"What! you want to strike my luck, do you? I wouldn't put a pick in there again for all the diamonds there are in the coast of the earth."

"Well, if you don't like to work the place yourself, it seems a pity that no one else should," said Timson, who, though he had some other weaknesses, was not superst.i.tious. "You see, I don't believe much in luck, except the luck of getting hold of a good thing when you know how to work it."

"Look here, mate, I am an old digger, and it goes agin' my ideas of right to try and worm out another digger's secret; but if you let us into this thing, we will work it with you fair and square," said Hardman.

"I don't want you to work it with me or for me, but I don't mind telling you where it is. See here," said the prospector, pointing in the direction of a distant range of mountains towards which he had been gazing for some time, "do you see that little hump-backed hill standing out by itself? Well, it's about four hundred yards to the north of it.

You will see my old working still, I should say. Now, mates, I am off to Pneil, for I want to see the old place again, and then--"

"Stop, let us talk it over. You had better work the place with us,"

said Hardman; "we will forget all about what you have told us, or try to."

The stranger's only answer was to wish them good luck at their prospecting, and refusing to listen to Hardman's persuasions, he started off on his lonely walk.

"I don't like letting him go off in that state of mind; he means finishing himself, I saw it in his face, I have seen men look like that before," said Hardman as he watched the tall figure striding over the long flat into the distance.

"Certainly one pities him; but if what he has told us is true, life can't be much comfort to him, and it's just as well, if he is going to do it, that he should kill himself before he lets out to any one about that place. What do you think of that part of the story; do you believe it?" answered Mr Timson.

"Believe it! well, I don't know. It's a queer story, but I ain't one of those sharps who always disbelieve any story that's a bit out of the common. I believe it well enough to mean finding out whether or no it's true. What do you say?"

"Ah! that's just what I think. It may be true, and if it is true--"

"If it is true, or near true, we are in a pretty big thing, for the farms out there ain't on Crown land, and there is no reservation of minerals. Of course we must keep what we have heard quiet and try and learn a bit more. There's millions who wouldn't believe the yarn we have heard, but I ain't one of 'em. If you ask me what I think, well, I think it's true," said Hardman, and then he shouted to his Kaffir to outspan the horses so that they could continue their journey to Kimberley. All the way they talked of the strange story they had heard, and the more they talked of it the more hopeful Mr Timson began to grow, and the more splendid were the castles in the air which he built on the foundation of the wonderful diamond mine he was to acquire a part possession of.

Chapter Two.

A few days after their conversation with the prospector, Messrs. Hardman and Timson were again on a prospecting expedition. This time they had sought the prospector's hump-backed hill, and they had come to it after a journey of about forty miles. Sure enough, about two hundred yards north of it, they found marks of old working and a hole which was almost filled up by sand. Mr Timson's excitement before he reached the spot had begun to cool a good deal. Perhaps there was nothing in the tale he had heard. The man might have been mad, or have been hoaxing him, or exaggerating, he kept thinking to himself. Bill Hardman had not taken much trouble to rea.s.sure him. All he said was that it was good enough to look into, though it was long odds against its being as good as they hoped, and he professed to be quite prepared to find their trip turn out to be waste of time, though at the same time something seemed to tell him to try the place. They had come out in an ox waggon, professedly on a shooting trip, and had brought with them a small washing machine, picks, shovels and other tools for digging and prospecting; they had also taken out two or three Kaffirs who were accustomed to work in the mine.

The sight of the old workings had a considerable effect in raising the hopes of Mr Timson.

"That bears him out, anyhow!" said Hardman; "it seems to be the sort of hole a man working by himself could make in a month."

"How soon shall we know whether it is any good?" asked Timson.

"Working on the small scale as we shall, it may take us days before we find a diamond, however rich it may be. We will first get some twenty loads of ground out and then we will wash. There is no house near here, and we might work for six months without being disturbed, so we needn't fear that, though if the man who owns the farm found we were prospecting, he'd pretty quick get an interdict, as those cursed lawyers call it, from the High Court and clear us off," answered the other.

