CHAPTER V
He would try from the tree this time. He walked to it, then turned, and paced fifteen steps in a line with the tent. Here the ground was covered with broken pieces of quartz, but there was no mark or sign that would attract a bushman's eye. Then he walked about twenty feet more, when, suddenly, the ground seemed to give way under his feet, and he felt himself falling down a hole. He had just time to throw himself forward and clutch the solid earth. With a great effort he managed to hold on to the side of the hole and drag himself up. The excavation had been lightly covered with brushwood and earth. This was no doubt the key to the diagram, and something perhaps was to be unlocked here. Peering into the hole he saw a rough ladder, and went down it about fourteen feet. A marvellous sight filled his eyes with wonder! The cap of a reef had been broken off, and the stone blazed with gold. In half an hour he had picked out about twenty ounces.
He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. What was that noise? He heard a muffled rumbling, and the ground seemed to vibrate. Some animal was in the Devil's Punch Bowl, and was moving northwards. He lay motionless for a little while, then, as the footsteps grew fainter, he crept up the ladder, and raised his left eye above the top of the hole. A horse, with a man on his back, was slowly climbing the steep bank, and in a moment disappeared over the other side. Bill drew a sigh of relief. Last night he longed for company, now he did not wish to see a human creature. The rich shoot of gold he had come upon would make up for the poor surroundings and the awful solitude of the Devil's Punch Bowl. The gold would compensate for all.
He drew the brushwood over the mouth of the hole, then descended the ladder and lay down to rest. The excitement of finding the gold and the fear of being discovered had unnerved him. He was as a bow unstrung.
If it were known that he was working a rich claim near where the old man was found, it might be said that it was the dead man's, and that Bill had murdered him in order to get it. What a position to be placed in! This was the mess the Devil's Punch Bowl had brewed for him. "Double, double toil and trouble."
He must work like a mole, silently and in the dark, and must on no account show himself in the light of the sun. He would pick out as much gold as he could, and then, when night came on, he would creep up, cover the mouth of the hole, and grope his way to the tent. Of course he could go to Mopoke to-morrow and register the claim, so as to secure it against all comers. An innocent man like himself would have nothing to fear, but tongues would wag, wiseacres shake their heads, and envious eyes wink. Would it not be asked, "Why shouldn't Bill Marlock have murdered the old man?" "Wasn't it as plain as a foot-rule that he had ridden hot-haste to the place where the old man was working, and had murdered him for the sake of the rich claim?" "Dead men tell no tales." "Out of sight out of mind." "Then, when the secret was buried six feet under ground, he had gone back to take possession of his victim's property, just as Ahab had done, long ago, when he went to take possession of Naboth's vineyard. As Ahab had suffered, so would Bill Marlock."
These and such thoughts rushed over the grey matter of Bill's brain, as the wind rushes through the tree-tops.
He lay on the rock, and picked out the nuggets with his jack-knife. When the last gleam of light faded overhead his trousers' pockets were full. There was plenty more in sight. He had come upon a veritable goldsmith's shop.
When he could see no longer, he slowly ascended the ladder and listened. All was still. Putting the brushwood aside, he scrambled out of the hole, stood up to his full height, and drew a long breath. A cricket chirped, and made him tremble. His blood raced, and his bones seemed out of joint. No further sound smote the stillness. Then he covered up the hole, as carefully as he could, and crept away to the tent.
He dared not make a fire to-night, nor light a candle. The flickering stars eyed him, now and again, through rifts in the clouds, and enabled him to see a little.
His only thought now was to bury the gold. After a while he took a spade, and cut a solid square of earth in front of the bed, then he lifted it, unbroken, and poured the gold in the vacant space, as into a mould. This done, he fitted the piece of earth to its place again, and smoothed the edges with his fingers. Well satisfied with his work, he gave a sigh of satisfaction when he thought that Mother Earth's Bank was perhaps as safe as that of the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street. "As safe as a bank" has slipped out of our language now. We say "As unsafe as a bank," after what has occurred in Melbourne.
