“Bill done it himself,” answered the apprentice. “I seen him do it when he packed his own.”
“That’s one more little kindness. Thanks, mate.” Tresco placed the ring-case in his pocket, and led the way to the kitchen. There the “swags” lay on the table, and each man took his own and hitched it on his shoulders.
“Two such valuable swags,” said the Prospector, “it’s never been my fortune to see. Twenty thousand couldn’t buy ’em.”
With these words, he passed into the street; Tresco following.
The body-guard of diggers closed round them, and escorted them to the house of Pilot Summerhayes.
Inside the garden-gate, the party of rough, ill-clad, warm-hearted men paused, and one of their number went forward, and knocked at the front door. Rose opened it.
“We want to see Mr. Scarlett,” said the digger.
The girl vanished, and Jack, followed by the Pilot, appeared.
“Hullo! hullo!” exclaimed the gruff old sailor, as he caught sight of the gold-miners in the garden. “We’re invaded, Jack: it’s another warrant. How now, my man; what have we been doing? Are there more murderers to be lodged in gaol?—I thought they’d caught the lot.”
“There’s four of ’em in quod, boss,” replied the digger; “I guess that’s the whole gang, s’far’s Tresco’s evidence goes to prove.”