The Gold Hunter's Adventures Or, Life In Australia Volume 2 ( Of 2 ) by William H. Thomes (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📕

"No, I Won't, For You Are Homely Enough In All Conscience," I Answered,

Pretending To Think That He Referred To Personal Beauty.

The Stranger Turned On Me Like Lightning, And His Sinister Eyes Were

Expressive Of Intense Rage, But I Pretended Not To Notice His Actions.

Rover, However, Became Slightly Alarmed For My Welfare, And Placed

Himself Between Us, And Showed His Strong Teeth With Perfect Frankness.

"Call Off Your Dog," Our Visitor Said, Finding That It Was Useless To

Intimidate, "Or I Will Make Short Work Of Him, And Sell Him To The

Chinamen As A Luxury."

"You Would Never Have Another Chance To Trade With The Celestials," I

Answered, Carelessly.

"Why?" Demanded The Black Ruffian, With A Grim Smile, As He Walked

Towards That Portion Of The Store Where Fred Was Sitting, Mr. Critchet

Having Entered His Room.

"Because, If You Harmed My Dog, I Should Take The Liberty Of Shooting

You Without A Moment's Delay."

"Well, That Is A Question That Two Would Have To Study Over," The

Stranger Answered, In A More Subdued Tone, And With Less Inclination To

Swagger. "I Suppose That You Little Think That I Carry These Things

About Me, And That They Sometimes Bark When I Say The Word, And More To

The Purpose Than Any Dog You Ever Owned." And He Tapped The Butts Of His

Pistols With A Confident Air, But The Announcement Was Not Such As He

Had Anticipated.

"We Sometimes Do A Little In That Line Ourselves," I Answered, "And We

Take Care That The Tools We Use Shall Be The Best That Money Can Obtain.

When This Speaks It Means Something."

I Quietly Drew From My Coat Pocket A Revolver, And Held It Before Him,

And Then As Quietly Returned It To Its Resting-Place.

"I'm Satisfied With Your Word," The Dark-Haired Stranger Said, A Grim

Smile Spreading Over His Face. "When Gentlemen Meet They Should Know How

To Treat Each Other With Courtesy. By Your Weapon I Judge That You Are

An American."

"My Friend And Myself Both Claim That Country As The Land Of Our

Births," I Replied, Pointing To Fred, Who Sat Smoking His Pipe For The

Purpose Of Keeping The Insects, Attracted By Our Light, At A Distance.

"O, I Didn't See That You Had A Companion," The Stranger Exclaimed,

Spying Fred For The First Time, Which Somehow Rather Disconcerted Him;

But He Quickly Rallied, And Continued To Converse In A Free And Easy

Manner, Like A Man Who Had Seen Much Of The World, And Had Opportunities

Of Enjoying It.

"I Am Glad To Know That You Are Americans, For I Have Visited That

Country, And Was Kindly Treated By Those With Whom I Came In Contact. A

Great And Fast Country, As I Can Bear Witness, For While Travelling In

The Southern Part I Suffered A Railroad Collision And A Steamboat

Explosion On The Same Day, And Yet Escaped With Whole Bones. Were I Not

An Englishman I Would Be An American, To Use The Words Of Alexander,

Altered To Suit The Occasion."

"May I Ask If You Belong Here In Ballarat?" I Demanded, With The

Intention Of Finding Out What His Business And Prospects Were.

"To Tell You The Truth, I Am Here On What Your Countrymen Call A

'Bender;' A Freak That Assails Me About Once In Three Months, And After

It Is Over I Return To My Stock-House And Think How Great A Man Can Be,

And Yet How Little."

"Then You Are A Stockman?" I Said.

"That Is Not What I Am Termed," He Cried, With An Expression Of Pride

Upon His Dark Face. "I Employ Stockmen To Look After My Cattle, But I Am

Called A Proprietor."

"I Always Supposed That Proprietors Preferred To Live In The Large

Cities, And Trust Their Flocks And Herds To Employees," Fred Said,

Dryly.

"What Is It To You What I Prefer?" He Demanded, Turning On Fred

Fiercely. "Have I Not A Right To Do As I Please As Long As I Am My Own

Master, And Pay Those Who Work For Me?"

"No One Denies It, I Believe," Exclaimed Fred. "I Only Made A

Supposition. Some Men Dislike To Be Seen In Cities, While Others Would

Go Mad If Obliged To Live On The Plains. I Sometimes Think That It

Depends Entirely Upon The Conscience Which Every Man Is Supposed To Have

Locked Within His Breast, Although My Arguments Are Liable To Be

Refuted, On The Ground That There Are Some Men Destitute Of Such An

Article."

"Death And The Devil! Do You Refer To Me, You Babbler?" Shouted The

Stranger, His Hands Again Seeking The Pockets Where His Pistols Were

Nestling.

"Don't Get Enraged At A Few Words," I Said, Half Soothingly And Half

Ironically. "My Friend Didn't Mean To Cut You With His Remarks."

"We Won't Quarrel Over An Unmeaning Word," I Said. "Give Me A Quart Of

Good Whiskey, And I Will Go Back To The Tent Where I Have Agreed To Stop

For The Balance Of The Night. I Was Told That I Could Get The Best

Liquor Here Of Any Place In Ballarat."

"Raising Cattle Is Considered A Profitable Business In Australia," I

Hinted, While Pretending To Be Attending Upon His Wants.

