The Gold Hunters' Adventures Part 62

We resolved to follow Murden's advice, and were about to bid him farewell, when he added,--"If you conclude to remain at the mines, write me a full account of how matters stand, and what you think of the demands of the miners. I can rely upon you, for you have not mingled with the men, and of course do not at present sympathize with them. I do not ask the favor because I wish you to act the part of a spy, but simply for my own gratification."

We promised faithfully to keep him advised of our movements, and also those of the disaffected part of the residents of Ballarat, and with a hearty shake of his hand, Murden wheeled his horse and galloped after his command, which had been gone some time.

"Now, Smith, we are once more dependent upon ourselves. Shall we first go after our cart, and repair it, or do you feel like resting for a day or two?"

"Well, I don't know," answered Smith, in response to Fred's question. "I feel as though I should like to rest for a few hours; you see the confounded hole where we roosted was so hot, that I'm pretty nearly used up."

I saw through his design, but concluded not to notice it. Like all lovers, he hated to tear himself from the idol of his heart, and thought that a few hours might alleviate his pain.

"Well, we'll postpone our trip until to-morrow, and to be certain that we shall be ready then, we will take two yoke of cattle and bring up the team and repair it. Had we not lost that bag of gold which we have wasted so much time for, I think that we should have bought you a new cart, of later pattern."

Fred spoke jestingly, and yet not without a sigh at the magnitude of our loss. The old stockman, who was seated on a bench at his door, overheard the conversation, and interrupted us.

"Who says the gold is lost?" he asked.

"We all do," replied Fred; "the bag was not to be found where Jack placed it."

"I know that," the old man answered, with a silent chuckle.

"How do you know that it was gone!' I demanded.

"Why, because when you threw it down, I picked it up, and made my way out of the woods as fast as possible."

"And the bushrangers took it from you?" I demanded.

"I didn't say so," the stockman replied, coolly.

"You don't mean to tell me that the money is safe?" asked Fred.

"Well, I should think it was, because I don't believe that any bushranger would discover the place where I hid it." "Bless your old heart!" cried Smith, slapping him on the shoulder; "you are worth a dozen of us young ones. But why didn't you say something about it before?"

"And let those police fellers share with us? No, no; I know too much for that; they would have required at least half the amount found, and I didn't think my young friends here would be willing to be bled to such an extent. They shall have the money, and can do as they please. I have redeemed my word; I promised to a.s.sist them, for they have a.s.sisted me; and when I have placed the gold in their hands, I shall think that I have only paid them a small portion of the debt which I owe them."

We were too much surprised and delighted to speak for some time, for the recovery of the money was something we were not prepared for.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

RECOVERY OF THE GOLD.--ARRIVAL AT BALLARAT.

"Lead us to the spot where you have secreted our gold," we cried, with one accord.

"There's time enough," replied the old man; "I tell you that it is safe, and where I can get it any time. What more would you have?"

"We would have the a.s.surance that we possess it, so that we can reward those who have aided us in searching for it. We wish to feel that we are indeed worth so much money, so that we can lay our plans for the future."

"Do you say that you wish to reward those who helped you obtain it?"

asked the stockman, removing his pipe and p.r.i.c.king up his ears.

"Of course we do," replied Fred, eagerly; "do you think that we are so selfish as to claim the whole of the prize?"

"It's not for myself that I ask; 'tis for my daughter, who, in case I am called to rest, will be dest.i.tute. Every pound shall be returned to you, and then if you think from out of your abundant means, you can spare the old convict and his child a few grains of dust, why, we shall be thankful."

"Don't fear for me, father," the daughter said, with an expressive glance at the brawny form of Smith, which seemed to say that he is "strong enough to take care of me in this world of trouble."

"But I do care for you, for who else have I to love in this world?"

answered the stockman, wiping away a tear.

"And will you not let another share that love?" she said, fondling his gray hairs, as though she had just awakened to a sense of his worth.

"What do you mean, girl?" he demanded, with a suspicious glance at her face, which was suffused with blushes.

"I mean," she replied, coloring with contusion, "that if a suitor should present himself, would you not be willing that I should marry again?"

"You have just lost one husband, and who thinks of whispering nonsense in your ears? Not these young gallants, I hope, for they never would be willing to introduce you to their homes; and if they mean false, the old gun is still capable of sending a bullet as true as the day that I took it from a bushranger for killing my sheep."

"O, no, father; the young gentlemen have hardly spoken to me, and if I should wait for them to make love, I should never be married."

"Then who has caught your fancy, and made you feel as though you wished to desert your old father?" demanded the old convict, sternly.

"Not to desert you, father, for you shall come and live with us, and give up your shepherd's occupation. The work is too hard and dangerous for one of your years, and if you wish to make money the city offers larger inducements."

"I don't understand all of this," cried the old man, wiping his brow, and staring at us as though he wished we would explain. "You want me to live with you, yet when, and where, I am left to conjecture."

"He will tell you all," cried the daughter, breaking away and entering the hut, her face nearly as red as Smith's, and the latter's seemed as though burning. He cast an imploring glance towards me, and I helped him out of the dilemma as well as I was able.

"A man whom you might well be proud to call son-in-law has taken a fancy to your daughter, and seeks to make her his wife. The match in one that you can't help approving, for he is able to support her and be a kind husband. What more can you ask for?"

"I ask for the name of the person, and you confuse me with a torrent of praise," exclaimed the old man, testily.

"Here he is to speak for himself," I said, leading Smith up. "This is the man who desires to become your son-in-law."

"Are you serious, Smith?" the stockman asked, with a suspicious glance of his keen, gray eye.

"I a.s.sure you that I am, and that I will labor with all my might to make your child a happy wife."

Smith bore the scrutiny without flinching, although his words were uttered by syllables.

"But my child is poor; I can give her neither wealth, nor a proud, untarnished name. I have been a sentenced convict."

"And what have I been?" asked Smith, with a tremulous voice, his head falling upon his breast.

"Let us not refer to such matters," cried the stockman, briskly, throwing off, with an effort, the constraint which the conversation had given him. "I ask you if you are willing to marry my daughter, poor as she is, and poor as you know me to be?"

The stockman's gray eyes were fixed upon the face of the suitor as though reading his most secret thoughts.