A Strange gold Field by Guy Boothby.

Of course, nine out of every ten intelligent persons will refuse to believe that there could be a crane of truth in the story.

I am now going to tell you the tenth may have some small faith in my veracity, But what I think of his intelligence, I am going to keep to myself.

In a certain portion of a certain Australian colony, two miners were now prospecting in what was then as now one of the dreariest parts of the island continent.

Chanced upon a rich find.

They applied to government for the usual reward, and in less than a month, three thousand people were settled on the field.

What privations they had to go through to get there, in the miseries they had to endure when they did reach their journey's end, have only a remote bearing on this story, But they would make a big book.

I should explain that between a railcad and the field was a stretch of country, some three hundred miles in extent.

It was badly watered, vilely grasped, and execrably timbered.

What was even worse, a considerable portion of it was made up of red sand, and everybody who has been compelled to travel over that knows what it means.

Yet, these enthusiastic seekers after wealth pushed on, some on horseback, some in bullok wagens, the majority traveled on foot.

The grave and the skeleton of cattle belonging to those who had preceded them, punctuating their route in telling them what they might expect as they advanced.

That the field did not prove a success is now a matter of history.

That same history, if you read between the lines, gives one some notion of what the life must have been like when it lasted.

The water supply was entirely insufficient, provisions were bad and ruinously expensive.

The men themselves, as a rule, were the roughest of the roof, while the less said about the majority of the women the better.

Then Typhoid stepped in and stalked like the destroying angel through the camp.

Its inhabitants went down like sheep in a draft, and for most part rose no more.

Where there had been a lust of gold, there was now panic.

Terror.

Every man feared that he might be the next to be attacked.

And it was only the knowledge of those terrible three hundred miles that separated them from civilization, that kept many of them on the field.

The most thickly populated part was now the cemetery.

Dwink was the only solace, and under its influence such scenes were enacted as I dare not describe.

As they heard of fresh deaths, men shook their fists at heaven and cursed the day when they first saw pigger shovel some border than the rest cleared out just as they stood.

A few eventually reached civilization.

Others perished in the desert.

At last, the field was declared abandoned, and the dead were left to take their last long sleep, undisturbed by the clank of windlass or the blow of pick.

Itod take too long to tell all the different reasons that combined to draw me out into that most distressful country.

The lids suffice that our party consisted of a young Englishman named Spicer, a wildly old Australian bushman named Matthews, and myself.

We were better off than the unfortunate miners inasmuch as we were traveling with camels, and our outfits was as perfect as money and experience could make them.

The man who travels in any other fashion in the country is neither more nor less than a madman.

For a month past, we've been having a fairly rough time of it, and were then on our way south when we had reason to believe rain had fallen, and in consequence grass was plentiful.

It was towards evening when we came out of a gully in their ranges and had our first view of the deserted camp.

We had no idea of its existence, and for this reason we pulled up our animals and stared at it in complete surprise.

Then we pushed on again, wondering what on earth place we had chanced upon.

This is all right, said Spicer, with a chuckle.

We're in luck shanties and stores, the bath and perhaps girls.

I shook my head.

I can't make it out.

What's it doing out here?

Matthews was looking at it honor his hand, and as I knew that he had been out in this direction on a previous occasion, I asked his opinion.

It bates me, he replied, But if you ask me what I think, I should say, it's Garnia, the field that was deserted some four or five years back.

Look here, cried Spicer, who was riding a bit on our left.

What are all these things graves?

As I'm a living man here, Let's get out of this.

There are hundreds of them, and before I know where I am old polyphemus here were beyond his nose what he said was correct.

The ground over which we were riding was literally bestrewn with graves, some of which had rough tumbledown head boards, other being destitutes of old adornment.

We turned away and moved on over safer ground in the direction of the field itself.

Such a pitiful sight I never want to see again.

The tents and had some new cases were still standing, while the claims gaped at us on every side, like new made graves.

