PART II

UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS

THE FIVE-MILE RUSH

It was a very hot day in September when we arrived at Perth, Western Australia, and hastened to put up at the nearest hotel to the station, which happened to bear the common enough title of the "Royal."

We had come up with the mail train from Albany, where the P. & O. steamers then called, and even Westralia's most ardent admirers would hesitate to claim comfort as one of the features of the Colony's railway system. So we arrived, after a long night's misery, dusty and travel-stained. No one attempts to keep clean in the land of "Sand, sin, and sorrow," for the simple reason that, according to the nature of things there, such a luxurious state of æsthetic comfort can never be attained. The streets were sandy, and as a natural sequence the atmosphere was not of ethereal quality. The people were sandy and parched-looking, and we found the interior of the hotel little better than the outside, so far as the presence of the powdery yellow grains was concerned.

In the darkened bedrooms the hum of the festive mosquito was heard, and my companions chuckled at the sound.

"It's a lang time since I heard they deevils," said Mac; then he proceeded, "Noo, oot on the Pampas----"

"D--n the Pampas!" roared Stewart, as he clutched wildly at one of the pests that had been quietly resting on his cheek for full half a minute.

"Ye've pushioned that onfort'nate beast," Mac retorted, with unruffled serenity; "noo, can ye no let the puir thing dee in peace?"

We remained but a short time in Perth; it is a neatly-laid-out little city with streets running off at right angles to each other, and containing a fair sprinkling of fine buildings, among which may be mentioned the General Post Office and Lands Offices, and they are palatial edifices indeed. The Botanical Gardens are small, yet very pretty; and here, instead of the usual garden loafer, may be found many weary-eyed and parchment-skinned gold-diggers from the "fields," whose one idea of a holiday lies in a visit to Perth or Fremantle, where they stroll about or recline on the artificially-forced grass plots of these towns, and wile the weary hours away.

The Swan River at Perth forms an exquisite piece of scenery, which redeems the environs of the sandy city from utter ugliness. Innumerable black swans swim hither and thither on its placid waters, and by the sloping banks, well fringed with rushes, many notable yachting clubs have their pavilions. There is nothing in this Capital of the Western Colony to attract. Even to the casual observer it is plain that the bustling, Oriental-looking town is essentially a gateway to the goldfields, and little more. Fremantle, on the other hand, is the Port, and chief engineering and commercial centre.

At this period I was, like most erratic travellers, without a definite object in view. In a certain hazy way I thought that we should visit the mining districts at once, as we had done in other and more impracticable countries; yet I was aware that the known Westralian goldfields were by no means so new as the "finds" in North-West Canada, and in consequence the ground might be over-pegged or long since rushed.

"The countrie is big enuff," said Mac when I mentioned my doubts, "an' we'll mebbe find anither Gold Bottom Creek faurer oot than onybody has gaed."

"We're better diggin' holes, even if they are duffers," spoke Stewart, "than makin' oorsel's meeserable at hame." Which argument in a sense settled the matter, and I forthwith purchased tickets for Kalgoorlie, with the intention of penetrating thence towards the far interior.

It is a weary journey eastward from Perth, and one that cannot be too quickly passed over. The single narrow-gauge line has been laid without any attempt at previous levelling, and the snorting little engine puffs over switchback undulations ceaselessly, at a speed that averages nearly sixteen miles an hour. It is a fortunate circumstance for the fresh enthusiast from "home" that the "Kalgoorlie Mail" leaves Perth in the evening. The discomfort experienced in the midnight ride is bad enough, but he is mercifully spared from viewing the "scenery" along the route, which would assuredly have a most demoralising effect: Western Australia must be taken gradually.

The Coolgardie "rush" may be fresh in the minds of most people. The township now stands almost deserted, bearing little trace of former glory; and yet it is but a few years since the railway was pushed out to this remote settlement. Southern Cross, two hundred miles nearer the coast, was formerly the terminus of all traffic, and the hardy pioneers of Coolgardie daringly ventured on foot from this point, as did also the vast numbers who "followed the finds."

Very insidiously Kalgoorlie has risen to high eminence as a mining centre; it accomplished the eclipse of its sister camp some time ago, and by reason of its deep lodes it is likely to retain its supremacy indefinitely. To the individual miners a new strike or location is considered to be "played out" when limited liability companies begin to appear in their midst, as only in rare cases can fossickers succeed in competition with machinery. However, the flat sand formations around Kalgoorlie have proved one of the exceptions to this rule, and the alluvial digger may still sink his shallow shaft here with every hope of success, and even in the proved "deep" country surface indications are abundant.

When my little party stepped from the train at Kalgoorlie, we saw before us a scattered array of wooden and galvanised-iron houses, white-painted, and glistening dully in the sunlight through an extremely murky atmosphere. On closer acquaintance the heterogeneous erections resolved themselves into a wide principal thoroughfare, aptly named Hannan's Street, after the honoured prospector of the Camp's main reef, and a number of side paths that bore titles so imposing that my memory at once reverted to the fanciful names distinguishing the crude log shanties of Dawson, where there were: Yukon Avenue, Arctic Mansions, Arcadian Drive, and Eldorado Terrace. Here, in keeping with the latitude of the city, more salubrious, if equally fantastic, were the various designations of the alleys and byways.

In the near distance we could see the towering tappet heads of the widely-known Great Boulder mine, and the din created by the revolving hammers of the ever-active stamping machinery assailed our ears as an indescribable uproar. But beyond the dust and smoke of these Nature-combating engines of civilisation, the open desert, dotted with its stunted mulga and mallee growths, shimmered back into the horizon. Here and there a dump or mullock heap showed where the alluvial miner had staked his claim, but for the most part the landscape was unbroken by any sign of habitation.

"There's a lot of room in this country, boys," I said, as we stood unobserved in the middle of the street and took in the scene.

"It's a deevil o' a funny place," Mac ventured doubtfully.

"It's a rale bonnie place," reproved Stewart, whom the inexpressible gloom peculiar to the interior country had not yet affected. "I'm thinkin'," he continued, with asperity, "that ane or twa men o' pairts like oorsel's were jist needed at this corner o' the warld."

"In ony case," Mac now agreed, "it's better than being meeserable at hame."

Instead of seeking the hospitality of one of the numerous hotels close by, we decided to begin our campaign in earnest right away, and get under canvas as a proper commencement. So we prospected around for a good camping site, and that same night we slept in our tent, erected about a mile distant from the township.

There was no water in our vicinity, and next morning Stewart set out with two newly-purchased water-bags to obtain three gallons of the very precious fluid at a condensing establishment we had noticed on the previous night, where, at sixpence a gallon, a tepid brackish liquid was sparingly dispensed. It should be understood that water, in most parts of Western Australia, is more difficult to locate than gold, and when obtained it is usually as a dense solution, salt as the sea, and impregnated with multitudinous foreign elements extremely difficult to precipitate.

"There's aye something tae contend wi' in furrin countries," Mac philosophised, as he leisurely proceeded to build a fire for cooking operations. "In Alaska there wis snaw, an' Chilkoots, an' mony ither trifles; bit here there's naething much objeckshunable let alane the sand an' want o' watter."

I agreed with him if only for the sake of avoiding an argument. "There may be a few--insects along with the sand, Mac," I hazarded cheerfully, and then I went into the tent to arrange the breakfast utensils.

"Insecks!" cried he derisively after me. "Wha cares fur insecks, I shid like tae ken? What herm is there in a wheen innocent muskitties, fur instance? Insecks! Humph!"

The absurdity of my remark seemed to tickle him vastly, and as he broke the eucalyptus twigs preparatory to setting a match to the pile he had collected, he continued to chuckle audibly. Then suddenly there was silence, a silence so strange that I felt impelled to look out of the tent and see what had happened; but before I had time to set down the tinware cups I held in my hands, his voice broke out afresh. "Insecks!" I heard him mutter. "Noo A wunner----; bit no, that canna be, fur snakes hiv'na got feet, an' this deevil's weel supplied i' that direction. It's a bonnie beast, too. I wunner if it bites?" I gathered from these remarks that the valiant Mac had made the acquaintance of some unknown species of "insect" with which he was unduly interested. "If it's an inseck," came the voice again, "this countrie maun be an ex-tra-ord'nar'----Haud aff! ye deevil. Haud off! I tell ye." I hastened outside just in time to see my companion ruthlessly slaughter a large-sized centipede, which had evidently refused to be propitiated by his advances.

"It's a vera re-markable thing," said he, looking up with a perfectly grave countenance, "hoo they--insecks--persist in bringin' destruckshun on themsel's. I wis just pokin' this onfort'nate beast wi' a stick--in a freen'ly wey, ye ken--an' the deevil made a rin at me, wi' malishus intent, I'm thinkin', an' noo he's peyed the penalty o' his misguided ackshun."

"In future, Mac," I warned, "you'd better not attempt to get on friendly terms with these--insects; a bite from a centipede might kill you."

"I'll gie ye best about the insecks," he returned thoughtfully, applying a match to the pile, "bit ye'll admit," he added, after some moments' pause, "that it's maist ex-tra-ord'nar' tae see insecks o' sich onnaitural descripshun rinnin' aboot on the face o' the earth."

I fully concurred, much to his satisfaction, and just then Stewart arrived, perspiring under his watery load.

"Dae ye mean tae tell me," howled the new-comer, addressing no one in particular, "that ye hiv'na got the fire ken'l'd yet?"

"Ca' canny, Stewart, ca' canny," sternly admonished the guilty one. "There's been a narrow escape here, ma man, a verra narrow escape."

Stewart's ruddy face blanched slightly, then slowly regained its colour when the slain centipede was pointed out. "Ye've raelly had a providenshul escape, Mac," said he. "Noo, staun aside an' let me get on wi' the cookin'."

Our first breakfast in camp was an unqualified success; it was not a very elegant repast, certainly, but the traveller must learn to forego all luxuries and enjoy rough fare, and we had already served our apprenticeship in that direction. Stewart, however, had lost none of his art in matters culinary, and, as he himself averred, could cook "onything frae a muskittie tae an Injun," so we had every reason to be contented.

"If we wur only camped aside a second Gold Bottom!" sighed Mac, getting his pipe into working order.

"It's a bonnie countrie," mused his companion, "wi' a bonnie blue sky abune, an' what mair could a man want?"

"I think we have had no cause to complain, so far, boys," was my addition to the conversation, "and I'll go into the township in an hour or so and make investigations as to the latest strikes. To-morrow we may make a definite camp."

And so the early day passed while we rested and smoked, and recalled our grim experiences in the land of snows.

"It's mebbe wrang tae mak' compairisons," grunted Mac, "bit gie me the sunshine an' the floo'ers----"

"An' the centipedes!" Stewart slyly interpolated.

