"Crying—'Cockles! and mussels! alive, alive, O!'"
"That blooming idiot!" broke out Norris, when we came to a stand in the brush. "What business had he coming back so soon!"
"He just couldn't wait to sing us that song," said Ray. "'Cockles! and muscles!' But say—Hurrah for the gold mine!"
"Perhaps the black boy smelled a mouse," I offered.
We hadn't long to wait till Hawkins came pushing through the brush.
"I tell you wot, fellahs," he explained, "that nigger suddent got stubborn, an' wouldn't go no farther. 'Ee was just afraid, I guess, as 'ow the boss 'ud raise ructions if we 'adn't got enough work done when 'ee gets back. This last trip, the boss sure 'as got a big 'urry on; 'ee'd 'ave us workin' night an' day, if 'ee 'ad the light."
"How much, now, do you suppose he has got out of the diggings?" questioned Norris.
"Hit's a 'eap more nor I can guess," answered Hawkins. "Hit's a 'eap o' pounds we 'ave got out the two years I 'ave been 'ere. An' now, 'ee's a cartin' of it awye from some 'ole back in the rocks where 'ee's been keepin' it, 'ee don't let the nigger nor me go near the plyce. 'Ee says 'ee 'as got a trap there; an' 'ee'll shoot us if we foller 'im anywhere 'ee goes."
Norris had many queries to put the little cockney contortionist, but I soon pressed him to go, lest the black boy should come seeking him. And so he went, having exacted a promise that we would not go away from the region without him. In return, he contracted to play into our hands in circumventing Duran. "And Hi'm slick," he declared. "He cawn't fool Handy 'Awkins."
"And now—" began Norris.