“But where is Bat?” I asked.
“We don’t know,” was the reply. “He went away soon after you did.”
Circumstances looked suspicious against Bat; but only to me: for the others understood all that had happened. Bat had determined to keep his bottle of brandy to himself. By remaining with the others, he could not well drink it all without asking them to have a share, as he had already been treated by his partner. To avoid doing so he had stolen away to the bush, where he could drink his liquor alone.
“The men who robbed us,” said the disconsolate drayman, “could be no others than them we saw in the grog-shop; and it was my mate Bat who drew them on to us: for they seemed greatly disappointed, and swore fearfully at not finding him. He flashed his gold-dust before them yesterday; and, of course they came after us to get it. I wish they had got every ounce of it. He deserved to be robbed for tempting them.”
“Have you lost much?” I asked, of the drayman.
“No,” answered he. “Luckily, I had not much to lose—only seventeen pounds. But I care more about my old horse, for I’ve owned him over three years.”
The digger had lost twelve pounds in cash, and a gold nugget of seven ounces weight.
While both were lamenting their mishap, Bat made his appearance from the bush; and began finding fault with his mate, for not having breakfast ready, and the horse harnessed for a start. The effects of the bottle of brandy had only increased the disagreeable peculiarities of Bat’s character; and given him a good appetite.
He was now told what had happened, which made him a little more amiable. But his amiableness could be traced to the fact of his being conceited of the swinish selfishness of which he had been guilty. He seemed highly delighted to think he had had the good fortune to escape the mischance that had befallen his companions; and, instead of sympathising with them, he actually boasted of his luck, putting it forward as a proof of his possessing more than ordinary sagacity.
“Will you have a little brandy?” asked his mate, in a tone of voice that told me the offer was not made in a friendly spirit. “There’s a drop left in my bottle, which, luckily, the bush-rangers did not get hold of.”