"D--n centipedes!" roared Mac; then he recovered himself. "Mak' nae mair allushuns, ma man," said he with dignity. "An' hoo daur ye spile ma poetic inspirashun?"

The sun was now well overhead and shooting down intense burning rays; the sky was cloudless, and not a breath stirred the branches of the dwarfed eucalyptii on the plains.

"It's a g-glorious day," murmured Stewart, mopping his perspiring forehead.

Mac chuckled: "Wait till ye see some o' the insecks the sun'll bring out," said he, "ye'll be fairly bamfoozled."

At this moment I was surprised to notice a man, armed with pick and shovel, approaching rapidly in our direction. As he came near I saw that he bore, strapped to his shoulders, a bundle of wooden pegs which had evidently been hastily cut from the outlying timber. "Some energetic individual thinks we have made a find at this camp," I thought; but I was mistaken. The stranger made as if to pass a good way off our tent; then he hesitated, looked back, apprehensively, it seemed to me, and came quickly towards us.

"What in thunder does yer mean by campin' here, mates?" he demanded hurriedly, grounding his shovel impatiently and letting his eyes roam in an unseeing manner over the surrounding country.

I had barely time to explain that ours was only a temporary camp, when, without a word, he shouldered his shovel and sped onwards into the brush.

"Maist onmainnerly behaviour," Mac snorted wrathfully. "Noo, if I meet that man again, I'll----" He stopped suddenly. "Ho, ho!" he chuckled, "there's mair o' them comin'; I begin tae smell a rat." We now observed what had caused the sudden flight of our visitor. Rushing from every shanty near the township, and issuing from the main street in a chaotic mass, a perfect sea of men bearing axes and picks and shovels came surging down on us. As we looked the fleeter members of the "rush" forged quickly ahead, so that the spectacle soon appeared as a medley army advancing desperately at the double in Indian file.

There was no need to be in ignorance as to what it meant; we had seen the same thing often enough in Alaska when strikes on the Upper Klondike were frequent.

"Get the tent down, boys," I said, "and follow on when you're ready. I'll represent this camp and see that it is not last on the programme." Even before I had finished speaking, my companions were tugging wildly at the guy ropes, and loosening the wall pegs of the tent.

"We'll no be faur ahint," growled Mac from beneath the canvas folds which in his zeal he had brought down upon himself.

"Ye shid let me gang first," grumbled Stewart, "fur ye ken weel that I can sprint wi' ony man."

I seized an axe and shovel and awaited the approach of the van-leader of the struggling line of humanity, who was fast drawing near: not knowing the destination of the rush, it was necessary that I should follow some one who did. I had not long to wait. A lean, lanky true son of the bush, with nether garments held in position by an old cartridge belt, burst through the brushwood a few yards wide of us. His leathery face showed not the slightest trace of emotion, and though the heat was sweltering not a drop of perspiration beaded on his forehead. Heaven knows how often he may have taken part in a rush and been disappointed.

"Mornin', boys," he said genially. "Fust-class exercise, this," and he passed at a regular swinging pace, with eyes fixed straight ahead, steering a direct course.

"He gangs like clockwork," said Mac admiringly, gazing after him; "bit haud on. What's this comin'?"

The second runner was now coming forward at a rate that was rapidly annihilating distance; he had passed the bulk of the others since he had joined the race, and I had been much interested in watching his progress.

"Guid Lor'," ejaculated Stewart, stopping in his work of rolling up the tent, and gazing at the approaching runner in dismay. "Did ye ever see onything like that in a' yer born days?"

There was ample excuse for his astonishment. The fleeing figure was hatless, and otherwise ludicrously garbed--for Westralia. What Stewart called a "lang-tailie coat" spread out behind him like streamers in a breeze, a "biled" collar had, in the same gentleman's terse language, "burst its moorings" and projected in two miniature wings at the back of his ears, and a shirt that had once been white, bosomed out expansively through an open vest. Yet, notwithstanding his cumbrous habiliments, he had well outdistanced his nearest "hanger-on," and it was plain that the wiry sandgroper still in front would have to screw on more speed if he meant to keep his lead long.

With lengthy strides the strangely-garbed runner shot past; in his hand he gripped a spade, which tended to make his appearance the more wonderful, but that he meant business was very evident.

"Fur Heaven's sake, pit aff the coat!" howled Stewart, and Mac toned down the impertinence of the remark by adding stentoriously--

"Ye'll rin lichter withoot it, ma man."

The individual addressed slowed up at once. "Thanks for the idea, boys," said he good-naturedly, and he promptly discarded the objectionable emblem of civilised parts and threw it carelessly into a mulga bush. Then noting that he was a good way in advance of the main army, he mopped his streaming face and gave the information, "There's been a big strike at the Five Mile, boys, wherever that may be. I am letting the first man steer the way on purpose."

"Ye're a daisy tae rin," admiringly spoke Mac, seizing the tent and a packet of miscellaneous merchandise, while Stewart feverishly gathered up the remainder of our meagre belongings. He of the "biled shirt" now set down to work again, making a pace which I, who had joined in the chase, found hard indeed to emulate; and my companions, heavily laden as they were, hung into our rear like leeches.

Far behind we could hear the sand crunch under hundreds of feet, and the mallee shrubs crackling and breaking, but hardly a word was spoken. Mile after mile we crashed through the endless brush and over the monotonous iron-shot plains. Mac puffed and blowed like some huge grampus, and Stewart's deep breathing sounded like the exhaust expirations of an overworked steam engine.

"Keep her gaun, Mac; keep her gaun," this personage would splutter when his more portly comrade showed signs of flagging, which well he might, considering that he clutched in his arms a weight of nearly forty pounds.

"Wha's stoppin'? ye inseegneeficant broken-winded donkey engine!" retorted his aggravated compatriot, rolling along manfully.

But the race was nearly over. Half a mile further on the land dipped ever so slightly, and in the gentle hollow formed about a dozen men rushed madly about, pacing off prospectors' claims, and driving rude pegs at the boundary corners.

The sight had an exhilarating effect on Mac and Stewart, and with wild shouts they quickly drew up the little distance they had lost, and would have passed my white-shirted pacemaker and myself were we not compelled for very shame to keep our lead if we died for it.

"By Jove!" panted he of the strange garments, "these beggars behind can run."

And Mac at his heels chivalrously grunted between his breaths, "I've never had a harder tussle tae keep up ma deegnity--no never."

A few minutes more, and we reached the field of operations. The men there were too busy marking off their properties to give us much attention. I noticed swiftly that our first visitor of the few words had his claim neatly pegged, and was sitting in the middle of it, complacently smoking. He must have received special information of the find or he could not have got away so much before the others. Our second passing acquaintance--he of the emotionless countenance who had steered our quartet unknowingly--had got in a hundred yards ahead of us, and he was now coolly cutting pegs with which to mark his chosen area.

"It's a deep alluvial leader, mate," he said to me. Then he added obligingly, "I guess I knows the lie of the kintry, an' if ye hitch on at the end o' my boundaries, ye'll likely sink on it, plumb."

The advice of an experienced miner should always be accepted; and while Mac and Stewart were felling several small trees for use as marking-posts, I proceeded to line off the direction of our claim as suggested by the angle of my adviser's corner channels. I performed this work with much care, knowing how slim are one's chances of holding any gold-bearing area at a rush unless the holder's title is beyond dispute according to official regulations.

The straggling body of men was now beginning to appear on the crest of the undulation which marked the only visible natural boundary of the valley; in less than three minutes the madly-striving crowd would be upon us, and we should be assuredly swamped by its numbers so that no pegs could be driven. Then I noticed the man who had doffed his fashionable coat to oblige Stewart, standing dejectedly near by; his sleeves were rolled up, displaying splendidly-formed muscles, and he held his shovel loosely in his hand as if uncertain what to do with it.

"Better get your pegs fixed quickly," I advised.

But he shook his head rather sadly. "I haven't got an axe," he said, "and--and I'm new to this sort of thing."

Mac had by this time obtained the four blazed posts necessary to denote our "three-men square," and Stewart promptly began to smite them into position in their proper places.

"If ye'll alloo me," said Mac, "I'll get the bitties o' sticks fur ye; I'd be vera sorry tae a bonnie rinner like you left in the cauld."

But there was no time now.

"Shift out our posts instead, Mac," I instructed, "we'll make a four-men lot of it and divide afterwards."

Our white-shirted associate looked at me gratefully, and held out his hand. "My name is Philip Morris," he said. "I am an Englishman, just out from the old country."

A swaying mob of perspiring and fiery-eyed men of all nationalities now flooded the valley as a tumultuous sea of humanity, and scattered in twos and fours throughout its entire length.

"You've struck a circus for a start, Morris," I said. "I think we'll all remember the Five-Mile Rush."

SINKING FOR GOLD

Next morning the Five-Mile Flat was the scene of extraordinary activity. Tents sprung up like mushrooms in all directions, and the thud, thud of picks sounded incessantly. It was almost pitiful to witness the feverish eagerness with which most of the diggers tried to bottom on their claims. The depth of the Lead at Discovery shaft was given out to be only forty feet, but the strata encountered before that level was reached had been of a flinty impervious nature, necessitating the use of much giant powder.

At least the original prospectors, who were camped near to us, gave me that information in a fit of generosity when they learned that I had some little experience of geological formations. They even allowed me to descend their shaft--most unheard-of thing--and compute the angle and dip of the lode for the benefit of the general assembly; a privilege which was duly appreciated, as it enabled me to calculate the proper position in our own claim at which to sink. The lode, so called, proved to be an auriferous wash, or alluvial gutter, the bed of an extremely ancient watercourse, probably silted up long before the time of the Pharaohs.

Our newly-acquired companion, who had already won the good graces of both Mac and Stewart, astonished me greatly, while I was expounding my theories on these matters for his special edification, by making several courteous corrections to my statements, so that I was forced to tread more cautiously; and when I had finished, he capped my argument with a lucid technical discourse and much scientific addenda.

"You certainly know a fair-sized amount for an inexperienced man," I said, with some irritation; but he hastened to explain.

"My knowledge is purely theoretical," he replied. "Perhaps I should not have spoken."

His admirable good sense appealed to Mac's idea of fairness. "I'm thinkin'," began that gentleman, gazing at me reproachfully, "I'm thinkin' that oor freen Phil-ip is a vera modest man, a vera modest man indeed."

"I'm o' the opeenion," cried Stewart, from the interior of the tent, "that if he keeps awa' frae tailie coats, and dresses rashunal, he'll be a rale orniment tae ony camp."

The young man was much moved by these expressions of good-will; but when I asked him to mark off his allotment on our too large mining territory, he stubbornly refused. "If it had not been for your kindness I should have no claim to any corner of the ground," he said.