He tried to sleep, but the nuggets seemed to rattle through his brain like castanets at a Spanish dance. His riches oppressed him. The finding of the gold was a delight, but the keeping of it brought sorrow and trouble. He could not rest. He felt like a sentinel within forty yards of the enemy's guns, and expecting them to leap into flame every moment. To his disordered imagination the rustle of a leaf was an assassin's tread, the croak of a frog the whistle of a bullet.
But the night with its darkness passed away, and the sun came up over the white-gums on the ridge, with security and protection in his face. It was when his back was turned that the trouble would begin again, for when the street lamps of heaven were lit terrors crouched at every corner.
He would not pass another night in the tent: nothing would induce him! He would sleep in it all day, and work in the hole all night. There he would feel safe. He would pick out as many nuggets as he could, and flee to-morrow from this hateful spot.
He found a little stock of flour in the tent, with which he made a flat cake, then baked it in the ashes of his fire, fried a chop, and ate a hearty breakfast. His nerves, which had been unstrung, were screwed up again, and he felt as perky as the first fiddle in the orchestra.
He slept the sleep of the just, daylight standing surety for his safety.
When he awoke it was late in the afternoon. The sun was on the edge of the hill, and running down it like a coach wheel, without haste and without rest, and would soon be at the bottom.
As it would soon be dark he had to think in a hurry. It would not be safe to leave the tent for any marauder to enter and plunder under cover of night, while he was working at the mine. His plans were made quickly, and what he ought to do was flashed into his brain in a moment.
He went into the tent, took down the photograph of Mary, gazed into the eyes, and kissed the mouth. "All for you, Mary!" he said, then put the likeness in his pocket. He gave the poles on which the tent rested a kick, and the canvas collapsed about his shoulders. He dragged his late dwelling to the creek, loaded it with stones, and sank it in a deep pool, then hid a few utensils and useful things among the ferns.
When he could not have discerned a wild-cat's eye at ten paces, he crept to the mine and went down the ladder. He took a candle from the packet he had brought with him, and lit it. No glimmer of light could be seen from the upper regions, and no wayfarer would seek this lonely spot at night. He thought he would be safe here, but ghosts would come trooping down the ladder, in spite of all he could do.
The words of the ninety-first Psalm suddenly came into his mind, and illumined the mine: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." He was down on his knees like a shot, asking guidance and protection; then rose in perfect peace, feeling safer than in chain armour, or with swords and guns by his side.
He worked steadily, breaking up the pliable stone, and taking out the gold as if he were picking plums from a pudding. When dawn showed over the top of the shaft he had obtained about fifty pounds weight, which he put in a bag. He was satisfied: he had enough. This loneliness and secrecy were too much for him. He could not bear the strain another night. Something would break.
He left the bag of gold in the mine, hidden among some loose stones, and went in search of his horse, which he found grazing by the side of the creek. He dug up the gold which he had buried in the tent, wrapped it in a towel, and rolled his blanket round it, then put the bundle on the horse, led the animal to the mouth of the mine, and fetched the bag of gold, which he strapped inside the blankets.
He was too excited to feel hungry. If food had been placed before him he could not have eaten any. The gold fever had taken away his appetite, as is the nature of fevers, yellow fever especially.
He covered the mouth of the hole with sticks and brushwood, then placed stones and earth over them. The excavation was cleverly hidden.
"Gee up, Brownie!"
He led the horse down the gulley to the main road, and went along it due east, up hill and down dale. In three hours he looked down upon the blue smoke, which ascended from fires that cooked late breakfasts in the sleepy town of Mopoke. In another half-hour he had caused the manager of the Bank of Victoria to raise his eyebrows an inch higher than usual in pure astonishment, when he unpacked the gold and laid it in a glittering heap on the counter.
"For heaven's sake," said the manager to his assistant, "lock both the front and back doors, and bring out the revolvers! The bank is closed till the escort goes out."
The gold was weighed, and kicked the beam in pure frolicsomeness, at 77 lbs. 7 oz. 7 dwt. It changed hands, becoming the property of the bank; and Bill went away, feeling as light as a feather, with a deposit receipt for a handsome amount, and a lot of sovereigns in his pocket. Then he went to the hotel, put his horse in the stable, with a feed of oats under his nose, and took a square meal himself of the best the house afforded.