CHAPTER XI.
BATTLES WITH CONSCIENCE.
Joe evidently sent the telegram, for his stage next day brought up the long-looked-for load of "bigbugs" that set the whole town of Gold City wild to know why they were there. A perfect mob of street urchins, loafers, shop-men and bar-keepers who could spare a bit of time, lined up in front of the Palace Hotel and watched the plaid-coated, gray-capped visitors in short knickerbockers and golf stockings puff their pipes around the bar and call for "Porter and h'ale, 'alf and 'alf."
Interest reached its climax when, after supper, three buckboards, loaded with the guests heavy in more ways than one, started down toward Mormon Bar and the Pine Mountain road.
It was quite late when the loud barking of dogs announced their arrival at Pine Tree Ranch, and it was still later when Job crept up to the hay-loft over the stable to find a substitute for his cosy bed, which he had surrendered to another "H'english gentleman," with an emphasis on the last word. The boy was in a quandary to know what it all meant. He felt an inward sense of disgust. He disliked such people as these new friends of the old man's. Then he remembered that the good Book says, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," and he was painfully conscious that they were close neighbors now; so he breathed a silent prayer that the Lord would make him love the unlovable, and after a time fell asleep.
It was the second day of the feast. Venison and quail, if not milk and honey, had made the table groan in the big center room, now changed into a dining-room. The parlor had been turned into a smoking-room, and Job had seen, with indignation that stirred his deepest soul, empty beer bottles on his bedroom floor. A whole cavalcade of horsemen had gone down in the morning to the Cove and come galloping back at night. Job had been to the milk-house and was coming back past the side door in the dusk of the evening; it was ajar and the fumes of tobacco smoke rolled out. He was tempted to peer in. Around the cleared dining-table the crowd of red-faced guests were seated, with Andy at the head playing the host in an awkward sort of way. On the table were spread a big map and paper and ink.
"Well, Mr. Malden, this 'ere nugget came from the mine, you say. Bloomin' purty, hain't h'it, fellows?" said a voice.
"Yes, gentlemen, I found that myself. My son Job and I were prospecting, and we discovered it—the richest nugget ever found in Grizzly county. Of course we kept it a secret; didn't want a rush up here," replied Malden.
"What a lie!" said Job to himself. "That's the very nugget Mike Hannerry found at the Yellow Jacket! Where on earth did uncle get it?"
"Come, Devonshire, let's buy 'er h'up and get h'out of this bloomin' country. I want to get back to the club. The boat for Australia sails Saturday," spoke up another voice.