In a very short time work began, Bill Hardman opening a bottle of champagne to drink 'luck' to the venture, as the first pick was put into the ground. There is a strange excitement in working in new ground which is very fascinating to any one of a speculative turn. Mr Timson thought of the Scripture story of the man who knew of treasure hid in a field, and sold all he had to purchase that field. Let him but once satisfy himself that there was a diamond mine under his feet and he would show no want of enterprise in making the best use of his knowledge. Hardman said very little. When a few days' work would tell them what they wanted to know, it was no good prophesying. He professed to like the look of the ground, it reminded him of the top stuff in the Kimberley mine, and Mr Timson was a good deal impressed with his favourable opinion. But the hours pa.s.sed very slowly, and Mr Timson kept fidgeting about, looking into the shaft the boys were digging, and sorting handfuls of the earth they had thrown out, as if he expected that diamonds ought to be found every minute, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of his companion, who pointed out that, however rich the place might be, they were likely enough to find nothing before they washed the ground.

Hour after hour the Kaffirs worked on stolidly, though lazily, and as the shaft that they were sinking deepened, Timson's spirits began to sink. He was breaking up a lump of ground when he heard a shout from Hardman--

"We've found here a diamond! look at it! It's true--that yarn we heard was true. It's a ten-carat stone! I saw it glisten as Tom picked down some ground. Tom would have jumped it if I had not been too quick.

Wouldn't you, you black thief?"

"Nay, boss," said the Kaffir, grinning and showing his white teeth, "the boss is a good boss and I'd no jump his diamond."

Timson looked at the diamond, a white stone of about ten carats in weight, and he felt that his fortune was made. The Kaffirs talked to each other in their own language about the diamond. "They think it is a rich place and there will be lots of diamonds for them to steal," said Hardman.

The next day another diamond was found in the picking, and Mr Timson began to feel most hopeful as to what the result of washing the stuff would be.

"If what we know is found out, we shall never be able to buy at a reasonable price," he said, as they smoked their pipes after supper on the night before the day on which they intended to wash.

"n.o.body does as yet, and even we don't know much," said Hardman; "wait till we have washed."

Their washing machine was a small one, only able to get through about thirty loads of ground a day. In the afternoon they began to take out of the machine the heavy deposit which had been left after the earth and lighter gravel had been washed away. Hardman filled a sieve with this stuff, and worked it up and down in a tub of water so that the action of the water should work the diamonds to the bottom of the sieve.

"Now, what luck?" he said, as he turned the sieve upside down on the sorting-table, at which Timson had taken his position. It was an exciting moment, for the stuff on the table was the result of a good many loads of ground, and if the place was any good, they might hope to find several diamonds in it. Mr Timson trembled with excitement.

There was a second or two of suspense. Then he saw one diamond, then another, and another, and Hardman, who was looking over his shoulder, found two or three more. The next sieveful was equally good, and the result of the wash up was that the ground was proved to be marvellously rich. After that Timson suggested that they had better sink in some other place and find out how large the mine was, but Hardman did not agree to this. They had found out enough to know that whoever owned the farm owned a fortune, and they had better make the best use of their information and try to purchase the farm from its present owner before any one else found out what they knew. So the machinery and tools were packed up in their waggon, and the party started back again to Kimberley.

Hardman undertook to find out about the land where the mine was situated, and until he could obtain that information, Mr Timson was to take care not to breathe one word of their secret. It was an exciting time for the latter gentleman. He thought to himself that perhaps they had been watched by some one who would claim a share in their prize, or give information to others who might bid against them for the land, or perhaps the man who owned it might come across the traces of the fresh working and that might arouse his suspicions. Come what might, thought Mr Timson, he would become the part owner of that wonderful mine. So far as they could judge, it was of greater extent than the Kimberley mine, and the work they had done made it appear to be three times as rich. If he could purchase the farm for a small sum, all the better, but he would not be afraid of risking all he had to get possession of it. Of the prospector, he could hear no more. He had probably wandered away into the veldt and destroyed himself. Mr Timson did not care much what might have happened to him so long as he did not tell his story, or rather, so much of it as related to the diamond mine, to any one else.

It took Hardman about two days to obtain the information he required.

It was fairly satisfactory, and he came to his friend in very good spirits. "It's the Farm Boschfontein, there is no doubt about that, and it belongs to a Dutchman, by name Ziederman; and it's the worst farm in the province, I am told," he said, coming up to Timson, who was standing on the stoep of the hotel, and taking him on one side.

"Ziederman! where does he live, and what kind of a man is he?"

