Part 24 (1/2)

”Tucker's good,” said the man with the beard, ”but, I reckon, what we want is a drink.”

”The billy's empty,” said the other--”I spilt it when I came that cropper, and nearly broke my neck.”

”Then there's nothing for it but to wait till we come to a stream.”

They rose, tied up their swags, and journeyed on; the bearded man continuing to blaze the track, the younger man following him, and the Bush Robin fluttering beside them.

The creek was but a little way off. Soon the noise of its waters greeted the ears of the travellers. The thirsty men hurried in the direction of the sound, which grew louder and louder, till suddenly pus.h.i.+ng through a tangled screen of supple-jacks and the soft, green fronds of a small forest of tree-ferns, they stood on the bank of a clear stream, which rushed noisily over a bed of grey boulders.

The bearded man stooped to drink: the other dipped the billy into the water and drank, standing.

The little bird had perched himself on a big rock which stood above the surface of the swirling water.

”Good,” said he with the beard. ”There's no water like bush water.”

”There's that little beggar again,” said the other, watching the bird upon the rock.

”He's following us around. This shall be named Bush Robin Creek.”

”Bush Robin Creek it is,” said the other. ”Now take a prospect, and see if you can get a colour.”

The older man turned over a few boulders, and exposed the sand that lay beneath them. Half a shovelful of this he placed in a tin dish, which he half-filled with water. Then squatting on his heels, he rotated the dish with a cunning movement, which splashed little laps of water over the side and carried off the lighter particles of sand and dirt. When all the water in the dish was thus disposed of, he added more and renewed the was.h.i.+ng process, till but a tablespoonful of the heaviest particles of grit remained at the bottom. This residue he poked over with his forefinger, peering at it nearly.

Apparently he saw nothing. More water was put into the dish, and the was.h.i.+ng process was continued till but a teaspoonful of grit remained.

”We've got the colour!” he exclaimed, after closely examining this residue.

His comrade knelt beside him, and looked at the ”prospect.”

A little more was.h.i.+ng, and at the bottom of the dish lay a dozen flakes of gold, with here and there a grain of sand.

”We must go higher up,” said the bearded man. ”This light stuff has been carried over a bar, maybe, and the heavier gold has been left behind.”

Slowly and with difficulty they worked their way along the bank of the creek, till at last they came to a gorge whose rocky sides stood like mighty walls on either side.

The gold-seekers were wading up to their waists in water, and the Bush Robin was fluttering round them as they moved slowly up the stream.

Expecting to find the water deeper in the gorge, the man in front went carefully. The rocky sides were full of crevices and little ledges, on one of which, low down upon the water, the little Robin perched.

The man reached forward and placed his hand upon the ledge on which the bird was perched; the Bush Robin fluttered overhead, and then the man gave a cry of surprise. His hand had rested on a layer of small nuggets and golden sand.

”We've got it, Moonlight! There's fully a couple of ounces on this ledge alone.”

The bearded man splashed through the water, and looked eagerly at the gold lying just above the water-line.

”My boy, where there's that much on a ledge there'll be hundreds of ounces in the creek.”

He rapidly pushed ahead, examining the crevices of the rock, above and below the water-line.