Michael took the suggestion meditatively. Potch and he had been working together for several years with very little luck. They had won only a few pieces of opal good enough to put into a parcel for an opal-buyer when he came to Fallen Star. But Michael was loth to give up the old shaft, not only because he believed in it, but because of the work he and his mates had put into it, and because when they did strike opal there, the mine would be easily worked. But this was the first time Potch had made a suggestion of the sort, and Michael felt bound to consider it.
"There's a bit of a rush on, Snow-Shoes told me," Potch said. "Crosses have pegged, and I saw Bill Olsen measurin' out a claim."
Michael's reluctance to move was evident.
"I feel sure we'll strike it in the old shaft, sooner or later," he murmured.
"Might be sooner by the coolebah," Potch said.
Michael's eyes lifted to his, the gleam of a smile in them.
"Very well, we'll pull pegs," he said.
While stars were still in the high sky and the chill breath of dawn in the air, men were busy measuring and pegging claims on the hillside round about the old coolebah. Half a dozen blocks were marked one hundred feet square before the stars began to fade.
All the morning men with pegs, picks, and shovels came straggling up the track from the township and from other workings scattered along the Ridge. The sound of picks on the hard ground and the cutting down of scrub broke the limpid stillness.
Paul came out of his hut as Potch passed it on his way to the coolebah. Immediately he recognised the significance of the heavy pick Potch was carrying, and trotted over to him.