stuff was more than what might be termed just payable.
One night, on coming home, I found my mate awaiting my return.
“You have been over to Steele’s, I suppose,” said he.
“Yes. I didn’t expect you so soon, or I would have returned before.”
“He is a rare cunning old fox, is your friend, Steele.”
“How so?”
“Why, here he has been keeping that hill-side to himself all these months,—everybody thinking it to be mere tucker-ground,—and hang me if he hasn’t been making his pile all the time.”
“Nonsense,” said I; “why, you know very well he was only left in quiet possession of it because no one else could make it pay.”
“That’s all very true, but then that was a long time ago, and he has dropped across something much better since then.”
“How do you know that?”
“Why, you know there’s a water-hole not far from where he is at work, with a lot of wattles on one side of it? Well, Joe Knivit happened to be down in that part this afternoon, and seeing old Steele coming along with a couple of buckets of washdirt, suspended at either end of that Chinaman’s pole he uses, the fancy struck him that he would just see, for once, what the old chap got out of it, so he managed to hide himself close handy. Well, instead of about a pennyweight, as Joe had expected, the old fellow washed out a good half-ounce at the least, so that he must have a regular lob of gold stowed away somewhere. Joe told me this in confidence, so that we might be on the ground to-morrow, early, and get a good claim.”
“Why,” said I, “we have just bottomed a fresh hole which pays very well, and, you know, we can’t hold another along with it.”
“Well, we can give it up, I suppose?”
“What! give up a hole that runs a quarter of an ounce to the tub, and nuggets! No, thank you. You may, if you like; but I shall stick by it like a leech.”
“Very well; then you must look out for another mate, for I shall go down and join Joe’s party.”
The next morning, consequently, we parted company. I paid him for his share of the tent, and he took himself off with his swag. I soon got some one else to work with me, but as my new mate lived with his brother, who kept a store on the flat, I was left all alone in the tent. Of course, there was a regular rush up to Steele’s hill; all the ground that was left was soon turned up, and a few first-rate patches found. There was no doubt that the Hatter must have done well, though the stories which got abroad about the vast amount of gold concealed in his tent, were simply ridiculous. About a fortnight after my mate left me, I was coming up the gully late one evening when I heard the sound of a horse’s feet. As the rider met me he pulled up, and inquired if he was right for the Hat.
“Quite right,” said I; “but you will find it awkward riding this dark night amongst the holes.”
“I know that voice,” said he; “surely it must be Fred Hartley.”
“The same, but who are you?”
“Why your old Golden Point mate, Dick Vesey, to be sure, and jolly glad I am to see you. Perhaps you can tell me where I can lodge to-night. It must be a quiet crib, though, for I am off up country to buy hides, and have a larger sum about me than I should like to lose.”
“Well, under those circumstances you had better turn round again, and come up to my tent. I have a spare bed I can offer you. And there’s water and feed for your horse close at hand.”
“The very thing of all others; I accept with pleasure.”
Of course we had lots to tell one another, so we sat over our grog till very late. It had been blowing all day, and now the wind had increased to a perfect hurricane, accompanied occasionally by driving showers of rain. The storm was so violent that we had to speak in loud tones to make ourselves understood. I was just concluding the story of my adventures since we parted company, when he raised his finger, and motioned me to be silent.
“What is the matter?” said I, after sitting quiet for some moments.
“Did you not hear a scream?”
“I heard nothing at all.”
“I am sure it was the cry of a human being, and seemed to come from the hill-side yonder.”
We went to the tent door and listened. No sound was to be heard but the roaring of the storm, and the splash of the heavy rain-drops.
“I must have been mistaken,” said he; “let us turn in.”
In the morning when I rose, which I did at daybreak, for Vesey was anxious to be off, I noticed that the door of Steele’s hut was open.
“The old chap is up early,” thought I. “I suppose he is out prospecting, now they have cleared out his hill.”
After breakfast, I showed my guest a short cut, by which he might avoid the township altogether, and then went off to my work. I had just come up from below, about smoking-time, when I saw a whole mob of fellows running in my direction, headed by Brady. As I was wondering what could be the matter, they came up to where I was sitting, and before I had time to ask any questions, I was seized by a dozen rough hands and pinioned.
“Come,” said I, “just drop this, I am not fond of jokes.”
“Oh! a joke you call it, do you?” said Brady; “I don’t think you will find it one, though. It looks about as like a hanging matter, as anything I have known for some time.”
“Hanging matter! What on earth do you mean?”
“How innocent he is, mates! One would think now, to hear him talk, that he had never been in Steele’s hut at all, last night.”
“No more I was.”
