Part 24 (2/2)
”It's here in stacks,” he exclaimed, ”only waiting to be sc.r.a.ped out with the blade of a knife.”
Drawing his sheath-knife from his belt, he suited the action to the word; and standing in the water, the two men collected gold as children gather sh.e.l.ls on the sh.o.r.e.
And the Bush Robin watched the gold-seekers take possession of the treasured things, which he had looked upon as his own especial property; fancying that they glittered merely for his delight.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Robbery of the Mails.
The night was pitch dark; the wind had gone to rest, and not a ripple stirred the face of the black waters.
”Ahoy! there.”
”Comin', comin'. I've only bin waitin', this 'arf hour.”
The man standing at the horse's head ran round to the back of his ”express”--a vehicle not unlike a square tray on four wheels--and, letting down the tail-board, pulled out a number of mail-bags.
With two of these under each arm, he made his way to the wooden steps which led down to the water's edge, and the men in the boat heard the shuffling and sc.r.a.ping of his feet, as he felt with his boot for the topmost step; his hands being fully occupied in holding the bags.
Slowly, step by step, he stumped down to the water, where willing hands took his burden and stowed it in the bottom of the boat.
”Four,” said the carrier. ”One more lot, and that lets me out.”
As he reached the top of the wharf, on his return journey, the bright lamps of his express dazzled his eyes, and somebody cannoned against him at the back of the trap.
”Now, then! Who're yer shovin' up agin?”
”All right, my man. I'm not stealing any of the bags.”
The express-man recognised the voice.
”Is that you, Mr. Crookenden? Beg pardon, sir.”
”Come, come, get the mail aboard. My men don't want to be out in the boat all night.”
The man carried down his last load of bags, and returned, panting.
”There's only the paper to be signed,” he said, ”and then they can clear.”
”Give _me_ the form.”
The man handed a piece of paper to the mail-contractor.
”How many bags?”
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