“Why all this bobbery should be made over a few missin’ men, beats me,” sneered Dolphin.
“Whenever there’s a ‘rush’ in Australia, there’s dozens of men git lost,” said Sweet William, “but nobody takes any notice—it’s the ordinary thing.”
“But there’s gold to the value of £20,000 gone too,” said the enthusiastic stranger. “Wouldn’t you take notice of that?”
“It’ll turn up,” said Carnac. “They must have lost their way in the thunderstorm. But you may bet they’re well supplied with tucker. Hang it all, they might come into town any minute, and what fools we’d look then.”
“P’r’aps their pack-horse got frightened at the lightning and fell over a precipice. It might, easy.” This was William’s brilliant suggestion.
“An’ the men are humpin’ the gold into town theirselves,” said Garstang. “There ain’t any occasion to worry, that I can see. None at all, none at all. Come an’ have a drink, mate. I’ll shout for the crowd.”
The five men strolled towards The Lucky Digger, through the door of which they passed into a crowded bar, where, amid excited, loud-voiced diggers who were expressing their views concerning the gold-escort’s disappearance, the four murderers were the only quiet and collected individuals.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The Gold League Washes Up.