I explained, however, that Mac, Stewart, and myself would not be allowed by law to possess a four-men holding, and therefore there was no kindness on my part in giving him back his own. Yet still he hesitated.

"I am all alone, boys," he said at last, "and I don't think I could do much damage to the ground by myself. Might I come in with you?"

This was a _dénoûement_ I had not anticipated, though in some unaccountable manner I felt drawn to the stranger; still, the vision of his coat-tails fluttering in the wind could not be dispelled.

"What do you say, Mac?" I asked, expecting a gruff rejoinder in the negative; but the answer agreeably surprised me.

"He's a man o' pairts like oorsel's, a modest man, an' a golologist forbye," replied Mac, grandiloquently; "it wud be sinfu' tae refuse him oor guid company."

Then Stewart, who had been paying great attention, rushed from the tent and added his testimony. "Tailie coat or no tailie coat," he shouted, "he's a guid man, as I kin testeefy, an' me an' Mac'll be prood tae hae him wi' us. Forbye," he continued, "he's a Breetisher, an' tho' he isna Scotch, me an' Mac'll look ower that fau't wi' muckle tolerashun."

"I wis aboot tae re-mark----" began Mac, but Stewart had not completed his peroration.

"Haud yer tongue, Mac," said he sternly; "ye ken weel yer nae speaker like me." Then he resumed the flow of his eloquence: "An' noo," he said, "on behauf o' Mac--wha is a man o' disteenction tho' he disna look it--an' in conformeety wi' ma ain incleenations, I hae pleesure in signifyin' oor muckle approval o' yer qualities."

The candidate for admission to our illustrious company looked gratified, as well he might, and straightening his tall form he endeavoured to make suitable reply to the expectant couple.

"Gentlemen!" said he, and at the word Mac hitched up his nether garments and looked solemn, while Stewart coughed discreetly. "Gentlemen," repeated "tailie coat" in a voice that seemed to issue from his boots, "it is with considerable feeling of elation that I have heard your extemporaneous----"

"Haud on!" howled Mac in horror; "ye'll dae, ma man, ye'll dae. Come on, Stewart." And as they walked sorrowfully apart Stewart's voice floated back plaintively,

"Noo, Mac, hoo am I gaun tae keep up oor digneety efter that--ex-tem-por-anee----! He's deceived us, Mac; he's a lamb in sheep's ooter gairments, he is."

"Well, Phil," I said, when they had disappeared within the tent, "I think we'll get along all right."

"I feel at home already," he replied, looking towards the tent in grim amusement, "and enthusiastic enough to swing a pick with either Mac or Stewart, and that means much, I think."

"It does," I agreed with significance, and we went off to mark the site of our prospective shaft.

It was nearly midday before we commenced to excavate the ground, and by that time most of the miners around had penetrated several feet of the top sandy formation in their various claims. But haste is not always advisable under such circumstances, and I preferred to make as sure as possible of the lode's position within our pegs before sinking, and so obviate any necessity for laborious "driving" when bedrock was reached. We were fortunately in the "shallowest" ground, being within a hundred yards of the forty-feet level strike, which meant, judging by the dip or inclination of the auriferous wash, that we should probably find bottom about fifty feet down. As for the numbers below us, they might have to sink over a hundred feet, and even then miss the golden leader, so elusive are these subterranean channels.

The usual size of prospectors' shafts on any goldfield is five feet six inches long, by two feet six inches wide, and this just permits of sufficient room for one man to wield a pick. The aim of every miner on an unproved field is to get down to bedrock with the least possible labour, which is also the speediest method. A shaft can be widened afterwards when it has been found worth while, but it is always well to refrain from shovelling out two or three tons of granite-like substance, as is done by most "new chums," merely for the sake of having more elbow-room during the trying process of sinking.

After our experience with the frozen gravel at Klondike, it almost seemed like child's play to dig out the comparatively loose sand conglomeration which formed the topmost layer in the line of our descent. There was no fire-burning necessary here, but Nature, nevertheless, had made the balance even, for the auriferous levels in Alaska were rarely half as deep as even the shallow gutter we were now searching for. And again, in frozen ground the surface formations are naturally the hardest, whereas in most other workings that order is reversed.

"It's a pleesure tae work i' this grund," was Mac's statement, when, after scarcely two hours' labour, he stood nearly waist deep in the new shaft. With much foresight, that wily individual had volunteered to sink the first few feet alone. "I'm just burstin' wi' surplush energy," he explained to Stewart, "an' you can dae twa or three fit o' the easy stuff when I'm feenished."

"It's rale conseederate o' ye, Mac," said Stewart feelingly, with thoughts on the nature of things at Skookum Gulch, and he went inside the tent to try if anything edible could be gathered together for lunch, a matter on which he said he had "graive doots."

Our new comrade, whom we had already begun to address as "Phil," quickly showed himself to be a very worthy addition to our party. After exploring the scrub for timber suitable for banking-up purposes, and drawing back a goodly load, he politely insisted on Mac taking a spell while he swung the pick. "I can see," he said diplomatically, "that you would soon work yourself to death out of sheer consideration for others."

"Dae ye think sae?" grunted he in the shaft cautiously, pausing in his labours.

"I do, indeed," reiterated Phil with much earnestness.

Then Mac laid down his weapon, and leaning back lazily in his excavation made further circuitous inquiry. "Ye've never dug holes afore, Phil?" said he; and receiving a negative answer, he supplemented, "An' ye ken that ironstane is a wee bit--weel, I'll say solid?"

"Yes, I can understand that much," admitted Phil wonderingly.

"Weel," continued Mac, lowering his voice, "I've come on a bed o' it the noo, an' I'm jist makin' the tap o't clean an' tidy fur Stewart when he comes. He thinks he can equal me at onything, an' I've got tae check that fause impreshun. Dae ye savy?"

"Mac," said Phil with decision, "he'll be a smart man that gets the better of you."

"I've traivelled a bit," returned the schemer shortly, "an' Stewart's sometimes ill tae pit up wi'. I'll gie ye a bonnie saft bit tae practeese on efterwards," he added after a pause.

A little later Stewart announced that he had got some rice and "tinned dog" cooked. "I houp ye'll excuse the rice," said he, "it's a bit podgy, fur there wis vera little watter tae bile it in."

"Ye're looking rale worried-like, Stewart," said Mac sympathetically, as he gulped down his portion of the roasted grains. "It's exerceese ye're needin', I'm thinkin'."

"Mebbe it is," sighed Stewart dolorously.

"Weel," spoke Mac again, "ye can try an' wear doon the shaft a bit in the efternoon, an' me an' Phil 'll gang into the city an' get some tasty bits o' provisions. I'm vera concerned aboot ye, ma man."

It was indeed very necessary that we should obtain supplies without delay, for our stores consisted only of the remnants carried so hurriedly from our previous camp. Already, the first flush of excitement having died away, representatives from the different claims were hurrying towards the township on a similar mission. Enthusiasm and an empty stomach seldom agree. But here a difficulty arose. Phil's wardrobe was painfully small; his once spotless shirt was now yellow with sand, and almost torn into shreds, and the rest of his limited apparel was in such a state of disrepair, owing to his scramble through the brush, that, as Mac said, he looked "hardly respeectable."

"Ye can hae ma jecket," said Stewart magnanimously, "seein' that it wis on ma account ye pit aff the tailie coat."

Phil accepted the offer promptly. "There's a wonderful change in my appearance since I left the Old Country a few short weeks ago," said he, surveying his dilapidated garb ruefully.

"I shid think sae," grinned Mac. "It wud be a rale treat tae see ye walk doon Peecadeely in they claes." And they departed.

"Dae ye tell me that Mac has gaun doon five fit?" asked Stewart, when we were alone.

"I believe he has," I replied, "but in this country it is easy to dig near the surface where the sand has not even solidified."

"Easy or no' easy," responded Stewart impressively, baring his strong right arm, "what Mac can dae, I'll dae. Wha pu'd harder than I did gaun tae Klonduk?" he demanded, making a digression, but I waived the question.

"Let me know when you have had enough of the shaft," I said, "and I'll relieve you."

"Umph!" he grunted, ignoring my remark in turn, "Five feet! Whaur's the pick?" And he strode off to emulate his comrade's achievement.

A few moments later a series of sharp metallic echoes issued from the shaft mouth, intimating that Stewart had attacked a hard unyielding substance. Then, not wishing to be present when he desisted from his labours, I made my way stealthily to the adjoining claim and entered into conversation with its owner; but still the unsympathetic ring of steel meeting some kindred element reached my ears, and I sorrowed for the unfortunate Stewart right deeply.

The wiry sandgroper whom I interviewed was not one of the bustling kind. I found him enjoying a siesta under the scant shade of the solitary mulga bush on his domain, and scaring the numberless flies away by his vigorous snores. It was almost impossible to realise that he was the valiant runner of the day before. "Mornin', mate," said he, rubbing his eyes, after I had hustled him gently. It was late afternoon, but that was a small matter, and I did not trouble to correct him; and we talked together on mining subjects for about an hour.

"I ain't wan o' them cusses," he said, "that tries to git disappinted early. My tactics is: git thar in the fust place--at which you'll allow I is no slouch, nuther?" I made the necessary allowance, and he proceeded. "In the second place, thar ain't no call to be desp'rit'ly excited; thishyer life won't change worse'n a muskitter whether we does git to bottom on a spec. three or four days sooner or later." I ventured to remark that his reasonings did him credit. "I does philosophise a bit, mate," he agreed languidly. Then there followed a long silence, during which I missed the regular thuds of Stewart's pick, and wondered where that persistent gentleman had gone.

Suddenly a noise as of thunder startled me; it was succeeded by an explosion that shook the ground under our feet. "By the Great Howlin' Billy!" ejaculated my leather-skinned companion, "somebody's fired your shaft." I looked in time to see great boulders of jagged ironstone, and a dense volume of sand, hurled from the mouth of the narrow pit where Stewart had been working.

Filled with a vague fear I rushed to the scene of the disturbance, where the sand-clouds were fast settling, and just as I arrived I beheld Stewart calmly coming out towards me from behind Phil's timber pile, where he had been sheltered. My surprise was so great that for the moment speech failed me, and I looked vacantly at the shaft and at my companion in turn. Then he took pity on me, and condescended to explain.

"It's a' richt. I'm nae pheenix," he announced cheerfully, and he led me to the mouth of the shaft, which no longer retained its oblong contour, but was ragged and rent with the upheaval. "I wis lookin' fur ye aboot an hour since," he continued further, "tae get yer opeenion concernin' a sort o' irin furmashun what wis gi'en me sair trouble, bit as I could'na see ye, I kent ye could rely on ma guid jidgement tae dae what I thocht best----"

"But I was not aware that we had any gelignite or giant powder in our possession," I interrupted.

