The Tale of Timber Town

“Young Zahn is worse: he is the worst rogue I ever see. He come in here to bully me into making him my partner. He threatens to tell my piz’ness to Crookenden and Co. I tell him, ‘You do it, my poy. I schange my account, and tell your manager why.’ That young man’s too smart: soon he find himself in gaol. If my tear little Rachel marries a criminal, what would become of her poor old father? My tear, my tarling, you make me die with grief! But wait till the right young man comes along, then I gif you my blessing and two thousand pounds. But I gif you not von penny if you marry young Zahn.”

The tears were now standing in Rachel’s pretty eyes, and she looked the picture of grief.

“I never do anything, but you blame me,” she sobbed. “When I wish to do a thing, you always say it’s bad. You don’t love me!” And she burst into a flood of tears.

“Rachel! Rachel! I gafe you the gold watch; and that bill came to thirty-three pounds. I gif you everything, and when I tell you not to run after a bad young feller, you say I nefer loaf you. Rachel, you are cruel; you make your father’s heart bleed; you stab me here” – he pointed with his fat forefinger to the middle of his waistcoat – “you stab me here” – he placed his finger on his forehead. “You show no loaf, no consideration. You make me most unhappy. You’re a naughty girl!”

The old fellow was almost crying. Rachel put her arms about his neck, and pressed his corpulent person with affection.

“Father, I’ll be good. I know I’m very bad. But I love you, father. I’ll never cause you any sorrow again. I’ll do everything you tell me. I won’t gad about so much; I’ll stop at home more. I will, father; I really will.”

“My tear Rachel! My loafly!” The old man was holding his pretty daughter at arm’s length, and was gazing at her with parental fondness. “You are my peautiful, tear, goot, little girl.”

Again her arms were flung round his neck. Again she kissed his bristly cheeks with her ruby-red lips. “You are an old dear,” she exclaimed. “You’re the kindest old governor going.”

“You loaf your old father?”

“Of course I do. But I do– I do so want a small cheque. I must have it for the house.”

“You’ll always loaf your father, Rachel?”

“Always.” She renewed her affectionate embraces.

“You shall have a little one – not so big as when my ship comes home, not so big as I’d like, but enough to show that I loaf you, Rachel.”

He let her lead him to his desk, and there he sat and wrote a cheque which Rachel took gladly. She gave him one more kiss, and said, “You dear, good, kind old party; your little Rachel’s awfully pleased,” and gaily tripped from the dingy office into the sunny street.

CHAPTER XVIII

Digging

Moonlight and Scarlett were glad with the delight of success, for inside their tent, which was pitched beside Bush Robin Creek, lay almost as much gold as one of them could conveniently carry to Timber Town.

They had searched the rocky sides of the gorge where they had first found gold, and its ledges and crevices had proved to be exceedingly rich. Next, they had examined the upper reaches of the creek, and after selecting a place where the best “prospects” were to be found, they had determined to work the bottom of the river-bed. Their “claim” was pegged off, the water had been diverted, and the dam had been strengthened with boulders taken from the river-bed, and now, having placed their sluice-boxes in position, they were about to have their first “washing up.”

As they sat, and ate their simple fare – “damper” baked on the red-hot embers of their fire, a pigeon which Scarlett had shot that morning, and tea – their conversation was of their “claim.”

“What do you think it will go?”

“The dirt in the creek is rich enough, but what’s in the flat nobody can say. There may be richer gold in some of the higher terraces than down here. I’ve known such cases.”

At the place where they were camped, the valley had been, at some distant period, a lake which had subsided after depositing a rich layer of silt, through which the stream had cut its way subsequently. Over this rich alluvial deposit the forest had spread luxuriantly, and it was only the skill of the experienced prospector that could discover the possibilities of the enormous stretches of river silt which Nature had so carefully hidden beneath the tangled, well-nigh impenetrable forest.

“The river is rich,” continued Moonlight, “that we know. Possibly it deposited gold on these flats for ages. If that is so, this valley will be one of the biggest ‘fields’ yet developed. What we must do first is to test the bottom of the old lake; therefore, as soon as we have taken the best of the gold out of the river, I propose to ‘sink’ on the terraces till I find the rich deposit.”

“Perhaps what we are getting now has come from the terraces above,” said Jack.

“I think not.”

“Where does it come from then?”

“I can’t say, unless it is from some reef in the ranges. You must not forget that there’s the lower end of the valley to be prospected yet – we have done nothing below the gorge.”

