CHAPTER XX
The claim they were working proved very little richer than others they had taken up. They made certainly a few shillings a week more than was absolutely necessary to keep them in food and tobacco, and these few shillings were carefully husbanded by Chaytor, who was treasurer of the partnership. Their departure was hastened by a meeting which did not afford Chaytor unalloyed pleasure. As he and Basil sat at the door of their canvas tent one summer night, who should stroll up to them but old Corrie.
"Here you are, then," cried the honest fellow.
"Why, Corrie!" exclaimed Basil, jumping to his feet, and holding out his hands.
"Master Basil," said Old Corrie, grasping them cordially, "I am more than glad to see you. I was passing through, and hearing your tent was somewhere in this direction, I made up my mind to hunt you up. Well, well, well!"
"Here's my mate," said Basil, motioning to Chaytor, "you remember him."
"Oh yes," said Old Corrie, nodding at Chaytor. "So you've been together all this time. What luck have you had?"
"Bad luck," answered Chaytor.
"Sorry to hear it. Never struck a rich patch, eh?"
"Never," said Chaytor. "And you?"
"I can't complain. To tell you the truth, I've made my pile."
"You have!" cried Chaytor, with a furious envy in his voice.
"I have. You made a mistake when you refused to go mates with me; I could have shown you a trick or two. However, that's past: what's ended can't be mended."
"What are you going to do now?"
"Haven't quite made up my mind. Think of going to Sydney for a spree; perhaps to Melbourne for another; perhaps shall give up that idea, and make tracks for old England. I've got enough to live upon if I like to take care of it. Well, Master Basil, I wish you had better news to give me. Have you heard from the old country? No?" This was in response to Basil's shake of the head. "Why, I thought the little lady promised to write to you."
"She did promise, but I have not heard for all that."
"Out of sight, out of mind," observed Chaytor, inwardly discomposed at the turn the conversation had taken.
Old Corrie gave him a sour look. "I'll not believe that of the little lady. The most likely reason is that she has been prevented by that old fox her uncle. Her silence must have grieved you, Master Basil." Basil nodded. "I know how your heart was set upon her."
"Don't let's talk about it," said Basil, "it is the way of the world."
"That may be," said Old Corrie, regarding Basil attentively, "but I'd have staked my life that it wasn't the way of the little lady. What has come over you? You're changed. You were always brimming over with life and spirits, and now you're as melancholy as a black crow."
"I'm falling into the sere and yellow," said Basil, with a melancholy smile.
"I can only guess at what you mean. You're getting old. Why, man alive, there's a good five-and-twenty year between you and me, and I don't consider myself falling into the what-do-you-call-'em! Pluck up, Master Basil. Here, let's have a little chat aside."
Chaytor gave Basil a look which meant, as plain as words could speak it, "Are you going to have secret conversations away from me after all the years we have been together, after all I've done for you?"
"Corrie," said Basil, laying one hand on Old Corrie's arm and the other on Chaytor's, "if you've anything to say to me I should like you to say it before Chaytor. There's nothing I would wish to hide from him. He's been the truest friend to me a man ever had, and I owe him more than I can ever repay."
"Nonsense, Basil," said Chaytor with magnanimous humility; "don't say anything about it."
"But it ought to be said, and I should be the ungratefullest fellow living if I ever missed an opportunity of acknowledging it. I owe you something too, Corrie. There's that mare of yours I borrowed and lost."
"Shut up," growled Old Corrie, "if you want us to part friends. I've never given the mare a thought, and as for paying me for it, well, you can't, and there's an end of it. I'll say before your mate what is in my mind. You're a gentleman, Master Basil, and here you are wasting your time and your years to no purpose. England is the proper place for you." Chaytor caught his breath, and neither Basil nor Old Corrie could have interpreted this exhibition of emotion aright; but Basil, who thought he understood it, smiled gently at Chaytor, as much as to say, "Don't fear, I am not going to desert you." Old Corrie, who had paused, took up his words: "England is the proper place for you. Say the word, and we'll go together to Sydney and take two passages for home. There you can hunt up your old friends, and you'll be a man once more. Come now, say, 'Yes, Corrie,' and put me under an obligation to you for life."
"I can't say yes, Corrie, but I'm truly obliged to you for your kind offer. Even if I wished to break my connection with Chaytor-which I don't-it's for him to put an end to our partnership, not for me-don't you see that it would be impossible for me to lay myself under an obligation to you?"
"No, I don't see it,' growled Old Corrie.
