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Chapter VIII. The Secret Hoard.

At about the same hour of the day as the Dunstan medico was exercising his mind anent the disfigured corpse, another scene was being enacted by others of the dramatis personce whom I have brought on the stage.¹⁰⁷

In the sultry summer heat, through the gritty blinding dust, two men rode down the Gorge; the one, triumphant, in uniform—blue and buttons—with stripes of honour on the sleeve; the other, dejected, in scarlet serge shirt, and dungaree continuations.

They were the Sergeant and the Senior Partner.

As they passed along, the miners pointed to them with looks significant, and nods pregnant with oracular profundity. And the bold Sergeant gazed around responsively, as who should say—"Behold us! It is I and the prisoner. Alone I did it."

And, waving the prestige which attaches to mere numbers, methinks the Sergeant was as much a hero as any Imperial captive-monger in the Universe.

Adown the Gorge they rode in silence, until they arrived at the habitation of the Co. Then the Senior Partner spoke.

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"See, here, Mister Sergeant, suppose there ain't no harm in my looking in at the old place. I'd kind of like to see how it seems to be."

Out came Constable Finnegan.

"I've got my ordhers," said he. "The Commissioner says I'm to clear out, and bring everything into the Camp immadiately."

"Has any person presinted himself since I was here?" asked the Sergeant.

"The divil a one, sir, barrin' the folk going up and down the road, and the trooper—Connell it was—that brought the ordhers."

"Have you seen the 'suspect' that was permitted to extrickate himself out of your hands yesterday?"

"Indeed thin, I can't tell you that. All I know is that some blackguard came throubling me last night afther I turned in, and I tould him to his face that I'd put the irons on him if he didn't get out of that, quick."

"Constable Finnegan, you don't deserve to wear the uniform on your back. You're a reproach to your own posterity. Why didn't you arrest him?"

"Shure thin, didn't I tell yez I was in bed?"

"And why did you not arise from that reckembent position and seize him?"

"Saize him, is it? Faix! he was out of sight long before I could pull my boots on—bad cess to thim!"

Whilst this colloquy was going on, the Senior Partner had entered the hut.

He stood awhile gazing around the still disordered interior;—gazing with sad calmness delineated on his grave features. Then he called in the policemen.

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"I ain't going to touch none of the fixings," he said, "but I want you jest to hoist them blankets, so that I may see what there is underneath."

The indicated blankets were lying in the far corner of the tent. At a sign from the Sergeant, the constable removed them, and, in doing so, disclosed the point of a lichen-covered, weather-beaten rock, projecting from the earth.

"Now, Mister,"—thus spake the Senior Partner,—"it seems some darned villain has killed my poor mate, (here his voice trembled ever so little) on account of the gold they calculated on getting. How they came to know we had it planted, stumps me altogether. Guess the all-fired scoundrel must have heard him talking about it. You see he used to rave and go on about it in his sleep sometimes."

"It is my duty," interpolated the Sergeant, "to inform you that whatever you say will be used against you at the trial. So have a care of your discourse."

"No, Sirree," said the Senior Partner, "I don't need to have no care. I mean to speak the truth, you bet. George Washington Pratt don't lie. It ain't in the blood, Sir. What I tell you is correct. Can't you see where the darned cuss has been ploughing up the floor? Well, now, I guess the plant ain't sprung; though for the matter of that I'd ante up every ounce of gold to have saved poor Harry, 1 would, Sir. Now let the constable just prize up the corner of that stone, and I'll show you a secret."

The constable took a pick and applied it under Pratt's direction. To the astonishment of the policemen, the rock yielded readily. When it had been page 165raised about a foot, a natural concavity appeared in its lower face, and therein nestled a canvas bag. It was the secret hoard of the Co.

"Now, Mister," said the American, "jest you take care of that bag. Half the gold is my property—the rest is Will's,—I should say, Harry's."

The Sergeant readily possessed himself of the treasure. He did so with a flourish:—

"By virtue of my office, I confisket this gold in the Queen's name."

"Call it what you please, Sir. If the young woman is trustworthy I don't mind. I ain't afraid of the gold being annexed—not teetotally! for I don't suppose that it will be long before the big black lie as is scored up to my account jest now will be wiped out. No, Sirree, truth must come out, and I can always wait. Nothing like waiting. So if you think that bag would be quite safe with your Queen, you may leave it with the lady till called for. Jest as you like, Sir."

The Senior Partner treated himself to a scientific plug, and remounted the horse that was to bear him to prison. Once only he halted and turned aside. It was to look at the spot where Will's cap had been found. Whatever he may have felt, he stoically refrained from any expression or exhibition thereof. The facial muscles quivered slightly—very slightly. "Poor old Harry!"—he said very softly. That was all.

Then he rode on—on bravely, to the stake.