“What is it?  Smoke rising—­down the valley ?”

“We are done!  Didn’t I tell you?”

“Don’t say so, Tom.  Why, it is only smoke, and five miles off.”

“What signifies what it is or where it is?  It is on the road to us.”

“I hope better.”

“What is the use of hoping nonsense?  Was it there yesterday?  Well, then.”

“Don’t you be faint-hearted,” said George.  “We are not caught yet.  I wonder whether Susan would say it was a sin to try and mislead them?”

“A sin!  I wish I knew how, I’d soon see.  That was a good notion.  This place is five hundred pound a day to us.  We must keep it to-day by hook or by crook.  Come with me, quick.  Bring your tools and the bag.”

George followed Robinson in utter ignorance of his design; that worthy made his way as fast as he could toward the smoke.  When they got within a mile of it the valley widened and the smoke was seen rising from the side of the stream.  Concealing themselves, they saw two men beating the ground on each side like pointers.  Robinson drew back.  “They are hunting up the stream,” said he, “it is there we must put the stopper on them.”

They made eastward for the stream which they had left.

“Come,” said Robinson, “here is a spot that looks likely to a novice; dig and cut it up all you can.”

George was mystified but obeyed, and soon the place looked as if men had been at work on it some time.  Then Robinson took out a handful of gold-dust and coolly scattered it over a large heap of mould.

“What are you at?  Are you mad, Tom?  Why, there goes five pounds.  What a sin!”

“Did you never hear of the man that flung away a sprat to catch a whale?  Now turn back to our hole.  Stop, leave your pickax, then they will think we are coming back to work.”

In little more than half an hour they were in their little gully working like mad.  They ate their dinner working.  At five o’clock George pointed out to Robinson no less than seven distinct columns of smoke rising about a mile apart all down the valley.

“Ay!” said Robinson, “those six smokes are hunting the smoke that is hunting us! but we have screwed another day out.”

Just as the sun was setting, a man came into the gully with a pickax on his shoulder.

“Ah! how d’ye do?” said Robinson, in a mock friendly accent.  “We have been expecting you.  Thank you for bringing us our pickax.”

The man gave a sort of rueful laugh and came and delivered the pick and coolly watched the cradle.

“Why don’t you ask what you want to know?” said Robinson.

The man sneered.  “Is that the way to get the truth from a digger?” said he.

“It is from me, and the only one.”

“Oh! then what are you doing, mate?”

“About ten ounces of gold per hour.”

The man’s mouth and eyes both opened.  “Come, my lad,” said Robinson, good-naturedly, “of course I am not glad you have found us, but since you are come, call your pals, light fires, and work all night.  To-morrow it will be too late.”