“And even beaks, if necessary” (doubtful murmurs). “And, above all, soldiers to take our gold safe down to Sydney.”
“Hurrah!”
“Where we can sell it at three fifteen the ounce.”
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
“Instead of giving it away here for three pounds, and then being robbed. If you will all sign, Mr. Stevens and I will draw up the petition; no country can stand without law!”
“Hurrah for Captain Robinson, the diggers' friend.”
And the wild fellows jumped out of the holes, and four seized the diggers' friend, and they chaired him in their rough way, and they put Carlo into a cradle, and raised him high, and chaired him; and both man and dog were right glad to get safe out of the precarious honor.
The proceedings ended by brutus being loosed and set between two long lines of men with lumps of clay, and pelted and knocked down, and knocked up again, and driven, bruised, battered and bleeding, out of that part of the camp. He found his way to a little dirty tent not much bigger than a badger's hole, crawled in, and sank down in a fainting state, and lay on his back stiff and fevered, and smarting soul and body many days.
And while Robinson was exulting in his skill, his good fortune, his popularity, his swelling bag, and the constabulary force he was collecting and heading, this tortured ruffian, driven to utter desperation by the exposure of his features to all the camp with “Thief” blazing on him, lay groaning stiff and sore—but lived for revenge.
“Let him keep his gold—I don't care for his gold now. I'll have his blood!”