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“‘Give me your knife, Harry,’ I said.

“He did so, and resting the brown stone on my knee I scratched at its surface. Great heavens, it was soft!

“Another second and the secret was out, we had found a great nugget of pure gold, four pounds of it or more. ‘It’s gold, lad,’ I said, ‘it’s gold, or I’m a Dutchman!’

“Harry, with his eyes starting out of his head, glared down at the gleaming yellow scratch that I had made upon the virgin metal, and then burst out into yell upon yell of exultation, which went ringing away across the silent claims like shrieks of somebody being murdered.

“‘Be quiet!’ I said; ‘do you want every thief on the fields after you?’

“Scarcely were the words out of my mouth when I heard a stealthy footstep approaching. I promptly put the big nugget down and sat on it, and uncommonly hard it was. As I did so I saw a lean dark face poked over the edge of the claim and a pair of beady eyes searching us out. I knew the face, it belonged to a man of very bad character known as Handspike Tom, who had, I understood, been so named at the Diamond Fields because he had murdered his mate with a handspike. He was now no doubt prowling about like a human hyaena to see what he could steal.

“‘Is that you, ‘unter Quatermain?’ he said.

“‘Yes, it’s I, Mr. Tom,’ I answered, politely.

“‘And what might all that there yelling be?’ he asked. ‘I was walking along, a-taking of the evening air and a-thinking on the stars, when I ‘ears ‘owl after ‘owl.’

“‘Well, Mr. Tom,’ I answered, ‘that is not to be wondered at, seeing that like yourself they are nocturnal birds.’

“”Owl after ‘owl!’ he repeated sternly, taking no notice of my interpretation, ‘and I stops and says, “That’s murder,” and I listens again and thinks, “No, it ain’t; that ‘owl is the ‘owl of hexultation; some one’s been and got his fingers into a gummy yeller pot, I’ll swear, and gone off ‘is ‘ead in the sucking of them.” Now, ‘unter Quatermain, is I right? is it nuggets? Oh, lor!’ and he smacked his lips audibly–‘great big yellow boys–is it them that you have just been and tumbled across?’

“‘No,’ I said boldly, ‘it isn’t’–the cruel gleam in his black eyes altogether overcoming my aversion to untruth, for I knew that if once he found out what it was that I was sitting on–and by the way I have heard of rolling in gold being spoken of as a pleasant process, but I certainly do not recommend anybody who values comfort to try sitting on it–I should run a very good chance of being ‘handspiked’ before the night was over.

“‘If you want to know what it was, Mr. Tom,’ I went on, with my politest air, although in agony from the nugget underneath–for I hold it is always best to be polite to a man who is so ready with a handspike–‘my boy and I have had a slight difference of opinion, and I was enforcing my view of the matter upon him; that’s all.’

“‘Yes, Mr. Tom,’ put in Harry, beginning to weep, for Harry was a smart boy, and saw the difficulty we were in, ‘that was it–I halloed because father beat me.’

“‘Well, now, did yer, my dear boy–did yer? Well, all I can say is that a played-out old claim is a wonderful queer sort of place to come to for to argify at ten o’clock of night, and what’s more, my sweet youth, if ever I should ‘ave the argifying of yer’–and he leered unpleasantly at Harry–‘yer won’t ‘oller in quite such a jolly sort ‘o way. And now I’ll be saying good-night, for I don’t like disturbing of a family party. No, I ain’t that sort of man, I ain’t. Good-night to yer, ‘unter Quatermain–good-night to yer, my argified young one;’ and Mr. Tom turned away disappointed, and prowled off elsewhere, like a human jackal, to see what he could thieve or kill.