CHAPTER XII.
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.
Whether Smith was right or wrong in this assumption of his remained to be seen, and from the vague way in which Big Jack spoke he might never get sufficient evidence to corroborate or upset his theory. The evidence for it would depend on the chatter of a senile old savage, who, in his turn, had obtained it from an outlaw. Smith knew enough of testimony to be aware that this might be no more than a presumption easily capable of being upset. But he desired intensely to solve the mystery, and not even the danger and uncertainty of being the guests of people little superior in their habits and customs to men of the Stone Age, could prevent his feeling ardent curiosity.
And then there was the question of the gold. From the way they employed it, from Bill's talk, and from what Big Jack said, it was obvious that there must be sufficient near at hand to make the fortune of a hundred men. On a rough calculation he estimated that there was then in the camp, consumed in the making of their waddies and other weapons, and in the rude bowls which represented their degree of civilisation, at least two hundred pounds weight of the metal, and that at £4 an ounce was worth roughly about £12,000. Besides this, he found lumps of gold quartz about the camp sufficient to make any ordinary miner go clean out of his mind. The boys used the smaller pieces as missiles, and one big lump was used in putting the weight. On lifting it, Smith found it weighed at least forty pounds, and its bulk was gold.
"There must be an outcrop of a vein here," he said to the Baker, "which would take our breath away. There can't be a mine like it in the universe. If we can only get out of here and find it again, we shall be the richest men in the world. That is, unless we sell it to a syndicate. But the getting out's the thing."
"I've a notion," said the Baker, "that it will be good to slope pretty soon, as soon, any way, as we see this 'ere mine, for, to tell the truth, Smith, I think there will be a row."
He looked so serious, and yet so ashamed, that Smith was puzzled.
"What have you been up to?" he demanded.
The Baker shook his head, and looked down half bashfully.
"Well, Smith, I ain't done nothing," he began, "but do you know I've a kind of a notion that the wild cat that gives me the tucker reg'lar, is a bit mashed on me."
Smith was uneasy. Of all things, this was the most likely to cause trouble.