Robinson enrolled him in his police and it was the fashion openly to quiz, and secretly respect him.

Robinson also made friends with the women, in particular with one Mary McDogherty, wife of a very unsuccessful digger.  Many a pound of potatoes Pat and she had from the captain, and this getting wind secured the good will of the Irish boys.

CHAPTER LXI.

GEORGE was very homesick.

“Haven’t we got a thousand pounds apiece yet?”

“Hush! no! not quite; but too much to bawl about.”

“And we never shall till you take my advice, and trace the gold to its home in the high rocks.  Here we are plodding for dust, and one good nugget would make us.”

“Well! well!” said Robinson, “the moment the dry weather goes you shall show me the home of the gold.”  Poor George and his nuggets!

“That is a bargain,” said George, “and now I have something more to say.  Why keep so much gold in our tent?  It makes me fret.  I am for selling some of it to Mr. Levi.

“What, at three pounds the ounce? not if I know it.”

“Then why not leave it with him to keep?”

“Because it is safer in its little hole in our tent.  What do the diggers care for Mr. Levi?  You and I respect him, but I am the man they swear by.  No, George, Tom Weasel isn’t caught napping twice in the same year.  Don’t you see I’ve been working this four months past to make my tent safe? and I’ve done it.  It is watched for me night and day, and if our swag was in the Bank of England it wouldn’t be safer than it is.  Put that in your pipe.  Well, Carlo, what is the news in your part?”

Carlo came running up to George, and licked his face, which just rose above the hole.

“What is it, Carlo?” asked George, in some astonishment.

“Ha! ha!” laughed the other.  “Here is the very dog come out to encourage his faint-hearted master.”

“No!” said George, “it can’t be that—­he means something—­be quiet, Carlo, licking me to pieces—­but what it is Heaven only knows; don’t you encourage him; he has no business out of the tent—­go back, Carlo—­go into kennel, sir;” and off slunk Carlo back into the tent, of which he was the day sentinel.

“Tom,” remarked George, thoughtfully, “I believe Carlo wanted to show me something; he is a wonderful wise dog.”

“Nonsense,” cried Robinson, sharply, “he heard you at the old lay, grumbling, and came to say cheer up, old fellow.”

While Robinson was thus quizzing George, a tremendous noise was suddenly heard in their tent.  A scuffle—­a fierce, muffled snarl—­and a human yell; with a cry, almost as loud, the men bounded out of their hole, and, the blood running like melting ice down their backs with apprehension, burst into the tent; then they came upon a sight that almost drew the eyes out of their heads.