He had struck it rich; the
hill-side was sprinkled with gold, either on the surface or just
below it. For two weeks there were only two parties at work on that
hill, parties of one, but they did not form a partnership. The woman
came every day, picking and scratching like an old hen, and went away
at sundown.
When the man went away he took with him more than a hundredweight of
gold. He was worth looking at, so we put more wood on the fire, and
made a good blaze. Yes, he was a lucky digger, and he was enjoying
his luck. He was blazing drunk, was in evening dress, wore a black
bell-topper, and kid gloves. The gloves had saved his hands from
being burned when he thrust them into the fire. There could be no
doubt that he was enjoying himself. He came suddenly out of the
black night, and staggered away into it again with his two friends.
One forenoon, about ten o'clock, while we were busy, peacefully
digging and puddling, we heard a sound like the rumbling of distant
thunder from the direction of Bendigo flat. The thunder grew louder
until it became like the bellowing of ten thousand bulls. It was the
welcome accorded by the diggers to our "trusty and well-beloved"
Government when it came forth on a digger hunt. It was swelled by
the roars, and cooeys, and curses of every man above ground and
below, in the shafts and drives on the flats, and in the tunnels of
the White Hills, from Golden Gully and Sheep's Head, to Job's Gully
and Eaglehawk, until the warning that "Joey's out" had reached to the
utmost bounds of the goldfield.
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