"Then, again, Corrie, what inducement have I to return to England?"
"There's little lady," interrupted Old Corrie.
"She has forgotten me," said Basil, sadly. "What business have I to thrust myself upon her? If she desired to continue a friendship which was as precious to me as my heart's blood-yes, I don't mind confessing it; there may be weakness, but there is no shame in it-would she not have written to me? She would, if it was only one line. It is true that her uncle may be jealously guarding and watching her-there was love lost between us-but in these three years that have passed since the last day we saw each other, it is not possible to think that she could not have contrived once to have put in the post a bit of paper with only the words, 'I have not forgotten you, Basil.' Who and what am I that I should cross the road she is traversing for the purpose of bringing a reminiscence to her mind that she chooses not to remember? There would not be much manliness in that. Besides, it's a hundred chances to one that she's not in England at all. It is my belief she is living in her father's native country, Switzerland, where, surrounded by new scenes and new companions, I hope she is happy. Thank you again, Corrie; I cannot accept your offer."
"All right," said Corrie, with disappointment in his face and voice; "you ought to know your own mind, though I make bold to say I don't believe you've said what's in your heart. Well, there's an end to it. I'm off early in the morning. Good-bye, Master Basil."
"Good-bye, Corrie, and good luck to you."
"Good luck to you, better than you've had in more ways than one."
"Good-bye, Mr. Corrie," said Chaytor.
Old Corrie could scarcely refuse the hand that Chaytor held out to him, but the grasp he gave it was very different from the grasp he gave Basil's. Before he turned to leave the ill-assorted comrades he did something which escaped the eyes of Basil, but not those of Chaytor. He furtively dropped, quite close to Basil's feet, a round wooden matchbox, which, emptied of matches, gold-diggers frequently used to fill with loose gold. Unobserved by old Corrie, Chaytor put his foot on the box and slipped it to the rear of himself. This was done while Old Corrie was turning to go. Basil was genuinely sorry to See the last of his friend. Both the unexpected meeting and the leave-taking had a touch of sadness in them which deeply affected him, and he gazed with regret after the vanishing form of the man who had offered to serve him. This gave Chaytor an opportunity of slyly picking up the matchbox; it was weighty, and Chaytor knew that it was filled with gold. "A bit of luck," he thought, as he put the box into his pocket, "and a narrow escape as well." He felt like a man sitting on a mine which a stray match might fire at any moment.
"Basil," he said, when Old Corrie was out of sight, "we will strike our tent to-morrow, and go prospecting. I have a likely spot in my mind."
"Very well," said Basil listlessly. "How about money? Can we manage to get along?"
"Oh, yes, we can manage."
Early in the morning the pegs which fastened the tent were dug out of the ground, the tent was rolled up and tied, and with heavy swags of canvas, blankets, tools, and utensils conveniently disposed about their persons, Basil and Chaytor set their faces to the south. They walked for two days, camping out at night, and halted at length on the banks of a river, the waters of which were low. In the winter the floods rolling down from the adjacent ranges made the river a torrent, covering banks which were now bare. These banks were of fine sand, and rising on each side for a distance of some thousands of yards were shelving mountains studded with quartz. Some eighteen months ago Basil and Chaytor had passed the place on their way to a new rush, and Chaytor thought it a likely place in which to find gold. They were now quite alone, not a living soul was within a dozen miles of them. They had reached the spot secretly, and their movements were unknown to any but themselves. Their nearest neighbours were on a cattle station some twelve or thirteen miles away.
"I have had an idea," said Chaytor, throwing the swag off his shoulders, an example which Basil followed, "for a long time past that somewhere about here gold was to be found. My plan is to prospect the place well, without any one being the wiser. Who knows? We may discover a new goldfield, and make our fortunes before we are tracked. Let us camp here, and try. We can't do much worse than we've done already."
"I'm agreeable to anything you propose," said Basil. "Let us camp here by all means."
"The great thing is, that nobody must be let into the secret. If we are discovered, 'Rush, O!' will be the cry, and we shall be overrun before we can say Jack Robinson."
"You have only to say what you wish, Chaytor. You have the cleverer head of the two. I hope for your sake we shall be successful."
"You don't much care for your own."
"Not much."
"You'll sing to another tune when we do succeed. It's wonderful how the possession of a lot of money alters one's views."
"I'll wait till I get it," said Basil, sagely.
"The river runs low at this season and there's no reason in the world why the sand banks shouldn't hold gold."
"They will hold it if its there," said Basil, with a smile.