"Nae mair we had," said he, "bit I kept ane or twa extra speecial cartreedges what we used fur burstin' glashiers oot in Alaskie--as samples, ye ken--an' I pit them a' in. They've made a vera bonnie hole," he wound up; "that's the best o' they labour-savin' devices."

On examination it was found that the ironstone bar had been completely shattered, and little trouble was experienced in removing the remaining fragments. The cavity wherein it had rested was fully five feet deep, so that Mac's plot for outwitting his rival had proved a signal failure.

It was six o'clock when we descried Mac and Phil returning from Kalgoorlie, laden with stores; darkness was rapidly closing over the valley, so that their forms could not be distinguished until they were quite close. Then Stewart uttered a howl of rage. "They've brocht back the tailie coat," he cried feebly, and in strutted Mac, wearing not only that hateful garment, but also having perched on his head at a rakish tilt a highly-burnished silk hat.

"We fund the hat a wee bit faurer on than the coatie," said he, doffing his glossy headgear and gazing at it admiringly.

"If ye've ony regaird fur ma feelin's, ye'll pit them baith awa' at aince," Stewart implored, much affected.

His compatriot gazed at him commiseratingly. "Ye've been workin' ow'er hard the day, ma man," said he, "yer nerves are in a gey bad state, I'm thinkin'. Hoosomever," he added sternly after brief thought, "it's ongratefu' on your pairt tae despise the gairment, fur I promised Phil that ye shid hae it, purvided ye had sunk aboot three feet the day. Which," he climaxed, nonchalantly, "I hae nae doot ye hae dune?"

Stewart beamed. "I apologeese, Mac," he said, "noo gie me the coatie."

"Hoo muckle hae ye sunk?" demanded the generous giver, much taken aback.

"Full five feet," came the smiling answer. "Mac, ma vera dear freen, ye've made a ser'us mistak' this time."

Mac stood as if transfixed, gazing appealingly at Phil, who seemed equally amazed; then he turned without a word and rushed out to the shaft. When he came back a moment later, he stripped off the coat and handed it to Stewart. "I'm prood o' ye, ma man," he said with an effort; "ye're an indiveedual o' muckle strategy."

Then Phil joined in with commendable tact. "You've still got the hat, Mac," laughed he, "it's a fair divide."

WE "STRIKE" GOLD

For over a week sinking operations on the Five-Mile Flat were continued with unabated vigour, and then a hush of expectation seemed to fall over the community, for the miners in the shallow ground at the head of the lead were nearing bottom, and the vast array who had pegged along the supposed course of the auriferous wash ceased their labours and waited in tremulous eagerness for reports from Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7, below Discovery. There was good reason for anxiety. If these claims bottomed on pipe-clay deposits or other barren clayey formations, little hope could be entertained for those who had followed their line of guidance. The direction of the golden channel certainly could not be ascertained by judging the lie of the country on the surface, for it was almost absolutely flat, and bore not the slightest resemblance to the original country far beneath. Practical tracing from claim to claim was the only method by which a miner could safely calculate, and that meant that those a little way off the first proved shaft, and all following claim-holders, must either be possessed of a vast amount of hope and energy or an equal amount of patience. It is not unusual, also, to find a deep lead suddenly "fizzle" out with little warning; and again, it seldom fails to create consternation and disappointment at an anxious time by shooting off at right angles, or diverging into numerous infinitesimal leaderettes.

So it was that when the first flush of excitement had died away attention was turned to those claims mentioned, and for the time all work was suspended. We, at No. 7, were still several feet above the level at which we had calculated to find bottom. Since Stewart so peremptorily burst out the ironstone bar we had encountered nothing but a series of sand formations, which we managed to crash through at the rate of five feet each day, and now our shaft measured fully forty-one feet in depth.

My companions worked like Trojans in their efforts to reach gold-paying gravel before their neighbours. Neither Stewart nor Mac had the slightest fear of our shaft proving a duffer, and their extreme confidence was so infecting that Phil forswore many of his pet geological theories in order to fall into line with their ideas. "After all," he said to me, "geological rules seem to be flatly contradicted by the arrangement of the formations here, and only the old adage holds good, that an ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory."

"It looks that way," I answered, "yet I do not like the look of these enormous bodies of sandstone. If I were to go by my experience in other countries, I should promptly forsake this ground and look for more promising tracts."

We were standing by the windlass pulling up the heavy buckets of conglomerate material which Mac was picking below with much gusto. The glare of the sun reached barely half-way down the shaft, and the solitary worker was beyond our gaze, but well within hearing, nevertheless, for his voice rumbled up from the depths in strong protest.

"I'll no hae mae idees corrupted wi' sich fulish argiment. Naitur has wyes o' her ain, an' whaur golologists think gold is, ye may be sure there's nane; bit whaur it raelly is, there ignorant golologists insist it insna. There's nae pleasin' some fouk."

We kept silence, and, after waiting vainly for our comment, Mac again attacked the solid sandstone with sullen ferocity.

The air was close and sultry, and the dumps thrown up from the many shafts around glistened in the intense light and crumbled off into the heat haze as filmy clouds of dust. The entire landscape seemed as a biographic picture, and affected the eyes in similar degree. It was a typical Westralian day. Thud! thud! went Mac's pick, and now and then came a grunt of annoyance from that perspiring individual as an unusually refractory substance would temporarily defy his strength.

We leaned against the windlass barrel, awaiting his call of "Bucket!" which would intimate that further material was accumulated below, and ready for discharge into the outer air. Few men were about, unless at No. 2 shaft, where there was much activity. On the adjoining lot our friend of the leathery skin--who rejoiced in the title of "Emu Bill"--dozed under the shade of a rudely-erected wigwam.

"It's a bit warm," ventured Phil. He was not quite sure of his ground, and did not wish to exaggerate.

"It's d--d hot!" rolled a well-known voice from the depths, and Stewart within the tent sang gaily an adaption from "Greenland's icy mountains."

When quiet was restored I looked again towards No. 2, and at that moment a red handkerchief fluttered to the top of a tiny flagpole surmounting the windlass, and hung limp. A moment later a long, hoarse cheer swept the flat from end to end, and, as if by magic, each claim appeared fully manned, and a sea of faces turned in our direction. No. 2 had signalled, "On Gold."

"Staun by the windlass! I'm comin' up!" roared Mac, who had vaguely heard the sound-waves pass overhead and was wondering what had happened.

"Gold struck on No. 2, Mac!" I shouted, and Phil, who had not quite understood, staggered in amazement, loosening with his feet a quantity of sand and rubble which descended with much force on Mac's upturned face, and interrupted a second passionate appeal to "Staun by the windlass!"

"I'll hae yer life fur that, ye deevil!" he spluttered. "Ye did it on purpose."

Then Stewart came upon the scene in great haste. "I tell't ye sae! I tell't ye sae!" he cried, and for the especial benefit of his isolated companion he bellowed down, "They've got gold at number twa, Mac! Oceans o't!"

Mac was then half-way to the surface, with one foot resting in the empty bucket attached to the cable, and both hands gripping the strong wire rope, which strained and rasped as it slowly coiled on the wooden drum. He was no light weight, and Phil and I felt our muscles twitch as we held against the windlass arm at each dead centre, for there was no ratchet arrangement attached to prevent a quick rush back, and our heavy bucket-load made the safety of his position somewhat doubtful by swaying the rope impatiently, and indulging in other restless antics.

However, when he came near the light and saw how matters stood he became quiet as a lamb; but the sight of his face smeared with the grime so recently deposited upon it, and wearing an intensely savage expression, was too much for our gravity, and our efforts faltered.

"Hang on, ye deevils!" pathetically implored he, as he felt himself tremble in the balance. Then seeing Stewart's face peering down upon him, he besought his aid. "Staun by the winlass, Stewart, ma man," he entreated, "or I'll never see auld Scotland again."

But Stewart was at that moment seized with a paroxysm of laughter. The appeal was vain, and his comrade, being now near _terra firma_, and comparatively safe, again addressed him.

"Git oot o' ma sicht, ye red-heided baboon!" said he. "Nae wuner they couldna work the winlass wi' you staunin' aside them."

It is an unwritten law on most goldfields throughout the world where the individual miner tries his luck that a flag be at once hoisted over every shaft that bottoms on paying gravel. It is a pretty custom, and a generous one to the less fortunate diggers, who judge by the progressing line of flags whether their own remote claims may have a chance of intercepting the golden channel. As it happened in this case, No. 2 shaft could hardly have failed to pick up the lead, which had been traced in its direction to the boundaries of Discovery claim. Still, there was much rejoicing when the red symbol went up, and for the rest of the day a renewed activity was in force to the uttermost end of the Flat. Even "Emu Bill," as our near neighbour was picturesquely styled, felt called upon to do a little work; but, as he took care to explain, he did it only to satisfy mining regulations, which demand that a certain amount of labour must be performed each day. "You'll notice," said he, "that 3, 4, and 5 hiv tacked on d'reckly in line--as they thought--an' you'll furrer notice thishyer propperty, No. 6, an' yer own, No. 7, hiv not exzactly played foller the leader." Which was true; for Emu Bill's claim had taken only a diagonal guidance from its predecessor, and ours continued the altered route, while those following varied considerably between the two angles thus given.

"When you sees a flag floatin' on No. 3, boys," continued he meditatively, "it's time to pack up your traps, an', as I said afore, I believe in waitin' events an' jedgin' accordin'."

"Hoo lang hae you been diggin' holes in this countrie, Leatherskin?" Stewart politely inquired. And he of the weary countenance chewed his quid reflectively for several minutes ere he made reply.

"I reckon over a dozen years," he said at length, "in which time I perspected Coolgardie an' Kalgoorlie wi' old Pat Hannan when there was nothin' but niggers within' a couple of hundred miles of us."

"A'm o' the opeenion," announced Mac, "that what Mr. Leatherskin disna ken aboot the vagaries o' his ain playgrun' is no worth menshun."

"Seven is supposed to be a lucky number," spoke Phil, "and I think it will prove so with us."

After which Emu Bill went back to slumber, and Phil went down to labour in the shaft. "You've got tae mind," instructed Mac, who manipulated his descent, "when you want the bucket jist lift up yer voice tae that effeck, and I'll drap it doon gently on the end o' the rope."

Phil promised, and was speedily lowered into the darkness, and Mac, neglecting his post at once, came round into the tent, where Stewart and myself were trying hard to find a half-hour's oblivion in the realms of dreamland, and the myriad flies buzzing everywhere were trying equally hard, and with greater success, to prevent our succumbing to the soft influence. Mac's entrance at this moment was particularly distasteful to his comrade, who was just on the verge of sweet unconsciousness, and whose essayed snores were beginning to alarm the flies besieging his face.

