Читать книгу The Last Chance: A Tale of the Golden West онлайн

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‘We strike an old camel track,’ said his companion, after they were fairly started; ‘it was made just after the Kurnalpi field broke out. They don’t take that line now, and just as well. It’s wonderful how they missed our “bonanza,” but that’s what you’ll notice on every field—they’ll go washin’ and cradlin’ in every gully but the right ’un, and almost break their shins over the real thing without ever knowin’ it.’

ssss1The dawn was painting the pale east with gold streaks and crimson patches as they broke camp and headed for a peak, of which the irregular outline stood in sharp relief against the glowing sky. They had quitted the camel-track, obscured in places by the blown sand and occasional storm showers, and now struck boldly across the limitless plain. Their landmark was distinct, and encouraging, as relieving them from anxiety about the route. As the Commissioner gazed upon the bold outline of the fantastic peak, one thought possessed his mind, dominating all others. Here was the goal of his ambition: the secret hope which had during long years of struggle and self-denial kept alive the prospect of eventual prosperity, such as should comprehend peace of mind, in a well-ordered country home near the metropolis, education of the children, social privileges, with a modest allowance of travel and art culture, and generally unrestricted rational enjoyment. Would this mysterious mountain lead them to a veritable Sinbad’s valley of diamonds, or would the fairy gold, by virtue of the magical transmutation which seems connected with rich deposits of the precious metals, be for them rendered illusionary and disappointing? Would they find the sacred spot already captured and despoiled; desecrated by alien pegs, and filled with defiant claimants? He knew the keenness with which a prospector’s track could be followed up—by men versed in the lore of the wilderness—the outcome of those who, like his guide and partner, ‘had done a perish,’ in goldfields argot, ssss1 not less hazardous than he; their safety, their very existence, dependent upon such a hazard—a mere cast of the die, as might be this. It grew, this dark surmise, raged and traversed his brain, increasing in force and virulence, until he almost imagined that he saw in the dim distance the outline of a tent, the form of a man, the thin thread of smoke which goes up from a tiny desert fire, such as, God in Heaven! he remembered noting so well of old. It was a trick of the imagination doubtless. Was he indeed becoming lightheaded? Was distemper of the brain setting in? He was wont to regard himself as a level-headed person, cool in emergency, steadfast to bear untoward circumstance. He would wait, and divert his thoughts for a while. He would drive out one frame of mind by compelling another—several other imagined states of mind to take its place. He thought then, at first resolutely—then as the picture became more clear and vivid, of the happy day of his arrival—by coach, of course: they had quitted the train at midnight, and taken their seats, secured by telegram, in the well-horsed, well-lighted, punctual conveyance of Cobb and Co., which has earned so many a blessing from home-returning travellers. The long night was past; the dawn discovered the well-known goldfields road, from which in half an hour—ye gods! but half an hour!—the main street of the old familiar township, with its improvised banks, stores, shops, and hotels, would burst upon the view. Ha! well—I have been dreaming to some purpose. The vision fades. Let us hope that the hill will ssss1 not suffer the fate of ‘Poor Susan’s,’ in those exquisite lines of the poet. Yes! it stands there, clear, neutral-tinted—nude—frowning, as doubtless it has done for centuries, æons, if you will—since the central fires lifted it from the womb of Dame Hertha. The day is older, but the unclouded sky and the atmosphere are of such clearness that distant objects can be discerned with almost perfect certainty; he is awake and alert now, if ever—his senses have not played him false—there is a tent, at no very great distance, and sitting by it, on a box, is a man smoking, while another appears to be putting together articles of camp furniture.