Talking thus, they ate their “damper” and stewed pigeon, and drank their “billy” tea. Then they lit their pipes, and strolled towards the scene of their labours.

The place chosen for the workings was selected by circumstance rather than by the diggers. At this particular point of its course there had been some hesitation on the part of the river in choosing its bed, and with but a little coaxing it had been diverted into an old channel – which evident signs showed to be utilised as an overflow in time of flood – and thus by a circuitous route it found its way to the mouth of the gorge.

All was ready for the momentous operation of washing up, and the men’s minds were full of expectation.

The bottom of fine silt, which had been laid bare when the boulders had been removed, stood piled on the bank, so as to be out of harm’s way in case the river burst through the dam. Into the old bed a trickle of water ran through the sluice-boxes. These were set in the dry bed of the stream, and were connected with the creek by a water-race. They were each twelve feet in length, and consisted of a bottom and two sides, into which fitted neatly a twelve-foot board, pierced with a number of auger-holes. These boxes could be joined one to another, and the line of them could thus be prolonged indefinitely. The wash-dirt would be shovelled in at the top end, and the water, flowing down the “race,” would carry it over the boxes, till it was washed out at the lower end, leaving behind a deposit of gold, which, owing to its specific gravity, would lodge in the auger-holes.

Moonlight went to the head of the “race,” down which presently the water rushed, and rippled through the sluice-boxes. Next, he threw a shovelful of wash-dirt into the lower part of the “race,” and soon its particles were swept through the sluice, and another shovelful followed.

When Moonlight tired, Scarlett relieved him, and so, working turn and turn about, after an hour they could see in the auger-holes a small yellow deposit: in the uppermost holes an appreciable quantity, and in the lower ones but a few grains.

“It’s all right,” said Moonlight, “we’ve struck it.” He looked at the great heaps of wash-dirt on the bank, and his eyes shone with satisfaction.

“Do you think the dam will hold?” asked Scarlett of the experienced digger.

“It’s safe enough till we get a ‘fresh’,” was the reply. Moonlight glanced at the dripping rampart, composed of tree-trunks and stones. “But even if there does happen to be a flood, and the dam bursts,” he added, “we’ve still got the ‘dirt’ high and dry. But we shall have warning enough, I expect, to save the ‘race’ and sluice-boxes.”

“It meant double handling to take out the wash-dirt before we started to wash up,” said Scarlett, “but I’m glad we did it.”

“Once, on the Greenstone,” said Moonlight, “we were working from the bed of the creek. There came a real old-man flood which carried everything away, and when we cleaned out the bed again, there wasn’t so much as a barrowful of gold-bearing dirt left behind. Once bitten, twice shy.”

If the process was monotonous, it had the advantage of being simple. The men slowly shovelled the earth into the last length of the “race,” and the running water did the rest. In the evening, a big pile of “tailings” was heaped up at the foot of the sluice, and as some of the auger-holes were half-filled with gold, Moonlight gave the word for cleaning out the boxes.

The water from the dam was cut off, leaving but a trickle running through the boxes. The false bottoms were then taken out of the sluice, and upon the floors of the boxes innumerable little heaps of gold lay exposed to the miners’ delighted eyes.

The heavy gold, caught before it had reached the first sluice-box, lay at the lower end of the “race.” To separate the small quantity of grit that remained with the gold, the diggers held the rich little heaps claw-wise with their fingers, while the rippling water ran through them. Thus the gold was left pure, and with the blade of a sheath-knife, it was easily transferred to the big tin dish.

“What weight?” asked Jack, as he lifted the precious load.

Moonlight solemnly took the “pan” from his mate. “One-fifty to one-sixty ounces,” he said oracularly. His gaze wandered to the heap of wash-dirt which remained. “We’ve washed about one-sixth,” he said. “Six times one-fifty is nine hundred. We’ll say, roughly, £4 an ounce: that gives us something like £3600 from that heap.”

As night was now approaching, they walked slowly towards their tent, carrying their richly-laden dish with them. Sitting in the tent-door, with their backs to the dark forest and their heads bent over the gold, they transferred the precious contents of the dish to a strong chamois-leather bag. Moonlight held open the mouth of the receptacle, and watched the process eagerly. About half the pleasant task was done, when suddenly a voice behind them said, “Who the blazes are you?”

Turning quickly, they saw standing behind them two men who had emerged from the forest.

