The Gold Hunters' Adventures Part 151

"I go no farther," I exclaimed, as I saw that my horse was suffering from his over-exertions.

Mr. Brown reined in, and seemed disposed to take advice.

"Only to the next clump of trees," he replied, pointing to half a dozen, about a mile distant.

"We shall kill the animals, and ourselves in the bargain," I replied.

"A mile or so will make but little difference; I think that I can promise you a good camping ground, and a sink hole with pretty fresh water under those trees; come."

I could no longer resist the inducements, and once more we put our horses in motion.

"See, as I told you, we shall find company under the trees," cried Mr.

Brown; "there is smoke arising, and that denotes coffee and supper.

Cheer up, and we shall yet learn the news before sunset."

A few minutes revealed to our gaze three or four men and two women, seated near a wagon, that looked as though it had made many journeys between Ballarat and Melbourne, before the roads were in good order. A brisk fire was burning, and on that fire we could see a coffee-pot and a kettle. A short distance from the camp were two skeleton horses, with just life enough left to be able to graze upon the prairie, and who seemed to have been fed on thistles during the last few years of their life. With no suspicion that our appearance was against us, we rode boldly on until we were brought to a halt by a couple of presented muskets, held in the hands of their trembling owners.

"Don't ye come here, ye divils!" shouted one of the men in goodly strong brogue.

"If he does, it's cowld lead ye'll get!" cried another.

"But, my good friends," Mr. Brown said, blandly.

"Away wid ye, at once, and the divil take care of ye. We know ye."

"If you know us, you should not fear us," my friend said, in the insinuating argumentative style so peculiar to him.

"O! better not stand then; blarneying, but go away wid ye!" yelled out one of the women, with demonstrative indications of throwing hot water or potatoes at us.

"Why, who do you think we are?" I asked, Mr. Brown having retired from the conversational portion of his duty in deep disgust at the idea of having his gentlemanly address taken for blarney.

"We think ye are thaves! may the divil confound ye," replied one of the heathen.

"But we are not thieves," I continued.

"Thin yer looks belies ye wonderfully. Go on yer ways, and don't stop here thinking that we've money, or any stuff to stale, for we ain't."

"Why, you d----n fools!" yelled Mr. Brown, "we have more money in our pockets than the carca.s.ses of yourselves, wives, and horses would bring."

This announcement produced a sensation, and we were happy to see the fellows whisper together, as though they had made a mistake, and were willing to rectify it.

"Have ye whiskey?" at length one of them asked.

I shook a bottle in their faces, but made no reply.

"Is it the rale poteen?" he demanded.

"Irish all over," I answered.

"Thin glory to G.o.d, come along and welcome."

The muskets were lowered, the hostile att.i.tude ceased, and we rode into the camp like conquerors, and were received with every mark of respect, which I attributed more to the influence of the black bottle that I held in my hand, than to our dignified personal appearance. Even the women condescended to welcome us with looks of encouragement, and one of them spanked her baby when it cried, because the wee thing was frightened at strangers.

CHAPTER Lx.x.x.

JOURNEY BACK TO BALLARAT.

"You are, no doubt, strangers in the country?" said Mr. Brown, after we had removed the saddles from our horses' backs, and suffered the animals to roam a short distance from the camp for food.

"Faith, ye may well say that," cried the leading Hibernian, with a good-natured smile.

"Where did you come from?" my friend continued.

"Ireland, sir," was the prompt reply.

"I know that without your telling me. I mean what part of this country.

Sydney or Melbourne?"

"Faith, how did ye know we come from Ireland?" queried Pat, with innocent simplicity.

"By your brogue, to be sure," was Mr. Brown's prompt answer.

"Bedad, I never thought of that," grunted the Celt.

"We came from Melbourne, sir," one of the men said, answering Mr.

Brown's question, and casting wishful eyes towards the black bottle.

"We've been four days on the road, and it's little progress we make at all, bad luck to the horses that won't draw when we want 'em to. It's out of whiskey we got the first day, owing to the swilling of Ned Mulloon, who was drunk as a baste when we left town."

"Faith, it's little chance I had while yer mouth was doing its work, Teddy," cried Ned, with a grin.

"We will make a bargain with you," Mr. Brown said to the men. "Give us a share of your potatoes, and we'll divide the whiskey."

"Done," cried all hands, with remarkable unanimity; and the pot containing the esculents was jerked off the fire and placed at our feet, while we treated all hands, not even excepting the women.

"Well, what is the news at Melbourne?" asked Mr. Brown, while We were satisfying our appet.i.tes.

"It's loud talk they have about the miners, and their dislike to pay the tax, glory to G.o.d; and the artillerymen were getting ready to march whenever the governor tells 'em to, bad luck to 'em."

"Did you understand at what mines the soldiers are to be stationed?" I asked.

"Yes, I did," replied our informant. "'Tis at Ballarat."

"Then there must have been trouble since our absence," remarked Mr.

Brown; "and the sooner we are home the safer will our property be. If we but had fresh horses we could start at once."