“Well, look here,” said Brown, “spread the tent and make some tea, and I’ll go along the bank and see if there is any sign of their bodies washing up.”
Whitefield and I soon had the tent spread, and the tea made. The horses were hobbled, their loads taken off, and they were turned out to graze. There was not much grass in the place, but a small shrub that grew in abundance they ate freely of and seemed to enjoy. Strange to say, although all our stores had been in the water there was not much damaged. The two small bags of flour I thought would have been ruined, but they were not. The water had only formed the flour into a cake on the outside, but the inside was all right.
When the billy was set on to boil I strolled along the bank to meet Brown, whom I saw was coming back. When I was close to him I suddenly espied, about twenty yards from the edge of the river, a bundle tied up with a stick through it, as though it had been carried over a man’s shoulder. I walked towards it, and Brown, seeing it too, walked over towards it. He gave it a kick with his foot, and the next minute was on his knees untying it.
“Some Johnny’s swag,” he said, as he opened the bundle.
The covering was a piece of tent duck, inside it were a pair of socks, and a wool shirt, both filthy dirty, rolled up inside the shirt was a piece of canvas, which had apparently been the sleeve of a canvas jacket. Both ends were tied with a strong grass like flax, and inside was about eleven pounds of fine gold, that looked just like birdseed.
“Halves, Brown,” I said.
“Oh, no, not halves, mate,” he replied.
I drew my revolver and covered him.
“Why not?” I asked, my temper rising to a white heat at the sight of the gold.
Brown smiled: