`Yes,'said Dave,guttural.
Pinter dropped his tools with a clatter at the foot of the waste-heap and scratched under his ear like an old cockatoo,which bird he resembled.
Then he went to the windlass,and resting his hands on his knees,he peered down,while Dave stood by helpless and hopeless.
Pinter straightened himself,blinking like an owl,and looked carelessly over the graveyard.
`Tryin'for a secon'bottom,'he reflected absently.`Eh,Dave?'
Dave only stood and looked black.
Pinter tilted back his head and scratched the roots of his chin-feathers,which stuck out all round like a dirty,ragged fan held horizontally.
`Kullers is safe,'reflected Pinter.
`All right?'snapped Dave.`I suppose we must let him into it.'
`Kullers'was a big American buck nigger,and had been Pinter's mate for some time --Pinter was a man of odd mates;and what Pinter meant was that Kullers was safe to hold his tongue.
Next morning Pinter and his coloured mate appeared on the ground early,Pinter with some tools and the nigger with a windlass-bole on his shoulders.
Pinter chose a spot about three panels or thirty feet along the other fence,the back fence of the cemetery,and started his hole.He lost no time for the sake of appearances,he sunk his shaft and started to drive straight for the point under the cemetery for which Dave was making;he gave out that he had bottomed on good `indications'running in the other direction,and would work the ground outside the fence.
Meanwhile Dave rigged a fan --partly for the sake of appearances,but mainly because his and Jim's lively imaginations made the air in the drive worse than it really was.A `fan'is a thing like a paddle-wheel rigged in a box,about the size of a cradle,and something the shape of a shoe,but rounded over the top.
There is a small grooved wheel on the axle of the fan outside,and an endless line,like a clothes-line,is carried over this wheel and a groove in the edge of a high light wooden driving-wheel rigged between two uprights in the rear and with a handle to turn.
That's how the thing is driven.A wind-chute,like an endless pillow-slip,made of calico,with the mouth tacked over the open toe of the fan-box,and the end taken down the shaft and along the drive --this carries the fresh air into the workings.
Dave was working the ground on each side as he went,when one morning a thought struck him that should have struck him the day Pinter went to work.
He felt mad that it hadn't struck him sooner.
Pinter and Kullers had also shifted their tent down into a nice quiet place in the Bush close handy;so,early next Sunday morning,while Pinter and Kullers were asleep,Dave posted Jim Bently to watch their tent,and whistle an alarm if they stirred,and then dropped down into Pinter's hole and saw at a glance what he was up to.
After that Dave lost no time:he drove straight on,encouraged by the thuds of Pinter's and Kullers'picks drawing nearer.
They would strike his tunnel at right angles.Both parties worked long hours,only knocking off to fry a bit of steak in the pan,boil the billy,and throw themselves dressed on their bunks to get a few hours'sleep.
Pinter had practical experience and a line clear of graves,and he made good time.The two parties now found it more comfortable to be not on speaking terms.Individually they grew furtive,and began to feel criminal like --at least Dave and Jim did.
They'd start if a horse stumbled through the Bush,and expected to see a mounted policeman ride up at any moment and hear him ask questions.
They had driven about thirty-five feet when,one Saturday afternoon,the strain became too great,and Dave and Jim got drunk.
The spree lasted over Sunday,and on Monday morning they felt too shaky to come to work and had more drink.On Monday afternoon,Kullers,whose shift it was below,stuck his pick through the face of his drive into the wall of Dave's,about four feet from the end of it:the clay flaked away,leaving a hole as big as a wash-hand basin.
They knocked off for the day and decided to let the other party take the offensive.
Tuesday morning Dave and Jim came to work,still feeling shaky.
Jim went below,crawled along the drive,lit his candle,and stuck it in the spiked iron socket and the spike in the wall of the drive,quite close to the hole,without noticing either the hole or the increased freshness in the air.He started picking away at the `face'and scraping the clay back from under his feet,and didn't hear Kullers come to work.
Kullers came in softly and decided to try a bit of cheerful bluff.
He stuck his great round black face through the hole,the whites of his eyes rolling horribly in the candle-light,and said,with a deep guffaw --`'Ullo!you dar'?'
No bandicoot ever went into his hole with the dogs after him quicker than Jim came out of his.He scrambled up the shaft by the foot-holes,and sat on the edge of the waste-heap,looking very pale.
`What's the matter?'asked Dave.`Have you seen a ghost?'
`I've seen the --the devil!'gasped Jim.`I'm --I'm done with this here ghoul business.'
The parties got on speaking terms again.Dave was very warm,but Jim's language was worse.Pinter scratched his chin-feathers reflectively till the other party cooled.There was no appealing to the Commissioner for goldfields;they were outside all law,whether of the goldfields or otherwise --so they did the only thing possible and sensible,they joined forces and became `Poynton,Regan,&Party'.
They agreed to work the ground from the separate shafts,and decided to go ahead,irrespective of appearances,and get as much dirt out and cradled as possible before the inevitable exposure came along.
They found plenty of `payable dirt',and soon the drive ended in a cluster of roomy chambers.They timbered up many coffins of various ages,burnt tarred canvas and brown paper,and kept the fan going.
Outside they paid the storekeeper with difficulty and talked of hard times.
