Page:Banking Under Difficulties- Or Life On The Goldfields Of Victoria, New South Wales And New Zealand (1888).pdf/143

134 letter, and as much more for bringing one from the Greymouth post-office, it was money hardly earned. In a fortnight’s trip I usually used to make from £40 to £50. With this I used, when I got to Greymouth, to make myself comfortable, and live as a gentleman for about a fortnight or three weeks. Of course I was a young fool in those days, and made the money fly, and even then there were a certain percentage of well-bred loafers who were only too happy to be ‘shouted’ for without having to ‘shout’ in return.

“On one occasion whilst at ‘Red Jack’s’ I heard of a way to Notown that would materially shorten the distance. I had nearly sold out, and was on my way down to Greymouth. I had with me nearly £100, besides a few watches given to me to get repaired, as well as several letters. By this time my constant appearance at, or near the stated time, had invested me with all the privileges of a postman. Mails to the outlying districts there were none.

“To me came a digger. ‘You want to find the short track to Notown.’

“‘I do.’

“‘Then we’ll travel in company, for I am going there too, and know the way.’

“‘Thanks,’ I replied, ‘we had better start at once.’ It was then about three p.m., and the short track was reckoned eight miles.

“Before going we had of course the usual ‘liquor up, in fact two or three, and my guide also took some with him.

“After some steep climbing, we found ourselves on the top of a range, having walked about four miles. There were several tracks about, leading to various old prospecting claims, most of which had been long since deserted. ‘Are you quite sure of the way,’ I asked.

“‘Yes, I think so,’ was my companion’s reply.’ ‘At any rate this is our direction.’

“I thought this pleasant, especially as a dense mizzling rain was falling, rendering it impossible to distinguish the points of the compass.

“We walked on for about a mile when my mate exclaimed, ‘I believe we’re wrong after all! Anyhow, Notown must lie this way.’

“I remonstrated and endeavoured to induce him to camp where we were, and return on the same track in the morning, wishing heartily I had not taken the short (?) track.

“It was of no avail, and not wishing to be left behind, I started into the bush with him.

“‘Soon night closed in. Nothing was to be heard to disturb the deathlike silence but the drip, drip, of the rain, or the melancholy cry of the ‘weka’ or Maori hen. Cold, weary,