t it, Moonlight! There's fully a couple of ounces on this ledge
alone."

The bearded man splashed through the water, and looked eagerly at the
gold lying just above the water-line.

"My boy, where there's that much on a ledge there'll be hundreds of
ounces in the creek."

He rapidly pushed ahead, examining the crevices of the rock, above and
below the water-line.

"It's here in stacks," he exclaimed, "only waiting to be scraped out
with the blade of a knife."

Drawing his sheath-knife from his belt, he suited the action to the
word; and standing in the water, the two men collected gold as children
gather shells on the shore.

And the Bush Robin watched the gold-seekers take possession of the
treasured things, which he had looked upon as his own especial property;
fancying that they glittered merely for his delight.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Robbery of the Mails.

The night was pitch dark; the wind had gone to rest, and not a ripple
stirred the face of the black waters.

"Ahoy! there."

"Comin', comin'. I've only bin waitin', this 'arf hour."

The man standing at the horse's head ran round to the back of his
"express"--a vehicle not unlike a square tray on four wheels--and,
letting down the tail-board, pulled out a number of mail-bags.

With two of these under each arm, he made his way to the wooden steps
which led down to the water's edge, and the men in the boat heard the
shuffling and scraping of his feet, as he felt with his boot for the
topmost step; his hands being fully occupied in holding the bags.

Slowly, step by step, he stumped down to the water, where willing hands
took his burden and stowed it in the bottom of the boat.

"Four," said the carrier. "One more lot, and that lets me out."

As he reached the top of the wharf, on his return journey, the bright
lamps of his express dazzled his eyes, and somebody cannoned against him
at the back of the trap.

"Now, then! Who're yer shovin' up agin?"

"All right, my man. I'm not stealing any of the bags."

The express-man recognised the voice.

"Is that you, Mr. Crookenden? Beg pardon, sir."

"Come, come, get the mail aboard. My men don't want to be out in the
boat all night."

The man carried down his last load of bags, and returned, panting.

"There's only the paper to be signed," he said, "and then they can
clear."

"Give _me_ the form."

The man handed a piece of paper to the mail-contractor.

"How many bags?"

"Eight."

By