A bullock drave with a wand but still in excellent condition, stood in the main street, outside a grog shanty, whose sign board, strange in congruity, bore the name of the Killarney Hotel.

Nothing would suit Spicer but that he must dismount and go in to explore.

He was not long away, and when he returned, it was with a face as white as a sheet of paper.

You never saw such a place.

He almost whispered.

All I want to do is to get out of it.

There's a skeleton on the floor in the back room, with an empty rum bottle alongside it.

He mounted, and when his beast was on its feet once more, we went on our way.

None of us was sorry.

When we had left the last claim behind us, half a mile and fifty from the field, the country begins to rise again.

There's also a curious cliff away to the left, and as it looked like being a likely place to fight water, were resolved to camp there.

We were within a hundred yards or so of this cliff, and an exclamation from Spiser attracted my attention.

Look, he cried, what's that?

I followed the direction in which he was pointing, and to my surprise saw the figure of a man running as if for his life among the rocks.

I have set the figure of a man, but as a matter of fact, had there been baboons in the Australian bush, I should have been inclined to have taken him for one.

This is a day's surprise, as I said, who can the fellow be in?

What makes him act like that?

We still continued to watch him as he proceeded on his erratic course along the base of the cliff.

Then he suddenly disappeared.

Let's get on to camp, I said, and then we'll go after him and endeavor to set old meadows a bit.

Having selected a place, we off settled and prepared our camp.

By this time it was nearly dark, and it was very evident that if we wanted to discover the man we had seen, it would be wise not to postpone the search too long.

We, accordingly a strawled off in the direction he had taken, keeping a sharp lookout for any side of him.

Our search, however, was not successful.

The fellow had disappeared without leaving a trace of his whereabouts behind him, and yet we were all certain that we had seen him.

At length, we returned to our campus upper, completely mystified.

As we at our meal, we discussed the problem involved that, on the moral we would renew the search.

Then the full moon rose over the cliff, and the plane immediately became well nigh as bright as day.

I had lit my pipe and was stretching myself out upon my blankets when something induced me to look across at a big rocks some half dozen paces from the fire, peering round it and evidently taking an absorbing interest in our doings.

Was the most extraordinary figure I have ever beheld, shouting something to my companions, I sprang to my feet and dashed across at him.

He saw me and fled.

All as he apparently was, he could run like a jack rabbitt, And though I have the reputation of being fairly quick on my feet, I found that I had all my work cut out to catch him.

Indeed, I'm rather doubtful as to whether I should have done so at all had he not tripped and measured his necks on the ground.

Before he could get up, I was on him.

I've got you a last, my friend, I said, now you just come along back to the camp and let us have a look at you.

In reply, he snarled like a dog, and I believe would have bitten me had I not held him off.

My word, he was a creature more animal than man, and the wreak of him was worse than that of our camels.

From what I could tell, he must have been about sixty years of age, was below the middle hide, had one eyebrows, white hair, and a white beard.

He was dressed partly in rags and partly in skins, and went barefooted like a black fellow.

While I was overhewling him, the others came up, whereupon Wius called him back to the camp.

Oh what would in bottom give for him?

Said Spicer.

You're a beauty, my friend, and no mistake.

What's your name?

The fellow only grunted in reply.

Then, seeing the pipes in our mouths, a curious change came over him, and he muttered something that resembled give me want to smoke?

Interrupted Matthews.

Poor beggar's been without for a long time.

I reckon, Well, I've got an old pipe, so he can have a draw.

He procured one from his back saddle, filled it and handed it to the man, who snatched it coreedily and began to puff away at it.

How long have you been out here, I asked, when he had squatted himself down alongside the fire.

Don't know, he answered, this time plainly enough.

Can't you get back?

Continued Matthews, who knew the nature of the country on the other side.

Don't want to was the other's laconic reply.

Stay here, I heard, Spice, I mutter, mad, mad as a much hare.

We then tried to get out of him where he hailed from, but he had either forgotten or didn't understand.

Next, we inquired how he managed to live to this.

He answered, ready enough, connies.

