“Before you go, my friend, I want you to write down something in that book,” said the convict. “Do you know a little creek about fifteen miles from here?”
“Yes, I do; there is a lot of heavy timber on it, pretty fer up.”
“Exactly. Now, there is gold in the headwaters of that creek, and it has not yet been prospected by anybody, except myself. And if I had had a dish with me I could have washed out ten, twenty, aye, thirty ounces a day. It is easy to get. I lived on the headwaters of that creek for six weeks. Then the water dried up, but still I got gold. But thirst drove me away, and knowing these native wells were here I made up my mind to come and camp on this hill till rain fell; and, but for you, I would now be being eaten in a blacks' camp. Now, write as I tell you. You must work that creek, my friend, and send me some share of all the gold you get. If I am dead you must seek out my brother and sister. No, no; to-morrow may never come; write now.”
Then he gave Monk explicit directions as to the locality of a particularly rich “pocket,” which the overseer wrote carefully down.
The sun had just risen when Monk, bidding the convict goodbye, turned to lead his horse down the hill. Suddenly he stopped, and, walking back, he carefully put out the fire.
“You need have no fear from blacks,” he said, “but there is a detachment of native police at Willa Willa, thirty-five miles from here, inland. Possibly they may be out on patrol now, and if so, might come to the wells to water their horses. Therefore it is best to take precautions, though you are safe out of sight up here.”
“Thanks, my good friend,” said the Frenchman, with a sigh, as he laid his head upon his pillow again.
Once more filling his water-bag at the wells, the overseer mounted, and, pushing through the scrub, soon emerged upon the open beach, and struck into a canter. Suddenly he pulled up sharply—a number of horse tracks were visible on the hard, dark sand, just above water-mark, and leading round the back of the bluff. Turning his horse's head he followed cautiously.
“It must be Jackson and his black troopers,” he muttered; “and, by heavens, they have gone through the back scrub to get to the top of the bluff!”
For some minutes he hesitated as to the best course to pursue, when suddenly he heard a voice from the summit above him, “Surrender in the Queen's name!” There was a moment's silence, then he heard a laugh.