Twice Bought | Page 6

the thought of death, his recent life, and judgment, flashed through
his brain. He drew out the knife, however, to make another desperate
thrust. The bear's great throat was close over his face. He thought of its
jugular vein, and made a deadly thrust at the spot where he imagined
that to run.
Instantly a flood of warm blood deluged his face and breast; at the same
time he felt as if some dreadful weight were pressing him to death.
Then consciousness forsook him.
While this desperate fight was going on, the miners of Pine Tree camp
were scouring the woods in all directions in search of the fugitive. As
we have said, great indignation was felt at that time against thieves,
because some of them had become very daring, and cases of theft were
multiplying. Severe penalties had been imposed on the culprits by the
rest of the community without curing the evil. At last death was
decided on as the penalty for any act of theft, however trifling it might
be. That these men were in earnest was proved by the summary
execution of the next two offenders who were caught. Immediately
after that thieving came to an abrupt end, insomuch that if you had left
a bag of gold on an exposed place, men would have gone out of their
way to avoid it!
One can understand, therefore, the indignation that was roused in the
camp when Tom Brixton revived the practice in such a cool and
impudent manner. It was felt that, despite his being a favourite with
many of the diggers, he must be made an example. Pursuit was,
therefore, organised on an extensive scale and in a methodical manner.
Among others, his friend Fred Westly took part in it.

It cost those diggers something thus to give up the exciting work of
gold-finding for a chase that promised to occupy time and tax
perseverance. Some of them even refused to join in it, but on the whole
the desire for vengeance seemed general.
Bully Gashford, as he did not object to be called, was, in virtue of his
size, energy, and desperate character, tacitly appointed leader. Indeed
he would have assumed that position if it had not been accorded to him,
for he was made of that stuff which produces either heroes of the
highest type or scoundrels of the deepest dye. He arranged that the
pursuers should proceed in a body to the mouth of the valley, and there,
dividing into several parties, scatter themselves abroad until they
should find the thief's trail and then follow it up. As the miners were
not much accustomed to following trails, they engaged the services of
several Indians who chanced to be at the camp at that time.
"What direction d'ye think it's likely your precious chum has taken?"
asked Gashford, turning abruptly to Fred Westly when the different
parties were about to start.
"It is impossible for me to tell."
"I know that," retorted Gashford, with a scowl and something of a sneer,
"but it ain't impossible for you to guess. However, it will do as well if
you tell me which party you intend to join."
"I shall join that which goes to the south-west," replied Westly.
"Well, then, I will join that which goes to the south-east," returned the
bully, shouldering his rifle. "Go ahead, you red reptile," he added,
giving a sign to the Indian at the head of the party he had selected to
lead.
The Indian at once went off at a swinging walk, amounting almost to a
trot. The others followed suit and the forest soon swallowed them all in
its dark embrace.
In making this selection Gashford had fallen into a mistake not

uncommon among scoundrels--that of judging other men by themselves.
He knew that Westly was fond of his guilty friend, and concluded that
he would tell any falsehood or put the pursuers on any false scent that
might favour his escape. He also guessed--and he was fond of
guessing--that Fred would answer his question by indicating the
direction which he thought it most probable his friend had not taken. In
these guesses he was only to a small extent right. Westly did indeed
earnestly hope that his friend would escape; for he deemed the intended
punishment of death most unjustly severe, and, knowing intimately the
character and tendencies of Tom Brixton's mind and tastes, he had a
pretty shrewd guess as to the direction he had taken, but, so far from
desiring to throw the pursuers off the scent his main anxiety was to join
the party which he thought most likely to find the fugitive--if they
should find him at all--in order that he might be present to defend him
from sudden or unnecessary violence.
Of course