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It had been arranged that the rest of the men should remain in the saloon while the cabins were being searched. Then, if nothing came to light, a new line of action was to be entered upon. Only Tim Fleeters accompanied the searchers. He would be necessary, it was considered, to recognize the poke. "Ugh!" exclaimed Mickie O'Toole, as they entered the first house, and lighted a candle.

"God help the poor fellow!" he thought, "whoever he may be, if he once gets into such brutish hands." "Yes," he heard Tim Fleeters saying, "it was only yesterday that I went out to cut fire-wood. The poke of gold was in my chest, at the foot of my bunk. When I returned, and lifted the lid to get some tea which I kept there, the poke was gone gold and all."

Mooney was one of the "First Fleeters". He had arrived in Sydney fifty-seven years before, in the year 1789, and when he was transported he was fourteen years old. He had been through the whole round of servitude, had worked as a bondsman, had married, and been "up country", had been again sentenced, and was a sort of dismal patriarch of Norfolk Island, having been there at its former settlement.

"An' did ye steal Tim Fleeters' gold an' put it in the mission house?" "Yes. Yes, I did it all. For God's sake, forgive me! I'm a bad man! O God, help me!" A yell of rage was the only response to his wild pleadings, for a dozen hands had seized the rope, which had been thrown over one of the large projecting branches.

Tim Fleeters had a poke of gold stolen from his cabin, and a miners' meeting has been called to see what's to be done." "Certainly I will go," replied Keith. "Will you wait for me?" "No, I must hurry on; I have more calls to make," and with that he was away. Before leaving, Keith lifted the drawing from the table and placed it in a strong chest in one corner of the room.