Seizing an axe which lay beside him, Moonlight assumed an attitude of defence. Scarlett, who was weaponless, stood firm and rigid, ready for an onslaught.

“You seem to have struck it,” said the newcomer who had spoken, his greedy eyes peering at the dish. “Do put down that axe, mate. We ain’t bushrangers.”

Moonlight lowered the head of his weapon, and said, “Yes, we’ve got the colour.”

“Blow me if it ain’t my friend Moonlight!” exclaimed the second intruder, advancing towards the diggers. “How’s yerself?”

“Nicely, thank you,” replied Moonlight. “Come far to-day?”

“A matter of eight hours’ tramp – but not so fer; the bush is mighty thick. This is my mate. Here, Ben, shake ’ands.”

It was none other than Benjamin Tresco who came forward. As he lowered his “swag” to the ground, he said, smiling urbanely, “How de do? I reckon you’ve jumped our claim. But we bear no malice. We’ll peg out another.”

“This ain’t ours,” said the Prospector, “not by chalks. You’re above the gorge, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Moonlight, “I should reckon we must be a mile above it.”

“Where I worked,” continued Bill, “was more’n a mile below the gorge. What are you makin’?”

“A few pennyweights,” responded Moonlight.

“It looks like it!” exclaimed the Prospector, glancing at the richly-laden dish. “Look ’ere, Ben: a few pennyweights, that’s all – just makin’ tucker. Poor devils!”

Moonlight laughed, and so did Scarlett.

“Well, we might do worse than put our pegs alongside theirs, eh, Ben?”

“Oceans worse,” replied Tresco.

“Did you prospect the gorge?” asked Moonlight.

“I wasn’t never in the gorge,” said the Prospector. “The river was too high, all the time I was working; but there’s been no rain for six weeks, so she’s low now.”

Tresco advanced with mock trepidation, and looked closely at the gold in the chamois-leather bag, which he lifted with assumed difficulty. “About half a hundredweight,” he said. “How much more of this sort have you got?”

Moonlight ignored the question, but turning to the Prospector, he said, “I shouldn’t have left till I’d fossicked that gorge, if I’d been you.”

“Then you’ve been through it?” queried Bill.

Moonlight nodded.

“How did it pan out?”

“There was gold there.”

“Make tucker, eh?” the Prospector laughed. “Well this’ll be good enough for us. We’ll put in our pegs above yours. But how you dropped on this field just gits over me. You couldn’t have come straighter, not if I’d shown you the way myself.”

“Instinct,” replied Moonlight. “Instinct and the natural attraction of the magnet.” He desired to take no credit for his own astuteness in prospecting.

Scarlett had so far said nothing, but he now invited the newcomers to eat, before they pitched their tent.

“No, no,” said the Prospector, “you must be on pretty short commons – you must ha’ bin out a fortnight and more. Me an’ my mate’ll provide the tucker.”

“We are a bit short, and that’s the truth,” said Moonlight, “but we reckon on holding out till we’ve finished this wash-up, and then one of us’ll have to fetch stores.”

While Benjamin and his mate were unpacking their swags and Scarlett was lighting the fire, Moonlight transferred the rest of the gold from the dish to the leather bag.

When the four men sat down to their frugal meal of “billy” tea, boiled bacon, and “damper,” they chatted and laughed like schoolboys.

“Ah!” exclaimed Tresco, as red flames of the fire shot toward the stars and illumined the gigantic trunks of the surrounding trees, “this is freedom and the charm of Nature. No blooming bills to meet, no bother about the orders of worrying customers, no everlasting bowing and scraping; all the charm of society, good-fellowship, confidence, and conversation, with none of the frills of so-called civilization. But that is not all. Added to this is the prospect of making a fortune in the morning. Now, that is what I call living.”

CHAPTER XIX

A Den of Thieves

Down a by-lane in the outskirts of Timber Town stood a dilapidated wooden cottage. Its windows lacked many panes, its walls were bare of paint, the shingles of its roof were rotten and scanty; it seemed uninhabitable and empty, and yet, as night fell, within it there burned a light. Moreover, there were other signs of life within its crazy walls, for when all without was quiet and dark, the door opened and a bare-headed man emerged.

“Carny!” he called.

A whistle sounded down the lane, and soon a figure advanced from the shadow of a hedge and stood in the light of the open door.

“We’ve only waited near an hour for you,” said the first man. “If you’ve orders to be on time, be on time. D’you expect the whole push to dance attendance on you?”