Now the carnie is a lizard of the iguano type, and eaten raw would be by no means an appetizing dish.

Then came the question that gives me my reason for telling this story.

It was Pisser who put it.

You must have a lonely time of it out here, said the latter.

Hows you manage for company?

There is the field, he said, A sociable a field as you'd find.

But the field's deserted, man I put in, and has been for years.

The old fellow shook his head.

As sociable a field as you ever saw, he repeated.

There's Selah Dick and Frisco Dick, Johnson, Cockney, Jim, and half a hundred of them.

They're taking in out power for a bridge on the Golden South, so I heard.

When I was down at the Canary a while back.

It was plain to Assaul that the old man was, as Spicer had said, as mad as a hatter.

For some minutes he rumbled on about the field, talking rasianly.

Enough.

I must confess, that is to say.

It would have seemed rational enough if we hadn't known the true facts of the case.

At last, he got on to his feet, saying, well, I must be going.

That'll be expecting me.

It's my shift on with Cockney Jim.

But ye don't work at night, growled Matthews from the other side of the fire.

We work always, the other replied.

If you don't believe me, come and see for yourselves.

I wouldn't go back to that place for anything, said Spicer, But I must confess that my curiosity had been aroused, and I determined to go, if only to see what this strange creedy did.

When we got there, Matthew decided to accompany me, and, not wishing to be left alone, Spicer at length agreed to do the same.

Without looking round, the old fellow led the way across the plain towards the field.

Of all the nocturnal excursions I've made in my life, that was certainly the most uncanny.

Not once did our guide turn his head, but pushed on at a base that gave us some trouble to keep up with him.

It was only when we came to the first claim that he paused.

Listen, he said, and you can hear the camp at work, then you'll believe me.

We did listen, and as I live, we could distantly hear the rustling of sluice boxes and cradles, the groaning of wind glasses, in fact, the noise you hear on a goldfield at the busiest hour of the day.

We moved a little closer, and believe me or not, I swear to you, I could see, I thought I could see the shadowy forms of men moving a bell in that ghostly moonlight.

Meanwhile, the wind sighed across the plain, flapping what remained of the old tents and giving an additional touch of horror to the general desolation.

I could hear Spice's teeth chattering behind me, and for my own part, I felt as if my blood were turning to ice.

That's the claim the Golden South awaiteth right there, said the old man.

And if you were come along with me, I'll introduce you to my mates.

But this was an honor, we declined, and without hesitation, I wouldn't have gone any further among those tents.

For the way of all the indies.

I've had enough of this, said Spiser, And I can tell you I hardly recognized his voice.

Let's get back to camp.

By this time our guide had left us and was making his way in the direction he had indicated.

We could plainly hear him addressing imaginary people as we marched along.

As for ourselves, we turned about and hurried back to our camp as fast as we could go.

Once there, the grog bottle was produced, and never did three mens tand more in need of stimulants.

Then we set to work to find some explanation of what we had seen, or had fancied we saw, But it was impossible.

The wind might have rattled the old windlasses, but it could not be held accountable for those shadowy gray forms that had moved about.

Among the claims, I give it up, said Spiser.

At last, I know that I never want to see it again.

What's more, I votes that we clear out of here to morrow morning.

We all agreed, and then retired to our blankets.

But for my part, I do not mind confessing I scarcely slept a wink all night.

The thought that that hideous old man might be hanging about the camp would alone be sufficient for that next morning.

As soon as it was light we breakfasted, but before we broke camp, Matthews and I set off along the cliff in an attempt to discover our acquaintance of the previous evening.

Though however we searched high and low for a port of an hour, no success rewarded us.

By mutual consent, were resolved not to look for him on a field.

When we returned to Spicer, we placed such tobacco and stores as we could spare under the shadow of the Big Rock, where the mystery would be likely to see them.

Then mounted our camels and resumed our journey, heartily glad to be on our way once more.

Corona Goldfield is a place I never desired to visit again.

I don't like its population and of a strange goldfield