"Go awa' oot this meenit, Mac," said he, opening his eyes, "and tak' yer big feet aff ma stummick at aince."

Just then a far-away cry of "Bucket" was vaguely heard, and calmly ignored by the new-comer. "Stewart, ma man," he began, sitting down on a portion of the weary one's anatomy, "I wis wantin' tae get yer idees on one or twa maitters o' scienteefic interest."

"Get out, Mac!" I ordered. But he seemed not to hear, and another hoarse call for "Bucket" passed unobserved.

"I wis wantin', for instance," he continued earnestly, "tae speak wi' ye ser'usly on metapheesical quest-shuns----"

"Let me alane!" Stewart howled, writhing in torment. But his visitor was not to be shaken off.

Five minutes later a stentorian yell from the shaft intimated that Phil's patience was being unduly strained, and Mac reluctantly desisted from expounding further the intricacies of science, and rose to go. As may be understood, the bottom of a narrow and deep pit is not the most pleasant of places in which to idle away the time, and Phil, after digging as much as the limited area of operations would allow, was filled with wrath at the neglect of his associate, and cursed that worthy gentleman with fervour between his shouts. "Bucket!" he roared, for the twentieth time, and Mac, who was then scrambling towards the windlass, inwardly commented on the unusual savageness of the voice. "He's a wee bit annoyed," he murmured. "I'll better try an' propeetiate him." So he leaned his head over the shaft mouth and whispered in winning tones, "Are ye vera faur doon, Pheel-up?"

"Lower away the bucket, you flounder-faced mummy!" came the prompt reply, which penetrated the darkness in sharp staccato syllables.

Mac looked pained. "Noo, if that had been Stewart," he muttered grimly, "I wud a kent weel what tae dae, bit being the golologist----" He shook his head feebly, and reached for the hide bucket, which was lying near. Then, forgetting in the flurry of the moment to hitch it on to the rope, he let it descend at the fastest speed the law of gravity would permit.

"Staun frae under!" he yelled, realising too late what he had done; but in such a narrow space there was no room for dodging, and the leathern receptacle struck the unfortunate man below with more force than was agreeable. "Ye brocht it on yersel'," consolingly spoke Mac. "It's a veesitation o' Providence fur miscain' me sae sairly."

The words that greeted his ears were eloquent and emphatic, and he marched into the tent in high dudgeon. "Gang an' pull the golologist oot o' the shaft," said he to Stewart. "He's in the position o' a humourist, an' he canna see throo't."

Perhaps there are few who could have smiled and looked pleasant under similar circumstances; but the "golologist" was of a forgiving nature, and his enmity dissolved when he reached the surface.

"You'll admit, Mac," he said, after allowances had been made on both sides, "that I had some slight cause for grumbling, and in your magnanimity you might have spared me your last forcible addition to the argument."

"That wis a mistak'," Mac replied apologetically. "I had the baggie in ma haun, meanin' tae send it doon in orthodox manner; bit yer injudishus remarks made me nervish, and doon it drappit, sudden-like."

After these explanations peace reigned again; but Stewart's rest had been so rudely broken that he now thought to work off his lassitude by an hour's graft with the pick. We had arranged ourselves into shifts, which went on and off alternately, or otherwise, as we thought fit; but it was my plan to reach bedrock without delay, so the shaft was never allowed to remain long unoccupied. Leaving Mac and Phil to attend to culinary matters, I went out with Stewart, and, after lowering him into the Stygian gloom, kept watch by the windlass until the night closed over and Phil announced that tea was ready.

Two more days passed uneventfully. The hourly-expected bulletin of good news from No. 3 was being long deferred, and vague fears were beginning to be expressed that all was not satisfactory there. It was known that Nos. 3, 4, and 5 had put on extra shifts in the last few nights, and the depths of their sinkings must at this time have exceeded fifty feet. We at No. 7 awaited developments with keen interest. It was natural that we should hope for the worst at No. 3, for, as Emu Bill had said, we were on an entirely different tack, and might cease our labours when the gaudy emblem appeared over that claim. In these two days progress had been very slow with us, for a hard bar of conglomerate quartz had intervened at the 45-foot level, and we dared not use gelignite in case the heavy discharge might bring the upper walls inward and render our whole work useless.

It is always precarious to use blasting powder of any description at the deep levels of an alluvial shaft, and the more so when the upper formations have proved to be of non-cohesive nature. So we were compelled to laboriously pick the unyielding mass where we might, and otherwise drill and shatter it with hammers.

On the morning of the third day after the flag had been raised at No. 2 the Emu seemed to awake from his lethargy in earnest, and set to work with right good-will to make up for lost time.

"You wasn't wrong in takin' my advice arter all, mate," he said to me, when I appeared to inquire the reason of his unwonted activity.

"There's no flag up at No. 3 yet," I answered tentatively.

"No, nor won't be, nuther," he returned with evident satisfaction. "I tell you what, mate," he continued impressively, "the first flag that goes up will be at your own shaft, No. 7, so you'd better get your flagpole ready. The man what says I don't know this country is a liar, every time."

Yet still the men at the shafts in question continued to dig deeper and deeper. "We hasn't reached bottom yet," they said, in answer to all questions, and on that point they appeared decided.

"I'll go up and pint out the evil o' their ways," Emu Bill said, coming over to us after midday. "I don't believe in no man exartin' hissel' to no good." Then he addressed himself to Mac far below: "I say, Scottie, you're going to strike it first, and good luck to you, you hard-working sinner."

"Same to you, Leatherskin, an mony o' them," a voice from the depths replied gruffly, for the "hard-working sinner" had but imperfectly understood.

Leaving Phil in charge of the windlass, I accompanied Emu Bill to the shafts he now considered doomed. "Look at the stuff they're takin' out," said he, drawing my attention to a heap of white and yellow cement-like substance; "the beggars have gone clean through the bedrock and don't know it."

The men at the windlass eyed us savagely as we came near, and I experienced for a moment a malicious joy when I noticed our uncommunicative visitor among them. "We don't want no more opinions," one of their number cried; "we knows we hasn't struck bottom yet."

"Mates," said Emu Bill, with dignity, "I hiv sunk more duffers than thar be years in my life--an' I'm no chicken--an' I tells ye straight, you've not only struck bottom, but you've gone three or four feet past it. If you means to tunnel through to Ole England, that's your business, but if not, you'd better give it best."

Without further words, we retraced our steps, my companion fuming inwardly because of his brusque reception. Yet his advice must have had due effect, for that evening the unfortunately-placed shafts were being dismantled and late in the night the all too sanguine owners struck their camps and departed for other fields. Their disappointment was keen. They had missed fortune by only a few yards.

Next morning all the Flat knew that Nos. 3, 4, and 5 had duffered out, and, as a result, there was a great exodus of those who had been guided by these locations; but, on the other hand, rejoicings were the order of the day with the miners who believed Nos. 6 and 7 to mark the true continuation of the lead, which had last been proved at the second workings.

Our claim was then the cynosure of all eyes, for the Emu's shaft was yet barely six feet deep, and we were supposed to be close on the dreaded bottom. I was convinced that we should know our luck immediately the ironstone bar was penetrated, and that obstruction was not likely to hinder us much longer.

"I'll be the man that'll see gold first," Mac announced confidently, as he shouldered his pick after breakfast and prepared to take first shift.

"I've got a rale bonnie flag to pit up when ye're ready," said Stewart, displaying an imposing-looking Union Jack which had done service at Klondike, and which he had been surreptitiously repairing for some days past.

Phil was silent. "I sincerely hope we may not be disappointed," he said at length. Like me, he could not understand the presence of the refractory formation so close upon auriferous wash--if the latter really existed in our claim.

"Geological rules don't count in this country, Phil," I suggested hopefully; then Mac departed, grumbling loudly at what he was pleased to call my "Job's comfortings."

For the best part of the forenoon I listened to the thudding of the pick with an anxious interest, for any stroke now might penetrate to the mysterious compound known as the cement wash; but the blows still rung hard and clear, and I grew weary waiting. It was not necessary to send the bucket below often. Though Mac smote the flinty rock with all his strength, and a vigour which few could have sustained, the result of his labours was almost infinitesimal. Every half-hour Stewart would receive from his perspiring companion a blunted pick, hoisted up on the end of the cable, while a fresh one was provided to continue the onslaught. Mac seemed tireless, and Stewart above, at a blazing fire, practised all his smithy art to keep the sorely-used tools in order; while ever and anon a hoarse voice would bellow from the underground, "Mak' them hard, Stewart, ma man. Mind that it is no butter A'm diggin'."

"You must come up, Mac," I said, when one o'clock drew near, but he would not hear of it. "I ken I hivna faur tae gang noo," he cried. "I can hear the sound gettin' hollow."

Another ten minutes passed, and now I could distinctly note a difference in the tone of the echoes ringing upwards. Thud! Thud! Thud! went the pick, and Mac's breath came in long deep gasps, that made Stewart rave wildly at the severe nature of his comrade's exertions.

Then suddenly there was a crash, followed by a shout of joy. Mac had bottomed at last.

For several moments complete silence reigned; then a subdued scraping below indicated that Mac was collecting some of the newly-exposed stratum for analysis.

"What does it look like?" I whispered down. There are few indeed who could withstand a touch of the gold fever at such a critical time, and I was impatient to know the best or the worst; either report would have allayed the indescribable feeling that possessed me then. The most hardened goldseeker is not immune from the thrill created when bottom has been reached; at that moment he is at one with the veriest novice who eagerly expects to view gold in its rough state for the first time.

My companion did not at once gratify my longing for knowledge, and when he replied, Phil, Stewart, and myself were peering down into the shaft awaiting intelligence with breathless interest.

"I think," he muttered, in tones that struck upon our ears as a knell of doom, "I raelly think--ye micht keep yer heids oot o' the licht."

"Mac!" I admonished, "remember this is no time for pleasantries."

"Weel, weel," he responded apologetically, "I wis wantin' tae gie correct infurmashun, bit the glint aff Stewart's pow mak's a' thing coloured." Stewart promptly drew back his head with a howl of rage.

"Mak' nae mair refleckshuns!" he cried indignantly.

There came a creak at the windlass rope as Mac put his foot into the half-filled bucket and prepared to ascend; then his voice rolled up to us again. "Wha's makin' refleckshuns? I was only makin' menshun o' the bonnie auburn----"

"Shut up, Mac," Phil interrupted, and Mac obligingly cut short his soliloquy and roared--

"Staun by the windlass, ye deevils, I'm comin' up wi' specimens!"