“Now, Dolphin, draw it mild. That blame pretty girl at The Lucky Digger kept me, an’ wouldn’t let me go, though I told her I had a most important engagement.”

“Petticoats an’ our business don’t go together,” gruffly responded Dolphin. “Best give ’em a wide berth till we’ve finished our work here and got away.”

The two men entered the house, and the door was shut.

At a bare, white-pine table sat two other men, the sour-faced Garstang and the young fellow who answered to the name of Sweet William.

“Come in, come in,” said the latter, “and stop barrackin’ like two old washerwomen. Keep yer breath to discuss the biz.”

Dolphin and Carnac drew chairs to the table, on which stood a guttering candle, glued to the wood with its own grease.

“Charming residence,” remarked Carnac, elegant in a black velvet coat, as he glanced round the bare and battered room.

“Sweet William Villa,” said the young man. “I pay no rent; and mighty comfortable it is too, when you have a umberella to keep out the rain.”

“Our business,” said the pugnacious-looking Dolphin, “is to square up, which hasn’t been done since we cleaned out the digger that William hocussed.”

He drew a handful of notes and gold from his pocket, and placed it on the table.

“Gently,” said Sweet William, who took Carnac’s hat, and placed it over the money. “Wait till I fix my blind.” Snatching a blanket from a bed made upon the bare floor, he hung it on two nails above the window, so as to effectually bar the inquisitive gaze of chance wayfarers. “Damme, a bloke would think you wanted to advertise the firm and publish our balance-sheet.” Stepping down to the floor, he replaced Carnac’s hat upon its owner’s head, and said “Fire away.”

Each man placed his money in front of him, and rendered his account. Then Dolphin took all the money, counted it, and divided it into four equal heaps, three of which he distributed, and one of which he retained.

“Fifty-seven quid,” said Sweet William, when he had counted his money. “A very nice dividend for the week. I think I’ll give up batching here, and live at The Lucky Digger and have a spree.”

“Not much, William,” broke in Dolphin. “Keep yourself in hand, my son. Wait till we’ve made our real haul and got away with the loot: then you can go on the burst till all’s blue. Each man wants his wits about him, for the present.”

“You mean the bank,” said Carnac.

The leader of the gang nodded.

“I’ve fossicked around the premises,” continued the gentleman in the velvet coat, “and I must confess that they’re the most trifling push I ever saw. There’s the manager, a feeble rat of a man; another fellow that’s short-sighted and wears specs.; a boy, and the teller, a swell who wears gloves on his boots and looks as if he laced himself up in stays.”

“I reckon there’s a rusty old revolver hanging on a nail somewheres,” remarked Garstang.

“Most likely,” said Dolphin, “but our plan is to walk in comfortable and easy just before closing-time. I’ll present a faked-up cheque which’ll cause a consultation between the teller and the short-sighted party. In the meantime, Carnac will interview the manager about sending a draft to his wife in England. You, Garstang, will stand ready to bar the front door, and William will attend to the office-boy and the door at the back. Just as the clerks are talking about the cheque, I’ll whip out my weapon and bail ’em up, and then the scheme will go like clock-work.”

“But suppose there’s a mob of customers in the place?” asked Garstang.

“A lot of harmless sheep!” replied Dolphin. “It’ll be your duty to bail them up. There’s a big strong-room at the back, well-ventilated, commodious, and dry. We’ll hustle everybody into that, and you and William will stand guard over them. Then Carnac will bring the manager from his room, and with the persuasion of two pistols at his head the little old gentleman will no doubt do the civil in showing us where he stows his dollars. There’ll be plenty of time: the bank will be closed just as in the ordinary course of things. We’ll do the job thoroughly, and when we’ve cleaned the place out, we’ll lock all the parties up in the strong-room, and quit by the back door as soon as it’s dusk.”

“Sounds O.K.,” remarked Sweet William, “but there’ll be a picnic before morning. I reckon we’ll need to get away pretty sudden.”

“That can be arranged in two ways,” said Dolphin. “First, we can choose a day when a steamer is leaving port early in the evening, say, eight o’clock; or we can take to the bush, and make our way across country. I’ve turned over both plans in my mind, and I rather prefer the latter. But that is a point I leave to you – I’ll fall in with the opinion of the majority.”

