"Yes, I s'pose so," he answered; and he spoke as though each word cost him an immense amount of labor.
"Then, Fred, we are in luck," I cried, turning to my partner who stood near at hand.
"Intend going to the mines?" the man asked, with a sudden show of interest.
"Such is our intention," I replied.
"'Mericans, I suppose," he inquired.
"Yes."
"Then don't go if you want to keep the number of your mess," the boatman said.
"Why not?" Fred ventured to inquire.
"'Cos they kill Yankees at the mines. Jim," he continued, turning to a comrade, "how many 'Mericans were killed week afore last at Ballarat?"
"O, I don't know," replied the individual referred to. "A dozen or twenty, I believe. Might have been more or less. I'm not 'ticular within a man or two."