Suddenly we came upon a recently-excavated shaft with a dismantled windlass lying near, and with one accord we drew up and dismounted.
"If this is where the Sacred Nugget came out of, it looks d—— d bad that no one is about," growled Tom, throwing the reins of his horse over a mulga sapling and looking around doubtfully. It was clearly the vicinity indicated by Father Long, and we lost no time in marking off our lots in the direction we considered most promising. We had barely taken these preliminary precautions when horsemen and buggies began to arrive in mixed order, and in a short time the ground all the way down to the lake was swarming with excited gold-seekers.
"I'm blest if I like the look o' things at all, at all," mused Tom, and I was inclined to take a similar view of matters, for a more barren-looking stretch of country would have been hard to find. Then, again, by examining the strata exposed in the abandoned shaft we could form a fair estimate of the nature of the supposed gold-bearing formation; and after Phil and I had made a minute survey of all indications shown, we came to the conclusion that our ground, acquired after such a hard ride, was practically worthless and not likely to repay even the labour of sinking in it.
The hundreds of others who had pegged out beyond us were not so quickly convinced, and they announced their intention of sinking to bedrock if they "busted" in the attempt. About an hour after our arrival at the Sacred Nugget Patch, Phil and I started back for the Five-Mile Flat, satisfied to have taken part in so strange a rush, yet quite certain that the Sacred Nugget had been unearthed in some other district, or that the entire concern had been a stupendous hoax. Tom Doyle decided to camp on the so-called "Patch" all night, without any special reason for doing so beyond holding the ground in case some fool might want to buy it for flotation purposes, as had been done often before with useless properties.
When we reached home that evening we were tired indeed, and in spite of ourselves we felt rather disappointed at the unsuccessful issue of the much-advertised stampede.
"Ye've had a gran' time," said Mac regretfully, when Phil told of how he and "Satan" came in first after a most desperate race.
"I'm glad I didn't go with you," said Bill. "I hope I can resist temptation in the way o' rushes until I is ready to sail back homeward."
"It would certainly be better," I allowed, "than to give up a proved property for a miserable sham."
As it happened, the famous rush had indeed proved but a worthless demonstration. Not a grain of gold was discovered near the Sacred Patch; and after much labour had been expended there, the disgusted miners abandoned their shafts in a body.