e dark forest and their heads bent over the
gold, they transferred the precious contents of the dish to a strong
chamois-leather bag. Moonlight held open the mouth of the receptacle,
and watched the process eagerly. About half the pleasant task was done,
when suddenly a voice behind them said, "Who the blazes are _you_?"

Turning quickly, they saw standing behind them two men who had emerged
from the forest.

Seizing an axe which lay beside him, Moonlight assumed an attitude of
defence. Scarlett, who was weaponless, stood firm and rigid, ready for
an onslaught.

"You seem to have struck it," said the newcomer who had spoken, his
greedy eyes peering at the dish. "Do put down that axe, mate. We ain't
bushrangers."

Moonlight lowered the head of his weapon, and said, "Yes, we've got the
colour."

"Blow me if it ain't my friend Moonlight!" exclaimed the second
intruder, advancing towards the diggers. "How's yerself?"

"Nicely, thank you," replied Moonlight. "Come far to-day?"

"A matter of eight hours' tramp--but not so fer; the bush is mighty
thick. This is my mate. Here, Ben, shake 'ands."

It was none other than Benjamin Tresco who came forward. As he lowered
his "swag" to the ground, he said, smiling urbanely, "How de do? I
reckon you've jumped our claim. But we bear no malice. We'll peg out
another."

"This ain't ours," said the Prospector, "not by chalks. You're above the
gorge, ain't you?"

"Yes," replied Moonlight, "I should reckon we must be a mile above it."

"Where I worked," continued Bill, "was more'n a mile below the gorge.
What are you makin'?"

"A few pennyweights," responded Moonlight.

"It looks like it!" exclaimed the Prospector, glancing at the
richly-laden dish. "Look 'ere, Ben: a few pennyweights, that's all--just
makin' tucker. Poor devils!"

Moonlight laughed, and so did Scarlett.

"Well, we might do worse than put our pegs alongside theirs, eh, Ben?"

"Oceans worse," replied Tresco.

"Did you prospect the gorge?" asked Moonlight.

"I wasn't never in the gorge," said the Prospector. "The river was too
high, all the time I was working; but there's been no rain for six
weeks, so she's low now."

Tresco advanced with mock trepidation, and looked closely at the gold in
the chamois-leather bag, which he lifted with assumed difficulty. "About
half a hundredweight," he said. "How much more of this sort have you
got?"

Moonlight ignored the question, but turning to the Prospector,