The terrier raised herself quietly, and stood looking out into the starlit night. She was a remarkably intelligent animal, much attached to her master, who had given a fancy price for her, and often stated that a plainer dog in England, of her class, had cost him £50. She stretched her neck, as if looking for something, and gave vent to a low, querulous whine. Still uneasy, she continued to exhibit the same anxious air of disapproval, though, as yet, not committing herself to the arrival of an enemy, possibly only a suspicious stranger. Once before, when camped out near a lonely ‘soak’ with Denzil Southwater, he had been warned by her long before the approach of a thievish aboriginal, and had therefore time for preparation, which enabled them to rout the ‘Injun’ with loss. Since then the character of Minniekins had stood deservedly high in the camp, where she took rank as a general favourite, to be petted, and bragged about by every man on the pay-sheet of the ‘Last Chance Proprietary, Limited.’
Minniekins growled in a low, menacing manner. Then suddenly dashing forward, she barked furiously, and rushed at a man who was advancing rapidly on the camp. A smothered oath, and a savage kick which sent the poor little thing yards away, with a broken leg, told of a frontal attack by the enemy. At the same moment, as it appeared, the man, and a dozen others, mysteriously emerging from the shadows at different points, made a rush for the room in which the gold-boxes had been stacked, firing their revolvers as they came on. The unarmed inmates of the camp—two shift bosses and Mr. Newstead, with three or four wages men—were taken completely by surprise.
Denzil Southwater was in his tent writing a home letter. For a moment it seemed, as the compact body of strangers moved up perilously near to the treasure-room, that the fort would be carried by assault.
But two of the garrison were neither unarmed nor unprepared: these were the man called ‘Dick,’ and old Jack. The latter was dressed for a walk to the township, a ceremonious visit which included a revolver in his hip-pocket loaded in every chamber. ‘Nothin’ like bein’ “heeled,” as we used ter say in the States,’ he would answer to any remark made on this as a superfluous precaution. ‘It’s come in handy mor’n once or twice either, since then; yer never know what’ll turn up on a goldfield.’ His habit was justified on this occasion. The tall robber had fired point blank at Mr. Newstead, who, struck on the point of the shoulder, fell as if badly wounded, when Dick Andrews sprang forward, firing two shots with lightning quickness.