"I Find It Satisfactory," He Returned, Shortly, As Though Determined To

Baffle My Inquiries.

"I Have Some Thoughts Of Engaging In The Business," I Continued, "And

Would, If I Could Buy A Tract Of Land On The Banks Of The Loddon Or The

Campaspe. All The Pasturing That Is Desirable Within Sight Of Mount

Macedon Skirt Is Already Sold, I Suppose."

"I Should Think It Was," He Answered, With A Grin; "But I Am Open For An

Offer."

"How! Do You Wish To Sell?" I Asked, Apparently In Surprise.

"If I Can Get My Price, Yes."

"How Long Have You Occupied Your Tract?" I Inquired.

"For Four Years, And During That Time My Flocks Have Increased

Threefold, And Now I Count My Sheep By Thousands And Cattle By

Hundreds."

"And Your Range Is Located On The Banks Of The Loddon?" I Asked. "How

Much Land Have You Taken Up?"

"Five Thousand Acres Of As Good Pasturage As Can Be Found In The

Country, Well Watered, And Free Of Bogs And Quicksands."

"Why Do You Desire To Sell, If The Raising Of Cattle Is So Productive?"

I Demanded.

"None Of Your Business. If You Wish To Buy, Say So, And I'm Open For A

Trade. Come And See Me Some Day, And I'll Talk With You On The Matter;

At The Present Time I'm In A Hurry."

"I Think That I Know A Man Who Will Take The Station Off Your Hands

Without Delay. Wait A Moment And I'll Bring Him To You."

I Left The Cattle Raiser Wondering At The Suddenness Of My Exit, And

Entered The Small Room, Where I Found Mr. Critchet Suffering With

Nervous Agitation.

"Have You Heard All?" I Asked.

"Yes, All."

"And Do You Think That You Recognize The Voice?"

"It Is Follet," He Whispered.

"Dare You Face Him, And Demand Restitution For Your Wrongs?" I Inquired.

"Why Should I Fear To Meet Him, And Strike Terror Into His Guilty Heart?

Let Me Go At Once."

"Then Roll The Collar Of Your Coat Over Your Face, And Slouch Your Hat

Over Your Eyes, And Keep Them There Until I Ask You To Remove Them. Now

Keep Up A Stout Heart, And Trust To Fortune For The Result."

Mr. Critchet Followed Me From The Room Without Another Word. His

Agitation Seemed To Have Left Him, And He Displayed All The "Pluck"

Which Characterizes The Representatives Of Great Britain, When Placed In

Situations That Require Nerve And Courage.

"Hullo! Is That The Man You Have Selected To Purchase My Stock?" Cried

The Stranger, With A Hoarse Laugh; "Why, A Horseback Ride Of Ten Miles

Before Breakfast Would Finish Him For The Day, And If Bullocks Should

Get Sight Of His Thin Form, They Would Break Into Open Rebellion, For

They Know That It Requires A Powerful Arm To Use A Stock-Whip. Take Your

Old Granddaddy Back To Bed, And Send Me A Customer That Can Keep The

Saddle All Day, And Sleep In A Pond Of Water All Night, If Need Be."

"He Is Not So Feeble As He Looks," I Replied, Giving Fred A Quiet

Signal, Which He Understood, And Therefore Rose And Sauntered Near The

Counter, So That He Could Be In The Rear Of The Stockman, In Case He Was

Disposed To Use Violence.

"See," I Continued, Removing The Hat Of Mr. Critchet, And Throwing Back

His Collar, "He Does Not Look So Very Weak, After All."

I Noticed The Stranger Gave A Convulsive Start When He Saw That Pale

Face, So Full Of Mild Reproach; I Heard Him Utter An Exclamation Which

Sounded Like An Oath, And Then He Turned And Rushed Frantically Towards

The Door; But Before He Reached It, He Was Attacked By An Enemy In His

Rear That He Little Counted On.

Rover, Who Had Been Lying Quietly At Our Feet, Watching The Movements Of

The Stranger With Distrust, Yet Apparently Determined To Give The Man A

Fair Hearing Before He Made Up His Mind In Regard To His Character,

Uttered A Yell When He Saw Our Visitor Turn To Fly, And Before He

Reached The Door The Faithful Dog Had Seized A Portion Of His Garments

On That Section Of His Body Where The Strain Is Supposed To Be The

Strongest, And, With Defiant Growls, Held Him Fast.

"Call Off Your Dog," Shouted Follet, With An Oath, "Or I'll Send A Ball

Through His Lean Carcass."

"If You But Offer To Lay Your Hand Upon A Pistol You Are A Dead Man!"

Exclaimed Fred; "Remain Quiet, And You Are Safe."

"Why Should I Obey You?" Demanded Follet, With A Sudden Jerk Of His

Body, For The Purpose Of Freeing Himself From The Jaws Of The Dog, In

Which He Was Unsuccessful, For Rover Took A Double Grip, And I Think

That His Teeth Grazed The Forger's Flesh, For He Attempted To Apply His

Hands To The Spot, But Was Not Able, And Therefore They Once More Sought

The Formidable Pistols Which His Pockets Contained.

"Curse You And Your Dog! Do You Think I'm A Bullock, To Be Thus Dragged

Down, And Make No Resistance?"

He Was In The Act Of Cocking The Pistol When A Slight Blow Upon His Arm,

Near The Elbow, With The Butt Of A Stock-Whip, Made