"If
this is what you call mining, I'm full of it."

"It's no use grumbling, anyway," Peters said quietly. "We haven't seen
what's on the other side of the slope. There's no saying. If the creek
starts running we may yet strike Palmer Billy's reef."

"Call it after yourself; I ain't boss now. I've had my shot and failed;
but it seems to me I might as well have had another, seeing the result's
the same."

"Well, anyhow, let's move along out of this and see if we can strike
something. I've not done yet," Peters, still unruffled, replied.

The way up from the previous day's camp had been difficult; the way down
was doubly so. The parched, dry soil absorbed the rain as quickly as it
fell, with the result that the steep surface became loose and slippery,
and the horses could scarcely keep their feet. They slipped and
staggered along in a zigzag fashion, the men leading them, and as the
rain continued to fall, there were shreds and patches of mist sweeping
round the hill, which made it more awkward to pick a safe road and at
the same time keep the direction they desired. With their attention
mostly given to their horses--for if one fell it would be almost
impossible to save it from serious if not fatal injury--and with their
tempers still ruffled by the combined discomfort of the wet, the
fatigue, and disappointment, no one noticed particularly which way they
were going, save that each followed the other, the first man being
Peters. Sometimes they had to ascend and sometimes to descend, as the
lay of the land demanded; and so they struggled along, until suddenly a
sharp cry from the leader roused the others to look up. Then they also
uttered exclamations, for they found that instead of descending they had
only succeeded in travelling round the top of the hill, to emerge again
on to the bare, rugged summit.

The rain was driving in their faces; they were cold and uncomfortable,
and their horses as well as themselves were tired by the useless
scramble they had just accomplished. Peters, with a short-headed miner's
pick-axe, which he had used to steady himself, in his hand, was standing
beside a small boulder, which loomed as a dark, purple shade under the
cold, grey rain-clouds. It was the first sign of anger or irritation he
had displayed, but the expressions of opinion of the other three were
not soothing on top of his own feelings, and, with vindictive malice, he
struck at the boulder with the blunt head of the pick-axe