THRASHING A BULLY.
We slept long past, our usual hour for rising, and were awakened by the violent baying of Rover, and loud shouts of "Kill him! kill him!"
The cries were near our premises, and we lost no time in throwing on our clothes and seeking to investigate the matter. A crowd of people were hurrying towards the banks of the river, or rather what was a river in the wet season, for at the present time there was not water enough in its bed to quench the thirst of a bird, and we joined them without delay.
"What is the matter?" I asked of one excited individual, who appeared more anxious to get in at the death than his companions.
"Darned if I know. I heard the cry of 'Kill him,' and I suppose somebody has been stealing something. Don't bother me with questions, for I want to be in at the death."
Another wild shout from the crowd in front hastened our movements, and Fred and myself threw ourselves into the excited mass, and strove to gain a place where we could afford some help to the thief, in case the confusion was occasioned by one. By struggling desperately we managed to got into the centre of the crowd, and saw that a young man was in the custody of two miners, and that they were disposed to take summary vengeance upon the fellow for the alleged crime of stealing their dust, which they had concealed in their tent. All this was told to us in the space of a few seconds' time, and meanwhile the air was filled with cries of "Kill him," "Lynch him," "Hang him," "Let's stone him to death," &c.
The young fellow was terribly frightened, and was begging for mercy in the most piteous tones, and appealing to those by whom he was surrounded to save him, for he was innocent of the crime, and never stole a dollar in his life. There was something in the lad's face that convinced me that he spoke the truth, yet we did not like to interfere and get the wrath of the ruffians turned upon ourselves, and yet we did not care to stand idly by and witness the ill-treatment of a boy, who seemed unused to the rough scenes of the mines. Each of his captors had a hand upon his collar, and even during the excitement I could not help contrasting the fineness of his skin with the horny, leather-colored skin of his accusers.
"So help me Heaven, gentlemen, I never stole any thing in my life," cried the lad; and his voice was soft, and so different from those by whom he was surrounded, I was convinced he belonged to some aristocratic family, and had sliced to Australia in search of fortune, perhaps to help sustain his sinking house.
"You lie, you young whelp; you know you lie," cried one of the miners, shaking the boy by the collar so roughly that I was fearful he would dislocate his bones.