“PLEASE DON'T CUT DOWN THIS TREE.
“IT IS A TOMBSTONE.
“A WHITE MAN LIES BELOW.”
“Now, Tom, for England!”
They set out again with alacrity, and battled with the bush about two hours more. George and Robinson carried the great nugget on a handkerchief stretched double across two sticks, Jem carried the picks. They were all in high spirits, and made light of scratches and difficulties. At last, somewhat suddenly, they burst out of the thick part into the mere outskirts frequented by the miners, and there they came plump upon brutus, with a gun in his hand and pistols peeping out of his pockets, come to murder Black Will and rob him of his spoils.
They were startled, and brutus astounded, for he was fully persuaded George and Robinson had ceased to exist. He was so dumfounded that Robinson walked up to him and took the gun out of his hands without any resistance on his part. The others came round him, and Robinson demanded his pistols.
“What for?” said he.
Now at this very moment his eye fell upon that fabulous mass of gold they carried, and both his eyes opened, and a sort of shiver passed over him. With ready cunning he looked another way, but it was too late. Robinson had caught that furtive glance, and a chill came over him that this villain should have seen the prize, a thing to excite cupidity to frenzy. Nothing now would have induced Robinson to leave him armed.
He replied, sternly: “Because we are four to one, and we will hang you on the nearest tree if you don't give them up. And, now, what are you doing here?”
“I was only looking for my pal,” said brutus.
“Well, you won't want a gun and pistols to look for your pal. Which way are you going?”
“Into the bush.”