Bill ceased, and a murmur of sympathy ran round the little group. The Kalgoorlie rush was fresh in the minds of nearly all present, many of whom had taken part in it. Every one knew Hannan, but who better than his one-time partner? and if his tale showed the much-honoured finder of Kalgoorlie in a less favourable light than that in which he was usually regarded, no one doubted Emu Bill's version of the story; yet it was hard to dispel from the mind the glamour of romance associated with the event from the first. One more illustration of the difference between the real and the ideal, but it seems almost a pity to destroy the illusions, they lend so much colour and interest to otherwise sordid episodes.
The night was unusually dark, fleeting clouds constantly obscured the feeble light of a slender crescent moon, and the myriad stars glimmered fitfully. Our fire was the only cheerful object in the darkness, and it blazed and crackled, lighting up the weather-beaten faces of the circle around it, and illuminating our tent in the background. For a long time no one spoke, every man seemed gloomily affected by Bill's story, and with chins resting on their hands they gazed into the vortex of the flaming logs long and earnestly.
Then a familiar voice interrupted their reveries. "When Stewart an' me discovered Gold Bottom Creek——"
"Go slow, Mac," I objected wearily; "it's getting late and we'd better turn in."
"It is wearin' on fur midnight," grunted Dead Broke Sam, surveying the heavens for the position of his favourite reckoning star.
"What was your last battery returns, mate?" asked Emu Bill, turning to me with a revival of practical interest.
"Fifty tons for 150 ounces," I replied.
"Not too bad," commented Nuggety Dick.
"I'm 20 tons fur 60 ounces," said my interrogator, "which is the same ratio. I guess Nos. 6 and 7 are the best properties on the Five Mile."
"I'm 25 for 51," announced Happy Jack cheerfully.