"The mountain air is cool and fresh,
Unclouded skies bend o'er us,
Broad placers, rich in hidden gold,
Lie temptingly before us."
SWIFT.
Tents were struck, and the campers' impedimenta securely fastened to the pack-saddles, in the grey dawn of the following morning—the party having breakfasted by starlight.
The gold diggings about to be visited was situated in the ranges, equi-distant from Bullaroi and the Bay. The route from the Bay lay along the homeward track as far as the caves. At this point the trail turned due north—winding among the rugged country to the site of the mining camp, which, in its palmy days, covered a flat that lay between some precipitous hills and a swiftly flowing mountain stream.
The diggings in question was deserted, save by a few fossikers, or gully-rakers, as they were generally called—men who earned a precarious living by following up the dry gullies, and picking out wash dirt from between the rocks; or else dry-blowing likely spots of the surface. The lure of gold—so common to all—fed the imagination of these men. They became nomads; lived in the most primitive ways; faced and endured untold hardships; and, if not cheerful, were always hopeful. They saw visions and dreamed dreams—of gold. The years passed, age pressed heavily, eyesight grew dim, and limbs palsied with weakness: but even when broken down and encompassed with infirmity, their very senility sustained its spirits upon visions of the rich find that was surely coming—to-morrow.
When the diggings "broke out," and the rush "set in," the flat was white with tents, the population running into four figures. It was an alluvial diggings; that is, the gold was washed from the earth, and not crushed from the quartz. In the flush days of Rocky Gully, rich "pockets" of gold were struck, and huge fortunes made. Life then, in the character of its splendours and pleasures, was barbaric. Lucky diggers, with the spending lust upon them, ordered champagne baths, lit their pipes with five-pound notes, shod their horses with plates of gold, squandered their suddenly acquired riches on camp wantons, and among the harpies of the gambling hells. There were many exceptions to this foolish course, 'tis true; but such is the mental intoxication consequent upon a lucky find, and the sudden acquisition of wealth, that the majority of lucky diggers succumb, and in a few weeks or months, shorn of their possessions, either blow out their brains in remorse, or challenge fortune once more upon the same or some other goldfield.
Rocky Gully was now a worked-out diggings, and its population had long ago drifted away to other fields. Naught remained to remind one of its glory now but a few tumbledown houses, and the wood skeletons of iron buildings, together with countless heaps of empty tins and other refuse. Naught, that is, save a dozen or so of fossikers, who were distributed over the field; each having his area, into which the others never intruded.
How was it, then, that the Bullaroi party should have included a trip to the deserted mining camp in their programme of sport and adventure? There was nothing inviting in the region so far as game was concerned; nor was there the rough excitements of a live diggings. The truth is, it was the outcome of a suggestion of Harry. The stockman had a yarn he was very fond of relating, which included some tragic incidents associated with Rocky Gully. As a youth he lived there in its "boom" days, and towards the close of his stay there he was mates with Humpy Bob. Humpy Bob was an eccentric character, well known on a dozen goldfields, whose shrewdness as a gold finder was countervailed by his incredible folly in spending his riches. On one occasion, when he had struck a "pocket," from which he drew over a thousand ounces, he began a carouse which continued until the last penny was spent.
As illustrative of his folly during that spree, he purchased a general store for the sum of one thousand pounds. The same evening, in company with the drunken guests of a champagne party he had given, he proceeded to the store, deliberately fired it, and, with the other banqueters, stripped stark naked, danced a wild corrobberie while it burned.
Bob sober was the antithesis of Bob drunk. Abstemious, taciturn, industrious, solitary, with a genius for divining likely places, he followed the pursuit of gold: seldom failing to earn good wages; often winning handsome profits; occasionally making a pile.
Humpy's end came suddenly and tragically; and of this Harry was a witness.