"We'll try the banks first because they are the easiest, and if we don't get gold in sufficient quantities there we'll try higher up the range. It's studded with quartz, and it looks the right sort. We'll put our tent up now, and in the morning we'll commence work-or rather you will commence while I am away."
"Where are you going to?"
"There's grub to look after. We can't do without meat and flour. All we've got to live on at present is a tin of sardines, about half a pint of brandy, a little tea, and a couple of handfuls of biscuits. Now, I call that a coincidence."
"In what respect?"
"Do you forget," said Chaytor reproachfully, "the first night you come to Gum Flat? I gave you then pretty well all I had in the world in the shape of provisions, some biscuits, some sardines, and a flask of brandy."
"You did, old fellow, and that is the sum total of our provisions this evening." He shook Chaytor's hand warmly. "Don't think me ungrateful, Chaytor, because I don't profess much. Old Corrie said I was changed, and I suppose I must be; but I shall never be so changed as to be unmindful of the way you've stuck to me. Yes, it is a coincidence. But go on. What do you mean to do about grub, for I see you've something in your mind?"
"There's only one thing to do," said Chaytor. "I must go to the cattle station to-night, get there early in the morning, and buy mutton and flour. I shall have to look out sharp that I'm not followed when I make my way back again, but I think I can manage it. I've done more difficult jobs than that."
"And you will be tramping the bush," said Basil, "while I remain at my ease here. Why can't I go instead of you?"
"Because," replied Chaytor, in a tone of affectionate insistance, "as you have already confessed, I am the cleverer of the two, and because I have an idea, if we lose this chance, that we shall never get another. I don't want you to be seen, Basil, that's the plain truth of the matter. You're not up to the men we meet. Now, I am sly and cunning-"
"You?" interrupted Basil. "You are the soul of candour and honesty, Chaytor. No one else should say that of you while I stood by."
"I don't mean exactly what I said, Basil, but I am sure I can do the job more neatly than you could. As to the tramp through the bush, I think nothing of it, so let it be as I say."
Basil making no further objection, the tent was put up and a trench dug around to carry the rain away. Then a camp fire was made, and the water for tea boiled in a tin billy, after which they finished the biscuits and sardines.
"You will have to hold out till I come back," said Chaytor. "As I need not start till past midnight, I'll turn in for an hour or two."
Shortly afterwards the comrades were wrapt in slumber, and the man with the evil conscience slept the sounder of the two. A little after midnight he rose and without disturbing Basil, started for the cattle station. It was a warm starlit night, and he pondered upon matters as he made his way through the bush. Indeed, during the past two days he had thought deeply of the situation in which he was placed. Old Corrie's proposition to take Basil to England had greatly alarmed him, and had opened his eyes more clearly to its gravity. It was this which had caused him to hurry Basil away from the vicinity of Old Corrie, for it was quite likely that Corrie would make another attempt to prevail upon Basil before he took his departure, and the second time Basil might yield. At all hazards this must be prevented; step by step he had descended the abyss of crime, and it was too late for him now to turn back. In entering upon an evil enterprise men seldom see the cost at which success must be purchased; it is only when they are face to face with consequences that they tremble at their own danger.
By daybreak Chaytor was at the cattle station and had made his purchases; by noon he had rejoined Basil. His purchases, at the station had attracted no attention; it was a common enough proceeding, and now they had food for a week. Fifteen miles beyond the cattle station was a small township where they could also obtain supplies; a pilgrimage once a week to station or township would keep them going. In the township such gold as they obtained and wished to dispose of could also be turned into money. Thus, although they were quite alone, they were within hail of all that was necessary. Shortly after Chaytor's return they set to work on the banks of the river. Basil showed his mate some pieces of quartz with fair-sized specks of gold in them, but Chaytor decided to try the river first, alluvial digging being so much easier. They found gold in the sand, and sufficient to pay, but not sufficient to satisfy Chaytor's cupidity. The result of a week's labour was between two and three ounces.
"This is better than we have done yet," said Basil.
"It is only the washings from the hills," said Chaytor, "and at any unexpected moment a flood of rain would swamp us. There are too many trees about to please me; wood draws water from the clouds. If we don't do better than this by the end of next week we'll mark out a claim on the range yonder, where the blue slate peeps out of the quartz."