If he had had cause at one time to comment on the slow and uncertain nature of his upward flight, he assuredly had no room for complaint in that direction on this occasion. All three of us went to the windlass and yanked our comrade to the surface at a rate that caused him much consternation. Then I seized the bucket, which contained a few pounds of an alarmingly white-looking deposit, and hurried with it into the tent, where the gold-pan, freshly scrubbed, lay waiting beside a kerosene tin half filled with muddy water. On closer examination the samples looked decidedly more promising; little granules of quartz were interspersed with the white cement, and a sprinkling of ironshot particles were also in evidence. We had struck an alluvial wash: that was clear enough, and now the question was--would it prove to be auriferous? Without speaking we commenced to crush the matrix into as fine a powder as possible, and when that operation was completed, the whole was emptied into the gold-pan.

"It looks just like sugar," Stewart broke out, "an' no near so dirty as Klonduk gravel."

"Get your flag ready," I said, "we'll know our luck in a few minutes." I now filled the pan with water, and began to give it that concentric motion so familiar to those who search for the yellow metal. Gradually, very gradually, the water was canted off, carrying with it the bulk of the lighter sands, and finally the residue was left in the form of some ounces of black ironstone powder, which, because of its weight, had remained, and about an equal amount of coarse quartz grains that had escaped crushing.

"But I don't see any gold," said Phil despondingly.

"Ye're faur too impatient," Mac reproved. "Ye didna expec' tae see it floatin' on tap o' a' that stuff surely?"

I tilted the pan obliquely several times in order to make the contents slide round in the circular groove provided, and as it slowly moved under the gentle pressure of the little water remaining, it left a glittering trail in its wake, which caused my three companions to break out in a whoop of delight.

Some sixty seconds later the Union Jack floated bravely above our windlass, and was hailed with a thunder of applause.

CAMP-FIRE REMINISCENCES

For many weeks work went on merrily. One after another the various claims reached paying gravel, and flags of all designs and colours soon marked the course of the lead for fully half a mile, after which distance the golden vein effectually eluded discovery; it had apparently disappeared into the bowels of the earth. For the first few days succeeding our location of the auriferous wash we contented ourselves in dollying the more easily disintegrated parts of the white conglomerate, and collecting the solid and cumbrous blocks excavated into sacks, each of which when filled weighed over a hundred pounds. These I meant to send to some crushing battery when several tons had been raised.

The water for dollying as well as for all other purposes was obtained from a deep shaft sunk near at hand by a speculative individual, who considered that water might ultimately pay him as generously as gold, and as he charged eightpence a gallon for the brackish fluid, and had an unlimited demand for it at that, he probably found it a less troublesome and much more lucrative commodity than even a moderately wealthy claim on the Five-Mile Lead. As it so happened, however, when other claims began to copy our tactics and dolly portions of their wash, it was made evident that the water bore was not equal to the strain, and once or twice it ran dry at a most critical time. After a careful computation of its capacity we saw that it could only be drawn upon for domestic purposes in future, and even then there was every probability of the supply giving out if a good rainfall did not soon occur to moisten the land and percolate to the impervious basin tapped by the bore in question.

At this time a public battery, owned by a limited company, was doing yeoman service to the dwellers on an alluvial field some five miles south of us; and after much consideration we, in common with the most of the miners, arranged to despatch our golden gravel thither, as being the only way out of a difficulty. Public batteries exist all over those goldfields, for, owing to the absence of water, a prospector can rarely do more than test samples of his find, and thereby estimate its value; and these public crushing plants are, therefore, a very necessary adjunct to his success.

The time passed pleasantly enough now that the trying uncertainty of the first fortnight was no longer with us, and the auriferous channel was being slowly and surely tunnelled and cut in every conceivable direction. Work was pursued in matter-of-fact fashion. The glamour of the goldseeker's life had departed with the risk.

Yet when the practical and perhaps sordid work of the day was done, and we gathered together around one or other of the numerous camp fires, it seemed as if a new world had descended upon us when daylight gave place to the mystic glimmer of the lesser stars and the steadfast radiance of the glorious Southern Cross. Only the world-wanderer who has slept beneath all skies can truly appreciate the grandeur of the southern constellations. The bushman has grown to love them from his infancy; they have been his companions on many a weary journey, and he regards them with an almost sacrilegious familiarity. But to the traveller from other lands these shining guideposts in the heavens arouse a feeling akin to reverence, and later, when he ventures into his grim desert land and trusts his life to their constancy, his admiration, were it possible, increases tenfold. There is, of course, one great reason for the stranger's attachment to the sky sentinels of an Australian night other than their calm, clear brilliance. In no other country is the wanderer brought so close, as it were, to the luminaries of night. In Canada, Alaska, America, India, or China, or, indeed, in any portion of the globe, by reason of climatic or other conditions, one must perforce sleep under canvas, and in some cases where the cold is severe--as in Alaska--the shelter of a heavily-logged hut is almost a necessity. But in the inland parts of Australia, where rain seldom falls, and where no pestilence taints the atmosphere, the sky alone usually forms the traveller's roof. Many times have I gone to sleep in the great silent interior with only my coat for a pillow, and coaxed myself into slumber while watching for the advent of a favourite star, or tracing the gradual course of the Southern Cross.

To me the stars of the south have a peculiar significance. When I gazed at them, even while divided from civilisation by over a thousand miles of dreary arid sand plains, I felt comforted, for though compass and sextant may fail, the stars will still show the way.

I recall our evenings spent at the Five-Mile Camp with deepest pleasure. There only did I meet and talk with the typical men of the West, and the simple, true-hearted, restless spirits of the Island Continent who have pushed the outposts of their country far into the desert. It was my one experience of a Western Australian mining camp, and afterwards, during our weary wanderings in the far interior, we often longed for the company of the generous-minded men who used to gather round our fire and review their early experiences with such vivid effect.

Emu Bill, I have already mentioned, but there were several others whom we came to know during the later days of our sojourn at the golden flat, and they had all their own peculiar characteristics, with a sterling honesty of purpose as the keynote of their lives.

"Old Tom," I remember, possessed an interest in the claim next to ours; not much of an interest it was, either, for he was too old a man to have come in nearly first in the rush. He had simply been promised a percentage of returns in No. 8 for doing all the work thereon; and as at first the presence of gold there was much doubted, it was no great generosity on the part of the owner of the lot to promise slight reward and no wages for labour done. Yet for once Old Tom scored in a bargain, and his labours were not, as he cheerfully said they had ever been, wholly vain.

Old Tom must have been a splendid specimen of manhood in his day; now he was nearly seventy years of age, and his bent shoulders detracted somewhat from his great stature, while his slightly-bowed legs--whose deviation from the perpendicular, he insisted, had been caused by much walking--gave to him a more frail appearance than was justified.

His knowledge of his own country was extensive, but he had fallen into the strange belief that the world began at Australia, and that Europe, Asia, and other portions of the globe were merely remote colonies or dependencies of his own land. "I hiv walked all over Australia, mates," he used to say; "I know the world well."

"You ought to see London, Tom," I said, one night, after he had been recounting his travelling experiences; but he shook his head.

"It's too far to walk," he replied sadly; "Old Tom's walking days are nearly over. But," and he brightened considerably, "I've heard tell that Lunnon is full o' people, an' there wouldn't be no room for an old man like me to peg his claim."

It was one of his fixed ideas that the whole world was but a goldfield on which all men had to try their luck. And the sea had its terrors for him, as it has for nearly all bushmen, although most of them get accustomed to it sooner or later. With Old Tom it would be never. "I went on a ship once," he admitted, "when I was a young 'un, an' the mem'ry o't will never leave me." He shuddered at the recollection of his sufferings. "I kin walk 'bout as fast as a ship, anyway," he added with much satisfaction, "an' a hundred miles more or less don't make much difference when Old Tom is on the wallaby."

At another time, when news of Kitchener's brilliant successes in the Soudan had reached us, I read out to him from an old home newspaper details of the capture of Omdurman. There were many around the fire that night, and all listened eagerly to the thrilling narrative except Old Tom; he gazed listlessly into the glowing fire, and smoked his pipe unmoved.

"Have you no interest in these things, Tom?" I asked.

"It's a long time since I've been in the Eastern Colonies," he answered slowly, "an' I hiv lost my bearin's among them names. Soudan is in Queensland, isn't it? Or mebbe it is west'ard in Noo South Wales?" Poor Old Tom! he had fought the aborigines times without number, and taken his life in his hands on many a lone trail, yet he would have been surprised had anyone said that he was more than usually venturesome. He knew no fear, and acted his weary part in life nobly and well.

"Silent Ted" was another of our camp-fire comrades; he was, as his name implied, not a talkative individual. Long years spent in the bush had served to dry up the vials of his speech. Yet he was not morose or taciturn by nature; he simply seemed too tired to give expression to his thoughts. His eyes were ever fixed and emotionless as the desert sands--sure evidence of the bushman who has lived in the dreary wilderness beyond the Darling. He had been a long time in striking gold, and we all thought his shaft was likely to prove a duffer; but despite our gloomy prophecies he joined our evening circle night after night, and smoked his pipe cheerful as usual, though that was not saying much.

"I forgot to tell you, mates," he broke out one evening, to our great surprise, "that I struck bottom yesterday."

He meant to say more, but his mouth closed with a click in spite of himself, and in reply to our congratulations he handed round for examination two fine specimens of alluvial gold which he had taken from his first day's tests, and when they had been inspected by the community and returned to him, he passed them on to his neighbour with a sigh; he had apparently already forgotten their existence.

The devil-may-care fossicker, also, was well represented, and his species rejoiced in cognomens so euphonious and varied that I could never remember the correct titles to bestow upon their several owners, and only realised my mistakes when greeted with reproachful glances. Among our acquaintances were, "Dead Broke Sam," a proverbially unfortunate miner in a perpetual state of pecuniary embarrassment; "Lucky Dave," who always "came out on top;" "Happy Jack," who seemed to find much cause for merriment in his rather commonplace existence; and "Nuggety Dick," who at all times could unearth one or two specimens from some secret place in his meagre wardrobe, and describe minutely where they had been obtained--usually some place comprehensively indicated as "away out back."

These gaunt, bearded men had many strange stories to tell, and in the ruddy firelight they would trace on the sand intricate charts emblematic of their wanderings. They were those whose roving natures compelled them to follow up every gold rush, with the firm belief that extraordinary fortune would one day crown their efforts. "It's a durned hard life, boys," Dead Broke Sam, who worked with Old Tom on similar terms of remuneration, would often say, looking round for the sympathetic chorus that was always forthcoming, "but if we doesn't peg out, we is bound to strike it some day."

There is no blasphemy in the speech of the Australian miner. The most rugged-looking fossicker is gentle as a lamb, save when undue presumption on the part of some new chum, or "furriner," arouses his ire, and then he makes things hum generally; but his forcible words are merely forcible, and perhaps "picturesque," but nothing more; the inane profanity of the Yankee fortune-seeker finds no exponent in the Australian back-blocker.

