Part 125 (1/2)
Toward evening he collected his whole faction, got on the top of two cradles, made a speech, thanked them for their good-will, and told them he had now an opportunity of making them a return. He had discovered a vein of gold which he could have kept all to himself, but it was more just and more generous to share it with his partisans.
”Now, pa.s.s through this little mine one at a time,” said he, ”and look at the roof, where I have stuck the two lighted candles, and then pa.s.s on quick to make room for others.”
The men dived one after another, examined the roof, and, rus.h.i.+ng wildly out at the other end in great excitement, ran and marked out claims on both sides of the subterranean.
But, with all their greediness and eagerness, they left ten feet square untouched on each side the subterranean.
”What is this left for?”
”That is left for the clever fellow that found the gold after a thief had missed it,” cried one.
”And for the generous fellow that parted his find,” roared another, from a distance.
Robinson seemed to reflect.
”No! I won't spoil the meat by cutting myself the fat--no! I am a digger, but not only a digger, I aspire to the honor of being a captain of diggers; my claim lies out there.”
”Hurrah; three cheers for Captain Robinson!”
”Will you do me a favor in return?”
”Hurrah! won't we?”
”I am going to pet.i.tion the governor to send us out police to guard our tents.”
”Hurrah!”
”And even beaks, if necessary” (doubtful murmurs). ”And, above all, soldiers to take our gold safe down to Sydney.”
”Hurrah!”
”Where we can sell it at three fifteen the ounce.”
”Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
”Instead of giving it away here for three pounds, and then being robbed.
If you will all sign, Mr. Stevens and I will draw up the pet.i.tion; no country can stand without law!”
”Hurrah for Captain Robinson, the diggers' friend.”
And the wild fellows jumped out of the holes, and four seized the diggers' friend, and they chaired him in their rough way, and they put Carlo into a cradle, and raised him high, and chaired him; and both man and dog were right glad to get safe out of the precarious honor.
The proceedings ended by brutus being loosed and set between two long lines of men with lumps of clay, and pelted and knocked down, and knocked up again, and driven, bruised, battered and bleeding, out of that part of the camp. He found his way to a little dirty tent not much bigger than a badger's hole, crawled in, and sank down in a fainting state, and lay on his back stiff and fevered, and smarting soul and body many days.
And while Robinson was exulting in his skill, his good fortune, his popularity, his swelling bag, and the constabulary force he was collecting and heading, this tortured ruffian, driven to utter desperation by the exposure of his features to all the camp with ”Thief”
blazing on him, lay groaning stiff and sore--but lived for revenge.