To the latter part of the suggestion I was agreeable, and so in we went. I had met Tom Doyle on several occasions since my arrival in the country; that gentleman was most ubiquitous in his habits, and had a keen scent for gold, so that his lanky figure might be expected anywhere where good prospects had recently been obtained. He was also future mayor of the camp, and so was, as Phil had put it, quite an important individual in his way; but how we could benefit by giving him Emu Bill's name and compliments was more than I could understand.
The hotel seemed to be completely empty; even the bar was deserted, which showed an extraordinary state of matters. "If Mac and Stewart were here," laughed Phil, "there would be a repetition of the Indian village raid I have heard so much about." Which I fear was only too true. However, we determined to give fair warning of our presence in the establishment, and halloed out lustily; and at last a heavy footstep sounded in the room above.
"Doyle!" I cried, "Sir Thomas Doyle!"
"Lord Doyle!" added Phil, in a voice that might have awakened the seven sleepers.
"Phwat the thunder'n' blazes is yez yellin' at!" roared the object of our inquiry, suddenly appearing on the stairway. Then he noticed the vacant bar. "Thunder'n' turf!" he muttered helplessly, "has all the shop cleared out after that d—— d nugget?"
"Looks like it, Tom," I suggested. "Have you been asleep?"
"Av coorse. It's me afternoon siesta I was having. I'll be in time for the rush all right, an' don't you forget it."
"We didn't come to warn you about that," I said. "Emu Bill of the Five Mile said you had a few good horses——"