CHAPTER LXXVI.
MIKE TUMBLES INTO THE RIVER.—ARRIVAL OF THE BUSHRANGERS.
"That d——d Irishman has tumbled into the creek," cried Mr. Wright, endeavoring to suppress a laugh that did find utterance.
"Here's the river, sure!" shouted Mike, "and a cussed mane one it is. Help me out!"
"Be quiet," said Mr. Wright, "or you'll alarm the bushrangers."
"And do you intend that I shall strangle myself for the purpose of letting the blackguards git kilt?" remonstrated the Hibernian; "I've swallowed a gallon of the dirty water already, and it's cowld on my stomach. Help me out, will ye?"
We reached the scene of the Irishman's disaster, and were compelled to wait for a flash of lightning for the purpose of seeing his situation. When the flash did reveal his position, we saw that he was clinging to some rocks most tenaciously, while the boiling waters were bubbling over his head, which he made no attempt to raise beyond the reach of danger.
"Crawl up the bank, you loon!" cried Mr. Wright, but the advice was unheeded.
"Save me!" yelled Mike; "I can't swim and I'm filled with the bloody dust, that weighs me down like lead. A thousand dollars to the man who gives me his hand first."
"Well, give me the thousand dollars, and I'll help you out," Mr. Wright said, facetiously.