“Yes,” said Garstang, “it looks as if it must succeed: it looks as if it can’t go wrong. Our leader Dolphin, the brains of the gang, has apparently fixed up everything; the details are all thought out; the men are ready and available, but – ”

“But what?” asked Dolphin gruffly. “Are you going to back down? Frightened of getting a bit of lead from a rusty old revolver, eh?”

“It ain’t that,” replied the ugliest member of the gang, “but supposin’ there’s no money in the bloomin’ bank, what then?”

A roar of laughter greeted his surmise.

“What d’you suppose the bank’s for,” asked Carnac, “if not to store up money?”

“Whips and whips of money,” observed Sweet William, the stem of his lighted pipe between his teeth. “You go with a legitimate cheque for, say, £550, and you’d get it cashed all right.”

“Certainly”; replied Garstang, “in notes. And that’s where we’d fall in. Every number is known, and so soon as we tried to cash the dirty paper, we’d get lagged. Even if we passed ’em at pubs, we’d be traced. What we want is gold – nothing but gold. And I’d be surprised if they have a thousand sovereigns in the bank.”

“If they have,” remarked Dolphin, “you’ll get two-fifty. Isn’t that good enough?”

“That’s it,” retorted his troublesome follower, “there’s considerable risk about the business, in spite of you fixing all the details so neat and easy. I ask, ‘Is it good enough to get about ten years for the sake of £250?’”

“Just what I thought,” exclaimed Dolphin. “You’re a cock-tail. In your old age you’ve grown white-livered. I guess, Garstang, you’d better retire, and leave those to carry out the work who don’t know what fear is.”

“That’s so,” echoed Carnac, drumming the table with his white fingers.

“You don’t ketch my meaning,” growled Garstang, angry and surly. “What I want is a big haul, and damn the risk. There’s no white liver about me, but I say, ‘Let’s wait till we’ve reason to know that the bank’s safe is heavily loaded.’ I say, ‘Wait till we know extra big payments have been made into it.’ Let’s get all we can for our trouble.”

“’Ere, ’ere,” said Sweet William. “I’m there. Same sentiment ’ere,” and he smote his narrow chest.

“But how are we to find out the bank’s business?” asked Dolphin. “Lor’ bless us, if the manager would tip us the wink, we’d be all right.”

“Get me took in as extry clerk,” suggested William. “Blame me, if I don’t apply for the billet to-morrow morning.”

“Go on chiacking,” said Garstang; “poke borak – it don’t hurt me. But if you want to do anything in a workmanlike and perfessional manner, listen to advice. Isn’t shipments of virgin gold made from the Coast? Isn’t such shipments made public by the newspapers? Very good. When we see a steamer has brought up a pile of gold, where’s it put but in the bank? There’s our chance. D’you follow? Then we’ll be sure to get something for our pains.”

“’Ere, ’ere!” cried Sweet William, smacking the now leering Garstang on the back. “Good on you. Maximum return for minimum risk.”

Carnac joined in the laugh. “You’re not so thick-headed after all,” he said to the crooked-faced man.

“Nor ’e ain’t so awful white-livered neither,” said William.

Dolphin, whose eyes were fixed on the table contemplatively, was silent for a while. When the noise made by the other three had terminated, he said, “Well, have it as you like. But how will the scheme fit in with the steamer business?”

“First rate,” answered William. “Where there’s gold there’ll be a steamer to take it away, won’t there?”

“And when the steamer doesn’t get its gold at the appointed time,” replied Dolphin, “the whole town will be roused to hunt for it. That’s no game for us. I agree to waiting for gold to be lodged in the bank, but if that does’t come off within reasonable time, I’m for taking the chance that’s offered. I’m willing to wait a fortnight. How’d that suit you, Garstang?”

“I’m agreeable,” said the sour-faced man.

“And in the meanwhile,” added the leader, “we don’t know one another. If we meet, we don’t so much as pass the time of day. D’you all understand?”

The three answered affirmatively, and Sweet William said, “Don’t never any of you chaps come near my shanty. This meetin’ stands adjourned sine die.”

“If there’s a notice in the newspaper of gold arriving, that means we meet here at once,” said Dolphin, “otherwise we meet this day fortnight. Is that clear?”

“Yes, that’s clear,” said Garstang.

“Certainly,” said Carnac, “perfectly clear.”

“An’, please, when you go,” said Sweet William, “don’t raise the whole neighbourhood, but make a git one by one, and disperse promiscuous, as if you’d never met in your beautiful lives.”

The four men were now standing round the table.