"Well, he is a pretty crude sort of a Dutchman, and his house is on the farm, about an hour's drive from the mine. If we go over and see him, and tell him that we think of keeping a store where the road runs past it, and want to stock the farm, he will think he has got hold of two fools, and be glad to sell," was the other's answer.

The next day Messrs. Hardman and Timson started off to interview Mr Ziederman, the unconscious owner (they hoped) of the mine. The Boschfontein homestead where he lived was one of those low, whitewashed mud houses with which travellers in South Africa are so familiar. Mr Timson could see it miles away across the long flat over which they were driving. It was a poverty-stricken looking place, and as they neared the house there was no sign of any stock about.

"Looks as if Boschfontein had about broke him," said Hardman; "he'll be glad to sell, you bet!"

Mr Timson felt that in an hour or so he would know his fate, and as he gazed at the mean-looking Dutch farm-house, visions came before him of the house in London and the country place he would soon be the owner of.

"Wonder how Hardman will do as a man of property? He's a smart chip, but not quite one of us," he thought to himself. As they came near to the house they saw Mr Ziederman sitting on a chair on the stoep of the house, staring after the manner of a Dutch boer into the far distance at nothing at all. When their cart drove up he turned round and stared at it, but no gleam of intelligence came into his face; he evidently was, so Mr Timson thought, a very crude specimen of the Dutchman. It would be very tedious to narrate all the conversation which took place after the two had got out of their cart, and had shaken the grimy, flabby hand which Mr Ziederman held out to them. Gradually, and with very much caution, Mr Hardman approached the subject of the purchase of the farm.

Would Mr Ziederman care to sell it? they wished to set up a store and canteen, and would like to have the farm for keeping stock on, was the question which, after much fencing, he asked.

"Yes, I will sell the farm. Ten thousand pounds, and you may have Boschfontein, but for not one dollar less," answered Mr Ziederman, looking as stolid as ever.

"Ten thousand pounds, mein herr! you are joking. The farm is not worth one twentieth part of that," said Hardman.

Mr Timson tried to look as if he were more surprised than disappointed.

"Never mind, the farm is worth more than that. I know something that you perhaps know and perhaps don't know. There are diamonds on my farm."

Mr Timson began to feel that all his hopes were going to be dashed to the ground.

"Diamonds, mein herr! there are no diamonds out in this direction, and me and my partner don't want to have anything to do with diamonds, they ain't in our line; we want to keep a store and raise stock."

"Then you don't want to buy the Farm Boschfontein, because the Farm Boschfontein has diamonds," answered Ziederman. "See here, I will show you something," he added, as he went into his house and came out with something in his hand; "see what my herd boy found near the _kopje_ yonder," he said as he pointed in the direction of the mine. It was a ten-carat white diamond he had in his hand, and one of the partners felt something out of heart when he saw it. It was useless to try and persuade Ziederman that the stone was not a diamond.

"Yes, I always knew there were some diamonds on my farm, but I would not say anything about them, for I knew diamonds bring English diggers on one's farm; but I said to myself, 'If I ever sell Boschfontein I will get plenty of money for it.' I want ten thousand pounds!" he said as he lit his pipe again, looking as if he did not care whether he sold the farm or no. "If you like to buy it for the money, well; if not, I will have it prospected, and then I will sell it for what it will bring."

Hardman touched Timson on the shoulder and they walked away from the house together. "See here," he said, when they were out of hearing of Ziederman, who sat smoking with a placid expression on his face, "what can we do? I can only raise two thousand pounds. I don't like to let the thing slip from me, though, and once let him have the farm prospected and find out how rich it is, what we know is worth nothing to us."

"Maybe he will take less," said Mr Timson.

Very little could be got out of the boer. Somehow or the other he seemed to have hit upon ten thousand pounds as the price the farm was worth, and he would take no less.

Then the two had another conversation. Curiously enough Timson could just raise eight thousand pounds, Mr Hardman had two. After all, thought Mr Timson to himself, he would have four-fifths of the mine instead of only one-half, so perhaps it would be all the better for him that Ziederman had stuck out for his price. At last, after much conversation, the bargain was struck and they drove home, it having been agreed that Ziederman should come into Kimberley a few days afterwards, and having given transfer of the farm, receive the ten thousand pounds.