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

"Your Ghost Has Fled," I Said, In A Half Whisper.

At That Instant, As Though To Disprove My Words, We Heard A Sharp, Quick

Blow, That Sounded Like An Iron Shovel Struck Upon Stones. We Uttered No

Word, Or Made The Least Noise, But We Turned Our Looks Upon The Largest

Portion Of The Island With Wonderful Quickness, And, As Though Of One

Mind, We Attempted To Reach The Bridge By A Precipitate Flight. Our

Intentions, However, Were Balked By Our Own Eagerness, For Just As I Was

About Striking Out My Legs Got Mixed Up With My Companion's, And Down We

Both Went, Full Length, Upon The Ground. We Scrambled To Gain Our Feet,

And I Think That I Arose First; But I Had Not Recovered Myself Before I

Was Seized By Mr. Brown In His Frantic Attempts To Arise, And Once More

Fell, And This Time Directly Upon Him, And Over We Rolled Together Until

We Were Brought Up By A Large Rock, Which Prevented Us From Going Any

Farther.

"I Think That We Are Two Of The Biggest Fools In Australia," Mr. Brown

Said, Sitting Up And Listening Attentively.

I Readily Agreed With Him, And Determined To Be No Longer Frightened By

Sight Or Sound. With This Idea, And After A Mutual Vow To Stand By Each

Other, We Crept Along Upon Our Hands And Knees Until We Could Command A

View Of The Spot Where We Had Dug For The Treasure. While We Were

Considering Whether We Should Go Forward Or Remain On The Watch, The

Huge Form Which Had So Frightened Us Slowly Arose, As Though From A

Grave Of Its Own Digging, And, To Our Horror, We Could See The White

Bones And Long Horns Pointing Towards Us, While An Unearthly Groan

Relieved The Monotony Of The Appearance.

With A Trembling Hand I Drew My Revolver, And, In Defiance Of Mr.

Brown's Whispered Remonstrance, I Took As Good Aim As I Was Capable Of

Taking Under The Circumstances, And Fired.

I Heard A Crashing Of Dry Bones, And I Saw The Hideous Head Fall To The

Ground; At The Same Moment A Gruff Voice Shouted, In Angry Tones,--

"What In The Bloody H----L Is You 'Bout, Hey?"

At The Sound Of The Voice, And More Especially The Hearty English Oath,

Mr. Brown Sprang To His Feet, Drew His Knife, And Rushed Towards The

Late Supposed Spiritual Visitant.

All Thoughts Of Fear Were Banished In An Instant, As Soon As We

Discovered That We Had Flesh And Blood To Deal With Instead Of

Grave-Clothes And Pithless Bones.

"Surrender Or Die!" Was The Exclamation Of Mr. Brown, As We Neared The

Object Of Our Late Fears.

"Die Be D----D! What Do You Mean?" Was The Question Asked By The

Interesting Individual Who Attempted To Scrabble From The Hole Which He

Had Been Digging, But Did Not Succeed Before The Ex-Inspector Was Upon

Him.

"Stand Back, Or I'll Let Daylight Into You," Shouted The Fellow, Drawing

A Long Knife, And Acting Upon The Defensive, And The Way He Handled The

Reaper Showed That He Was In Earnest.

We Both Hesitated For A Moment, For The Purpose Of Better Addressing The

Person Who Was So Peremptory In His Threats, But First I Took The

Precaution Of Possessing Myself Of A Long Smooth-Bore Gun Which Was

Lying Near Him, And Which He Had Forgotten To Seize Upon Being

Surprised.

The Man Before Us Was About Six Feet High, (When He Appeared In The

Character Of A Ghost, We Thought He Would Measure Nine,) With Long Hair,

And Beard Of Fiery Red, Which Seemed As Though It Had Not Felt The Touch

Of Comb Or Scissors For Months. Two Little Eyes Almost Concealed, And

Overhanging Eyebrows, Glanced Suspiciously At Us, And Watched Our

Movements, With An Evident Impression That We Intended Mischief, And

That If Such Was The Case Their Owner Was To Be Counted In For A Fight.

Upon The Back And Person Of The Red-Haired Man Were Sheepskins, Made To

Fit His Body, With The Wool Outside. These We Had Imagined Were

Grave-Clothes, And Had Nearly Broken Our Necks To Escape From The

Wearer. We Could Not Refrain From Indulging In A Hearty Laugh At Our

Late Flight And The Occasion Of It, But Our Mirth Made No Impression

Upon The Mysterious Being Before Us.

