Part 58 (2/2)

”G'arn! Let go!” snarled Garstang.

”Whatyer givin' us?” exclaimed William, as she shook himself free. ”The bloke's fair ratty.”

”Here! Hi!” Dolphin called to the enthusiastic stranger. ”What's all this about missing men? What's all the fuss about?--as like as not the men are gone prospecting in the bush.”

”A gold-buyer with 5000 oz. of gold doesn't go prospecting,” replied the digger. ”Come and read the notice, man.”

The four murderers lounged towards the Post Office, and coolly read the Bank Manager's placard.

”They've got lost, that's about the size of it,” said Garstang.

”Why all this bobbery should be made over a few missin' men, beats me,”

sneered Dolphin.

”Whenever there's a 'rush' in Australia, there's dozens of men git lost,” said Sweet William, ”but n.o.body takes any notice--it's the ordinary thing.”

”But there's gold to the value of 20,000 gone too,” said the enthusiastic stranger. ”Wouldn't you take notice of _that_?”

”It'll turn up,” said Carnac. ”They must have lost their way in the thunderstorm. But you may bet they're well supplied with tucker. Hang it all, they might come into town any minute, and what fools we'd look then.”

”P'r'aps their pack-horse got frightened at the lightning and fell over a precipice. It might, easy.” This was William's brilliant suggestion.

”An' the men are humpin' the gold into town theirselves,” said Garstang.

”There ain't any occasion to worry, that I can see. None at all, none at all. Come an' have a drink, mate. I'll shout for the crowd.”

The five men strolled towards The Lucky Digger, through the door of which they pa.s.sed into a crowded bar, where, amid excited, loud-voiced diggers who were expressing their views concerning the gold-escort's disappearance, the four murderers were the only quiet and collected individuals.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

The Gold League Washes Up.

The amalgamated ”claims,” worked upon an economical and extensive scale, had promised from the outset to render enormous returns to the members of the Gold League.

Throughout the canvas town which had sprung up on the diggings, the news that the ”toffs” were to divide their profits had created the widest interest, and in every calico shanty and in every six-by-eight tent the organising genius of the ”field,” Mr. Jack Scarlett, was the subject of conversation.

Such topsy-turvy habitations as the stores and dwellings of Canvas Town never were seen. The main street, if the thoroughfare where all the business of the mushroom towns.h.i.+p was transacted could be dignified with such a name, was a snare to the pedestrian and an impossibility to vehicles, which, however, were as yet unknown on the ”field.”

The ”Cafe de Paris” possessed no windows in its canvas walls, and its solitary chimney was an erection of corrugated iron, surmounted by a tin chimney-pot. ”The Golden Reef,” where spirituous liquors were to be had at exorbitant prices, was of a more palatial character, as it had a front of painted wood, in which there hung a real door furnished with a lock, though the sides of the building were formed of rough logs, taken in their natural state from the ”bush.” The calico structure which bore in large stencilled letters the name of The Kangaroo Bank, was evidently closed during the absence of the Manager, for, pinned to the cotton of the front wall, was a piece of paper, on which was written in pencil the following notice:--”During the temporary absence of the Manager, customers of the Bank are requested to leave their gold with Mr.

Figgiss, of the Imperial Dining Rooms, whose receipts will be duly acknowledged by the Bank. Isaac Zahn, Manager.” Upon reading the notice, would-be customers of the wealthy inst.i.tution had only to turn round in order to see Mr. Figgiss himself standing in the door of his place of business. He was a tall, red-bearded, pugnacious-looking man, with an expansive, hairy chest, which was visible beneath the unb.u.t.toned front of his Crimean s.h.i.+rt. The Imperial Dining Rooms, if not s.p.a.cious, were yet remarkable, for upon their calico sides it was announced in letters of rainbow tints that curries and stews were always ready, that grilled steaks and chops were to be had on Tuesdays and Fridays, and roast pork and ”duff” on Sundays.

But further along the street, where tree-stumps still remained and the pedestrian traversed water-worn ruts which reached to his knee, the true glory of Canvas Town stood upon a small elevation, overlooking the river. This was the office of the Timber Town Gold League. It was felt by every digger on the ”field” that here was a structure which should serve as a model. Its sides were made of heavy slabs of wood, which bore marks of the adze and axe; its floor, raised some four feet from the ground, was of sawn planks--unheard-of luxury--and in the cellars below were stored the goods of the affluent company. Approaching the door by a short flight of steps, admittance was gained to a set of small offices, beyond which lay a s.p.a.cious room, which, at the time when the reader is ushered into it, is filled with bearded men dressed in corduroy, or blue dungaree, copper-fastened, trousers and flannel s.h.i.+rts; men with mud on their boots and on their clothes, and an air of ruffianism pervading them generally. And yet this is the Timber Town Gold League, the aristocratic members of which are a.s.sembled for the purpose of dividing the proceeds of their first ”wash-up.”

On an upturned whisky-case, before a big table composed of boards roughly nailed together and resting on trestles, sits the Manager of the League, Mr. Jack Scarlett, and before him lie the proceeds of the ”wash-up.”

The room is full of tobacco-smoke, and the hubbub of many voices drowns the thin voice of the League's Secretary, who sits beside the Manager and calls for silence.

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