we'll know how much the reef is good for, and maybe
have enough on hand to carry off and bank."
"Ah, that's the talk," Palmer Billy said admiringly. "No more flying
round for the sharks to bite at you. Plank the stuff in the bank, and
sit smiling at them. That's the talk."
"There is no bank at Birralong," Murray said.
"Isn't Marmot's good enough?" Palmer Billy asked. "Didn't he put up
stores on a tally, and don't we owe him a turn now we're in luck?
Marmot's good enough for me till the Government wants to build a railway
and comes to me for a loan."
"That's a bit premature, isn't it?" Peters asked.
"Marmot's as good as a bank, and better; he stood us a shout and stores
when we were stony. Where's the bank that'll do that?" Palmer Billy
retorted. "You tell him, when you ride in for fresh stores, to shift
some of them pumpkins out into the back-yard, because we're coming in
soon with a dray-load of nuggets," he added to Murray.