Many were the tales "pitched" on these long starlit nights, and narratives of adventure in search of gold, and hairbreadth escapes from the aborigines succeeded each other until the evening was far spent, and the Southern Cross had sunk beyond the horizon. Then we would disperse with a monosyllabic "night, boys," all round, and seek our separate sandy couches.

My comrades, Mac and Stewart, were shining satellites at these meetings, and weird stories from the Pampas plains and the Klondike valley formed at intervals a pleasing change--from the miners' point of view--to the accounts of gold-finds, and rushes, and hostile natives, so fluently described by Nuggety Dick and Co. And now and then a whaling anecdote would lend zest to the gathering, faithfully told by Stewart with much dramatic effect; he was, indeed, a past master at the art, and never failed to hold his audience spellbound.

Emu Bill, though recognised by all as the most experienced miner present, rarely condescended to spin a yarn, and he listened to his _confrères'_ tales with ill-concealed impatience, but showed a decided liking for my two warriors' romances. One evening, however, he broke his reserve and proceeded to give a rambling survey of his wanderings, and as he warmed to his subject his eyes began to glow, and his gestures became eloquent and impassioned.

"Yes, boys," said he, winding up a _resumé_ of his exploits in various parts of Australia, "I calc'late I hev had a fair-sized experience o' gold mining in my time, an' as ye may guess, I hevn't allus come out right end up, nuther, else I shouldn't be here. Thank the Lord! I've struck something at last."

"I'm wi' ye thar, mate," grunted Old Tom in sympathy. "I guess this is Old Tom's last rise."

Then a silence fell over the little assembly, during which Emu Bill drew fanciful diagrams in the sand with an improvised camp poker, and Silent Ted almost went to sleep. The rest of us gazed at Emu Bill with a show of interest, expecting him to proceed with his reminiscences, and soon he started again.

"Yes, boys, I've had my disappintments, as we've all had, I opine, but I had an un-common disappintment at the time o' the Kalgoorlie Rush----"

"Kalgoorlie Rush, Bill?" I exclaimed. "Were you in that?"

"Wur I in that?" he echoed dismally. "I wur, an' I wurn't, which is not mebbe a very plain statement, but you kin jedge fur yourself if you care to hear my yarn."

"Let her go, Bill," said Nuggety Dick.

"I'm listenin' wi' vera great interest," Mac spoke slowly. "Ye've been a man o' pairts, Emoo."

After sundry expressions of approval had been elicited, Bill again picked up the thread of his narrative.

"You've heard o' old Hannan, of course," he began, "the diskiverer o' Kalgoorlie? The diskiverer o' Kalgoorlie!" he repeated, mimicking a general expression often heard on the fields. "Well, boys, I kin tell you how Kalgoorlie was diskivered.... Pat Hannan an' me had been mates for a considerable time. We walked from South'ron Cross together afore the railway, an' we 'specked around Coolgardie camp wi' fairish success. There was no township at Coolgardie then, boys, though that jumped up quick enough. One day we thought we'd jine a party as was going out eastward to 'speck for gold furrer back in the nigger country; an' after gettin' our water-bags filled an' provisions for a month rolled up in our swags, we all cleared out. In two days we camped at Kalgoorlie well. You know where that is, boys; but there was nary a shanty within twenty-five miles of it then, nothin' but sand an' black boys, an' hosts o' nigs. But we never thought o' lookin' for gold there, worse luck; at least, none o' the rest did; but old Hannan had a skirmish round' an' reported nary sign o't, so we struck camp at oncet. But jest as we wur movin' off, Hannan comes to me with a twist on his mug an' snickers, 'Bill, me bhoy, phwat can I do? Me water-bag's bust!' Now that wur a ser'us matter, for we needed all the water we could carry, not knowin' when another well might turn up, so I voted we shid all camp again until Pat's water-bag had been repaired, an' the rest o' the boys of course agreed, unan'mous. But that wouldn't suit old Hannan, 'Ye'd better go on, boys,' said he, 'an' I'll come after yez in half an hour.' So we went on; but though we went slow, and arterards waited fur half a day, no Hannan turned up, an' we had to continue our journey without him. Well, boys, we came back in less'n a fortnight, arter trampin' about in the durnedest country on God's earth in search o' water an' findin' none. We hadn't time to look fur gold, so ye kin guess we wur mighty miserable when we drew near to the place where old Hannan's water-bag had busted; but the appearance o' the camp sort o' mystified us, thar wur rows an' rows o' tents, an' the ground was pegged fur miles. 'Howlin' tarnation!' I yelled at the first man we came across. 'Is this a mir-adge, or what has we struck?' 'Nary mir-adge, mate,' said he, 'this is Hannan's Find, or Kalgoorlie if yous like that name better.' ... An' it wur a bitter fack, boys. Old Hannan must have notised an outcrop somewheres around, an' being allfired afeared that we, his mates, might get too much benefit, he had ripped the water-bag on purpose so as to get an excoose fur waitin' behind. Then, of course, he had gone back to Coolgardie an' got the Government diskivery reward, which otherwise would have been divided atween us. But we got nothin', boys, nary cent, an' nary square inch o' ground. The camp had been rushed when we wur sufferin' howlin' terrors out back.... There's wan favour I'd ask of you, boys, don't none of you start 'God blessin'' old Hannan for diskivering Kalgoorlie in my hearing. I can't stand it, boys, an' you know why."

Bill ceased, and a murmur of sympathy ran round the little group. The Kalgoorlie rush was fresh in the minds of nearly all present, many of whom had taken part in it. Every one knew Hannan, but who better than his one-time partner? and if his tale showed the much-honoured finder of Kalgoorlie in a less favourable light than that in which he was usually regarded, no one doubted Emu Bill's version of the story; yet it was hard to dispel from the mind the glamour of romance associated with the event from the first. One more illustration of the difference between the real and the ideal, but it seems almost a pity to destroy the illusions, they lend so much colour and interest to otherwise sordid episodes.

The night was unusually dark, fleeting clouds constantly obscured the feeble light of a slender crescent moon, and the myriad stars glimmered fitfully. Our fire was the only cheerful object in the darkness, and it blazed and crackled, lighting up the weather-beaten faces of the circle around it, and illuminating our tent in the background. For a long time no one spoke, every man seemed gloomily affected by Bill's story, and with chins resting on their hands they gazed into the vortex of the flaming logs long and earnestly.

Then a familiar voice interrupted their reveries. "When Stewart an' me discovered Gold Bottom Creek----"

"Go slow, Mac," I objected wearily; "it's getting late and we'd better turn in."

"It is wearin' on fur midnight," grunted Dead Broke Sam, surveying the heavens for the position of his favourite reckoning star.

"What was your last battery returns, mate?" asked Emu Bill, turning to me with a revival of practical interest.

"Fifty tons for 150 ounces," I replied.

"Not too bad," commented Nuggety Dick.

"I'm 20 tons fur 60 ounces," said my interrogator, "which is the same ratio. I guess Nos. 6 and 7 are the best properties on the Five Mile."

"I'm 25 for 51," announced Happy Jack cheerfully.

"Thank the Lord, we've all got somethin'," Old Tom muttered devoutly, as he rose to his feet. Then we went our several ways.

THE "SACRED" NUGGET

At this time much interest was aroused by the report that an extraordinarily large nugget had been found within a few miles of Kanowna, an outlying township, but as the days passed and no confirmation of the rumour was forthcoming, the miners throughout the whole district decided to hold a court of inquiry and elicit the facts, or at least the foundations on which the panic-creating statement had been based. As may be imagined, where gold is in question no rumour, however wild, is allowed to die a natural death. The miners _will_ sift and probe into the matter to the bitter end--and usually the end is bitter indeed to those who have been too eager to join the inevitable rush, and sink the almost equally inevitable duffer shafts.

In the present case, however, the sifting process was speedily fruitful of results. Tangible evidence was obtained that two men had been seen early one morning carrying what seemed to be an enormous nugget in a blanket, some little distance from the settlement. Where the men came from with their find no one knew, and it was not likely that they would have given the information had it been asked; but where they had gone afterwards promised to be an equally mysterious question; they had vanished, leaving no trace or clue.

The warden of the district professed complete ignorance of the entire affair, and suggested that a practical joke had been played on the people; but this only served to make the miners unite in an outburst of genuine indignation. Already many shafts had been sunk in the most unlikely places by men who could ill afford to labour in vain. The mad enthusiasm created had had dire effect. Hundreds of men were flooding into the camp daily from every quarter; work on all the leads had ceased in anticipation of a rush. The joke, if joke it was, was indeed a cruel one, and its perpetrators deserved the wild denunciations that were heaped upon them. "We'll lynch them!" roared the miners, and they meant it; but despite the utmost searching, the nugget-carriers--whose names were known--could not be found.

Then just as excitement was dying out, when the people were all but convinced that they had been hoaxed, and were preparing to return to their various labours, confirmation of the rumour came from a most unexpected quarter. A Roman Catholic priest publicly stated that he was aware of the existence of the nugget, that he had been under a promise of secrecy to the finders not to reveal its location for ten days, but that owing to the extreme panic aroused he felt constrained to admit its authenticity, so that one doubt might be set at rest. As for the district in which the great find had been made, he would give full particulars on the following Tuesday. He further gave out that the nugget weighed something over a hundred pounds, and was a perfect specimen of true alluvial gold.

The state of affairs after that can be better imagined than written. There promised to be a rush unequalled in the annals of goldfields history. Men flocked into Kanowna in their thousands; excitement was raised to fever heat; and the whole country seemed to await the coming of Tuesday.

We, on the Five Mile, did not escape the prevalent craze. Our various properties were becoming worked out, and in any case who could resist being influenced by the mention of such a large nugget? The gold fever is, indeed, a rampant, raging disease which few can withstand.

"It'll be a bonnie run," said Stewart, "bit I can haud ma ain wi' ony man."

"I think Phil could gie ye a sair tussle," commented Mac, "an' as fur masel'--I alloo naebody's sooperiority."

But it was plain to all, long before the eventful day arrived, that the rush for the Sacred Nugget, as it was called, would be totally different from that in which we had taken part with so much success. And little wonder. Since Father Long's announcement, horses and bicycles and buggies of all descriptions were being held in readiness. No one had a notion how near or how far the rush might lead, but all seemed determined to have the speediest means of locomotion at their disposal. Under these circumstances my companions' running powers could avail little, and I was not disposed to favour their desire to try their luck in the stampede.

"We've had enough of gold-mining, boys," I said, "and after we have finished here I think we'll prospect further out." And the thought of journeying into the unknown back country pleased them mightily. It had long been my wish to explore the central parts of the great Western Colony, and I was seriously considering the feasibility of my plans towards that purpose when the Sacred Nugget excitement burst into prominence, and for the time being served to demoralise my schemes.

