Part 128 (1/2)
”I will, Tom, I will. Thank you kindly. Ah! now I see why he came to me and kept licking my hand so the moment he got the hurt. He had more sense than we had; he knew he and I were to part that hour. And I tormented his last minutes sending him into the water and after stones, when the poor thing wanted to be bidding me good-by all the while. Oh, dear! oh, dear!” and George pushed his scarce-tasted dinner from him, and left the tent hurriedly, his eyes thick with tears.
Thus ended this human day so happily begun; and thus the poor dog paid the price of fidelity this Sunday afternoon.
_Siste viator iter_--and part with poor Carlo--for whom there are now no more little pa.s.sing troubles--no more little simple joys. His duty is performed, his race is run. Peace be to him, and to all simple and devoted hearts. Ah me! how rare they are among men!
”What are you doing, Tom, if you please?”
”Laying down a gut line to trip them up when they get into our tent.”
”When--who?”
”Those that shot Carlo.”
”They won't venture near me.
”Won't they? What was the dog shot for? They will come--and come to their death; to-night, I hope. Let them come! you will hear me cry 'Carlo' in their ears as I put my revolver to their skulls and pull the trigger.”
George said nothing, but he clinched his teeth. After a pause he muttered, ”We should pray against such thoughts.”
Robinson was disappointed, no attack was made; in fact, even if such a thing was meditated, the captain's friends watched his tent night and day, and made such a feat a foolhardy enterprise, full of danger from without and within.
In the course of the next week a good deal of rain fell and filled many of the claims, and caused much inaction and distress among the diggers, and Robinson guarded the tent, and wrote letters and studied Australian politics, with a view to being shortly a member of Congress in these parts. George had his wish at last and cruised about looking for the home of the gold. George recollected to have seen what he described as a river of quartz sixty feet broad, and running between two black rocks.
It ran in his head that gold in ma.s.ses was there locked up, for, argued he, all the nuggets of any size I have seen were more than half quartz.
Robinson had given up debating the point.
George was uneasy and out of spirits at not hearing from Susan for several months, and Robinson was for indulging him in everything.
Poor George! he could not even find his river of quartz. And when he used to come home day after day empty-handed and with this confession, the other's lips used to twitch with the hard struggle not to laugh at him; and he used to see the struggle and be secretly more annoyed than if he had been laughed out at.
One afternoon Tom Robinson, internally despising the whole thing, and perfectly sure in his own mind that there was no river of quartz, but paternal and indulgent to his friend's one weakness, said to him:
”I'll tell you how to find this river of quartz, if it is anywhere except in your own head.”
”I shall be much obliged to you. How?”
”Jem has come back to camp and he tells me that Jacky is encamped with a lot more close to the gully he is working--it was on the other side the bush there-and Jacky inquired very kind after you.”
”The little viper.”
”He grinned from ear to ear, Jem tells me; and says he, 'Me come and see George a good deal soon,' says he.”
”If he does, George will tan his black hide for him.”
”What makes you hold spite so long against poor Jacky?”
”He is a little sneaking varmint.”
”He knows every part of this country, and he would show you 'the home of the gold,'” observed Robinson, restraining his merriment with great difficulty.