"No Ye Don't," He Shouted, Brandishing His Knife Before Our Eyes As

Though We Intended To Entrap Him Into Some Snare. "You Mustn't Think

That Ye Is Goin' To Fool An Honest Man Who Is Digging For Roots By The

Full Of The Moon."

"You Dig Rather Deep For Roots," Said Mr. Brown, Stepping To The Edge Of

The Excavation, And Looking Down In Spite Of The Threatening Appearance

Of The Red-Haired Individual.

"I'll Dig As Deep As I Please," He Answered Quickly.

"Of Course I Would," Returned Mr. Brown. "Who Knows But You May Find A

Buried Treasure There If You Keep On Digging?"

"Is That What You Coveys Was Arter?" Demanded The Red Head, With A

Degree Of Interest Which He Had Not Shown Before. "I 'Spected It When I

Seed You Yesterday Crossing The Lodden, And I Determined To Watch."

"What Are You Doing In This Part Of The Country?" Asked Mr. Brown,

Rather Sternly, "As A Recollection Of The Loss Of His Bottle Of Liquor

The Night Before Began To Dawn Upon His Mind.

"You Have No Right To Question Me Any More Than I Have You," Was The

Sulky Response.

"Who Are You Then?" The Other Asked, Somewhat Impatiently.

"That's For You To Find Out The Best Way You Can. If Confidence Is

Wanted, Why, Tell Me Who You Are," And The Red-Haired Genius Seated

Himself On The Edge Of The Excavation, As Though Awaiting An Answer,

Although He Still Kept In Sight His Long And Dangerous Looking Knife.

"I Know Who You Are," My Friend Said, At A Venture; "You Are A Shepherd

On The Hawkswood Estate. We Are Officers Of The Law From Ballarat."

"It's A Lie," Was The Brief Rejoinder. "I Don't Believe Any Thing Of The

Kind."

"You D----D Vagabond," Cried Mr. Brown, Snatching The Long Gun From My

Hand And Presenting It To The Fellow's Heart, "I Have A Strong Desire To

Blow Your Liver Out."

"You Wouldn't Shoot A Fellow With His Own Gun, Would You?" The Impudent

Scamp Asked, Without Manifesting Any Serious Apprehension Of Our Doing

So.

"Well, No, I Hardly Think That Would Be Just," Replied Mr. Brown,

Lowering The Muzzle Of The Gun, And Beginning To Think That He Had Met

With A Strange Customer, Whom It Was Better To Conciliate Than To Cross.

"Come, Tell A Feller Who You Is," The Red-Haired Genius Remarked "Do You

Belong To Buskin's Gang, Or Is You On Your Own Tramp?"

"Neither Suggestion Is Correct--We Are Not Bushrangers, And Never Expect

To Be. We Are Men Of The Law. Now Tell Us Who You Are," My Companion

Said, Calmly Seating Himself Near The Stranger, And Lighting His

Pipe,--A Proceeding That Appeared To Interest Him Intensely, For He

Snuffed The Burning Tobacco Like A War Horse Within Sight Of A Battle

Field.

"Just Give Me One Draw Of That 'Ere Pipe First," Pleaded The Would-Be

Ghost, And His Request Was Gratified.

"Real 'Bacco, And A Real Clay Pipe, By The Bloody Jingoes," He

Exclaimed. "It's Many A Day Since I've Had A Taste Of 'Em Afore."

In Fact The Tobacco Appeared To Open His Heart Amazingly, And In A Short

Time We Had His Whole History.

"My Name," The Stranger Said, "Is Day Bly, Although I'm Commonly Called

Day, For Short. I Was Dragged Up In London, And When I Was Twelve Years

Of Age I Was Apprenticed To An Undertaker. I Used To Take Care Of The

Shop, Clean The Hearse, And Sleep In A Coffin, With Old Pieces Of Mouldy

Velvet Thrown Over Me To Keep Me Warm In The Night Time.

"When I Ate My Meals, It Was Brought Out Of Master's House By One Of The

Servant Girls, And Set On A Pine Coffin, Such As We Used To Furnish The

Poor Devils Who Hadn't Got Much Money, And Who Couldn't Afford To Go The

Expensive Ones. When We Had A Holiday, Such As Christmas, I'd Slyly Move

The Grub To One Of The Polished Silver-Plated Affairs, And Imagined That

I Was Seated At A Real Mahogany Table, And I Tell You Things Use To

Taste Better.

"I Kept That Up Until One Day I Had A Dish Of Meat, That, By Some

Mistake, Never Satisfactorily Accounted For, Was Really Warm, And It

Took The Polish From The Slap-Up Affair,