Another journey had to be made for food, and this time Chaytor went to the township, where he obtained what he required and sold exactly seven pennyweights of gold. He put on an appearance of great anxiety while the gold was being weighed, and sighed when the weight was announced. This was to throw the storekeeper off the scent; any considerable quantity of gold disposed of proudly would have excited suspicion of a Tom Tiddler's ground somewhere near, and Chaytor, had he so behaved, would certainly have been shadowed by men who were ever watchful for signs of the discovery of a new goldfield. It was in Chaytor's power to sell some fourteen ounces of gold had he been so inclined, for the matchbox which Old Corrie had furtively dropped at Basil's feet, and which Chaytor had slyly picked up unknown to his mate, contained twelve ounces of the precious metal, but he knew better than to attempt it. There was a post-office in the township, from which he dispatched a letter to the Sydney office, requesting that any letters lying there for Basil Whittingham might be forwarded on to him. He wrote and signed the order in Basil's name. He could not very well go to Sydney at present to fetch them; there would be a risk in leaving Basil so long alone, for there being no coaches running from the township, the journey to Sydney and back could not be accomplished in less than nine or ten days. Easier to obtain the letters from England, if any arrived, by the means he adopted, and it was the easiest of tasks to keep the affair from the knowledge of Basil, who never dreamed of asking at any post-office whether there were any letters for him.
They worked a second week on the river-bank, at the end of which they had washed out over three ounces.
"An improvement," remarked Basil.
Chaytor shook his head discontentedly.
"Let us mark off a prospector's claim up the hill," he said. "We can always come back to the river."
This was done, and they commenced to sink. The difficulty they now encountered was the want of a windlass. Chaytor would not venture to purchase one in the township, whither he went regularly, being well aware that he could have done nothing that would more surely have drawn attention upon him. At odd times he bought some pieces of rope which he and Basil spliced till they had a length of about eighty feet. This rope, properly secured, enabled them to ascend and descend the shaft, foot-holes in the sides assisting them. The labour of digging a shaft in this manner was increased fourfold at least, but they could not be too cautious, Chaytor said. He remarked also that they seemed to be haunted by coincidences, and upon Basil asking for an explanation reproached him for his bad memory.
"How many of us were there upon Gum Flat," he said, "after your horse was stolen? Two. You and I alone. How many are there here? Two. You and I alone. When you fell down the shaft how did I get you up? By means of a rope secured at the top. How do we get up and down this shaft? By the same means. There was no windlass there; there is no windlass here. Don't you call these coincidences?"
"Yes," said Basil, "it is very singular."
"It would be very singular," thought Chaytor, "if you were at the bottom of this shaft one of these fine days and never got out of it alive. In that case coincidence would not hold good."
He drew a mental picture of the scene: Basil helpless below, the rope lying loose on the top, and he sitting by it waiting to assure himself that the mate by whom he had dealt so foully could never rise in evidence against him. He saw this mental picture at the very moment that Basil, with his sad earnest face, was in sight.
In the shaft they were sinking they were following a thin vein of gold-bearing quartz which luckily for them was not devious in its bearings, but ran down perpendicularly. It was very narrow, not more than an inch in width, but the deeper they sank the richer it grew. The vein was more rubble than stone, and the stuff was easily pounded and washed. The first week they discovered it they obtained four ounces of gold, the second week seven, the third week twelve, the fourth and fifth weeks the same, and then there was a jump to twenty ounces. They had reached a depth of forty odd feet, and not a living being but themselves had been seen near the spot.
This lucky break in their fortunes gave Chaytor serious and discomforting food for thought. He was convinced that their better luck would continue for some time, and was almost sure that the thin vein they were following would lead them to a richer and wider reef. What would be the effect of wealth upon Basil? Would it alter his views? Would it turn his thoughts homewards? He became hot and cold when this last thought suggested itself, and that night he was visited in his sleep by a dream so startling that he jumped up in affright and sat in the dark trembling like a leaf in a strong wind. He dreamt that Basil had discovered his treachery, and had torn open his secret pocket in which he kept not only the letters from Annette and Basil's uncle he had received from England, but the documents he had stolen from Basil on Gum Flat, and the locket which Annette had given to Basil at their last meeting. "You monster!" Basil had cried. "You have ruined my life and shall pay the penalty!" It was at this point that Chaytor awoke, trembling and in great fear. Presently, when the pulses of his heart beat more regularly, he heard Basil's soft breathing. He struck a match, and rising, quietly looked down upon his comrade. The young fellow was sleeping calmly, with no thought of the evil genius standing over him. Convincing himself that his stolen treasures were safe, Chaytor crept back to his stretcher, but he had little more sleep that night. His sense of security was shaken; the earth was trembling beneath his feet.