“Blow me if it ain’t my friend Moonlight!” exclaimed the second intruder, advancing towards the diggers. “How’s yerself?”
“Nicely, thank you,” replied Moonlight. “Come far to-day?”
“A matter of eight hours’ tramp—but not so fer; the bush is mighty thick. This is my mate. Here, Ben, shake ’ands.”
It was none other than Benjamin Tresco who came forward. As he lowered his “swag” to the ground, he said, smiling urbanely, “How de do? I reckon you’ve jumped our claim. But we bear no malice. We’ll peg out another.”
“This ain’t ours,” said the Prospector, “not by chalks. You’re above the gorge, ain’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Moonlight, “I should reckon we must be a mile above it.”
“Where I worked,” continued Bill, “was more’n a mile below the gorge. What are you makin’?”
“A few pennyweights,” responded Moonlight.
“It looks like it!” exclaimed the Prospector, glancing at the richly-laden dish. “Look ’ere, Ben: a few pennyweights, that’s all—just makin’ tucker. Poor devils!”
Moonlight laughed, and so did Scarlett.