"I don't think we ought to trouble with any new strike about here," Phil said wearily. The monotony of the gold-seeker's life in Western Australia was beginning to affect even his usually buoyant nature.

"Don't go, boys," advised Emu Bill earnestly. "I is satisfied the thing isn't straight. Father Long or no Father Long, thar's been too much mystery about the consarn. Thar's a ser'us hoax somewheres."

It was a surprise to hear such advice from him. I thought of the time when I first saw him leading the rush to Five Mile, and unconsciously I smiled. "In spite of what you say, I believe you'll be there yourself, Bill," I said. "I'm sure it would break your heart to be absent from such an event."

"I'm not deny'n' but you're right," he replied soberly. "Wi' me it's a sort o' madness, but that don't affeck the honesty o' my remarks wan little bit."

"Weel," began Mac with emphasis, "if ye dinna want tae gang, ye'll no gang. Stewart and me'll see efter that. I'll dae ye a kindness fur aince, Emoo."

We decided at last that Phil and I should go and view the "circus"--not to join in it by any means, but simply that we should see, and have our curiosity gratified; and so the matter rested. But on Tuesday morning, when Emu Bill saw the eager throngs passing inwards in the direction of Kanowna, his resolutions began to waver, and when the Five-Mile Flat also began to show a deserted appearance, he came over to our tent with a mournful countenance.

"I is goin' with you arter all, mates," he said simply.

"Ye're gaun tae dae naething o' the sort, Emoo," roared Mac. "Did ye no promise tae wait wi' Stewart an' me? No, ma man, fur yer ain guid we'll keep ye here."

And after much eloquent argument Bill resigned himself to his fate, almost cheerful at last to find his own views resisted so strongly. But as Phil and I were starting out, he came to me with an eager light in his eyes. "If you does think it's goin' to be any good," he said, "mention my name to Tom Doyle. He'll give you anything you want. Goodbye, boys, an'--an' good luck." And he was led away to be regaled with stirring stories of other lands, by the masterful pair.

The momentous announcement had been advertised to take place on Tuesday, at 3.30 p.m., from the balcony of the Criterion Hotel, and when we reached the township about midday we found the main thoroughfare a jostling mass of boisterous humanity; while cyclists in hundreds, lightly garbed as if for a great race, waited patiently in the side street leading to the post-office, and in full view of the much-advertised balcony. The cyclist element was composed of strangers, for the most part, who had cycled from Kalgoorlie and other settlements within a radius of twenty miles; hence their early arrival on the scene; they had timed themselves to be well ahead, so as to be fully rested before the fateful signal was given.

As we forced our way through the crowd I could not help remarking that the majority had been imbibing over-freely to ensure rapidity of action later on. Indeed, it looked as if the Criterion Hotel, which formed the centre of interest, was to be most benefited by the rush. It had not been by any means the most popular rendezvous of the miners, but on this day it received a huge advertisement, and profited accordingly.

We walked to the end of the street, where the bustle was considerably less, and here we noticed a large wooden erection bearing the sign, "Tom Doyle, Kanowna Hotel."

"That is the name Bill mentioned," said Phil; "he seems a fairly important individual in his own way. Suppose we interview him, or at least have dinner in his mansion."

To the latter part of the suggestion I was agreeable, and so in we went. I had met Tom Doyle on several occasions since my arrival in the country; that gentleman was most ubiquitous in his habits, and had a keen scent for gold, so that his lanky figure might be expected anywhere where good prospects had recently been obtained. He was also future mayor of the camp, and so was, as Phil had put it, quite an important individual in his way; but how we could benefit by giving him Emu Bill's name and compliments was more than I could understand.

The hotel seemed to be completely empty; even the bar was deserted, which showed an extraordinary state of matters. "If Mac and Stewart were here," laughed Phil, "there would be a repetition of the Indian village raid I have heard so much about." Which I fear was only too true. However, we determined to give fair warning of our presence in the establishment, and halloed out lustily; and at last a heavy footstep sounded in the room above.

"Doyle!" I cried, "Sir Thomas Doyle!"

"Lord Doyle!" added Phil, in a voice that might have awakened the seven sleepers.

"Phwat the thunder'n' blazes is yez yellin' at!" roared the object of our inquiry, suddenly appearing on the stairway. Then he noticed the vacant bar. "Thunder'n' turf!" he muttered helplessly, "has all the shop cleared out after that d----d nugget?"

"Looks like it, Tom," I suggested. "Have you been asleep?"

"Av coorse. It's me afternoon siesta I was having. I'll be in time for the rush all right, an' don't you forget it."

"We didn't come to warn you about that," I said. "Emu Bill of the Five Mile said you had a few good horses----"

"Emoo Bill!" he howled.

"Same man," I admitted; "do you know him?"

"Does I know Emoo Bill? Well, I should smile. Why, me an' him were with Hannan when that old skunk went back on us at the discovery ov Kalgoorlie. Howly Moses! Poor owld Emoo! Horses, boys? Surely. I'm goin' to use 'Prince' myself, but yez can have the two steeplechasers, 'Satan' an' 'Reprieve.' I'll do that much for the Emoo; an' d----n the others who expect the horses."

Events had certainly developed much more rapidly than I had anticipated; neither Phil nor myself had entertained the idea of joining in the rush. I had mentioned Emu Bill's message idly, never dreaming it would produce such a prompt effect. Tom Doyle was a noted sporting man in the district, a second Harry Lorrequer in a small way, and provided he was not drunk, he could break in even the most unruly horse when all others had failed.

The noise on the street was now becoming terrific; small armies of miners bearing picks and stakes were arriving from the local diggings, and buggies and horses were being hurriedly equipped.

"We'll have a dhrop av the crater first," said Tom, noting the disturbance outside, "and then we'll saddle up."

Shortly afterwards we emerged from the hotel courtyard mounted on horses that were the pride of the countryside. Tom rode "Prince," a powerful-limbed, coal-black cob of sixteen hands; Phil bestrode "Satan," a fiery Australian brumby; and I clung to "Reprieve," an impetuous high-stepping bay. "Keep at my heels, boys," cried Tom, as he started off at a canter, and it was at once evident that if we could keep at his heels we should be in at the death without a doubt. It was slightly after three o'clock, and when we reached the scene of excitement we found the street absolutely blocked. There must have been several thousand men packed like sardines right across the broad passage, and on the outskirts of this vast crowd over a hundred cyclists stood ready; beyond them still, a line of horsemen were drawn up, in numbers exceeding a regimental squadron.

Scores of buggies and other spidery racing contrivances were scattered near at hand, and extended far down the side street leading towards the post-office. It was indeed an extraordinary sight. We formed up with the other horsemen, Tom's approach being hailed with loud cheers, for every one knew the dare-devil Irishman.

"You'll get a broken neck this time, Tom," cried one of his acquaintances cheerfully.

"I didn't know Prince was broken in to the saddle yet, Tom," said another.

"No more he isn't," replied Tom, "but he's broken enough for me. Stand clear, bhoys."

And then the black charger reared and bucked and curvetted wildly, while its rider kicked his feet out of the stirrups and kept his seat like a Centaur. Few of the horses present had been much used before, and they now became restive also, and pranced dangerously. Phil and I had a bad five minutes. We did not know the nature or temper of our mounts; and besides, neither of us cared to place much reliance on our stirrup leathers, they looked frayed and wofully fragile.

"If they _go_ with yez, bhoys," advised Tom, "give 'em their heads. They'll get tired soon enough. Thar's lots o' room in this country."

"Oh, Lord!" groaned Phil, "what a comfortable prospect we have before us! My back is about broken with this kicking brute already."

The vast assembly was now becoming impatient. The stated time, 3.30, had been reached, and as yet there was no sign of the Reverend Father who had been the cause of the extraordinary meeting. Then just as threats and curses were being muttered, a pale-faced young man in clerical garb made his appearance on the balcony, and a deathlike stillness reigned in an instant. In a few words the priest explained his strange position, but he was rudely interrupted many times.

"It's gettin' late. Where did the nugget come from?" the rougher spirits roared. The young man hesitated for a moment.

"The nugget was found on the Lake Gwinne track," he said, "at a depth of three feet----"

With a long, indescribable roar the multitude scattered, and the speaker's concluding words were drowned in the din. "Hold on!" cried Tom, as Phil and I swung round to follow the main rush, "the d----d idiots didn't wait to hear how _far_ it was from Lake Gwinne." There was scarcely a dozen of us left; the breaking-up had been as the melting of summer snows.

"And the position is two miles from the lake," repeated the young man, wearily. Then Tom gave his horse a free rein and we followed suit.

Lake Gwinne was a salt-crusted depression in the sand surface, about five miles distant from the township, and in a very little frequented vicinity. The so-called track towards it was nothing more than a winding camel pad through the bush, and had the miners stopped to think, they would have at once realised how insufficient was the data given. With our additional information we were slightly better off; nevertheless I was not at all inclined to grow enthusiastic over our chances. The district mentioned had been very thoroughly prospected many months before, and with little success. "I think Father Long has been hoaxed after all," I said to Phil, as we crashed through scrub and over ironstone gullies in the wake of the main body, which we were rapidly overtaking. But he could not reply; his horse was clearing the brush in great bounds, and as it had the bit between its teeth, my companion evidently had his work cut out for him.

A few yards ahead Tom's great charger kept up a swinging gallop, and every now and then that jolly roysterer would turn in the saddle and encourage us by cheery shouts. We soon passed the men who were hurrying on foot, but the buggies and the cycles were still in front. The sand soil throughout was so tightly packed that it formed an ideal cycle path, but the sparse eucalypti dotting its surface were dangerous obstacles, and made careful steering a necessity. The goldfield cyclist, however, is a reckless individual, and rarely counts the cost of his adventurousness. Soon we came near to the cyclist army; the spokes of their wheels scintillated in the sunlight as they scudded over the open patches. But one by one they dropped out, the twisted wheels showing how they had tried conclusions with flinty boulders, or collided with one or other of the numberless mallee stumps protruding above the ground.

On one occasion Tom gave a warning shout, and I saw his horse take a flying leap over a struggling cyclist who had got mixed up in the parts of his machine. I had just time to swerve my steed to avoid a calamity, and then we crashed on again at a mad gallop, evading the bicycles as best we could, and sometimes clearing those which had come to grief at a bound. It was in truth a wild and desperate race.

When the last of the cyclists had been left behind, and the swaying, dust-enshrouded buggies and one or two solitary horsemen were still in front, Tom turned again.

"Let her go now, bhoys," he said, "there's a clear field ahead. Whoop la! Tally ho!"

For the remainder of that gallop I had little time to view my surroundings; I dug my heels into "Reprieve's" flanks, and he stretched out his long neck and shot forward like an arrow from the bow. Buggies and miscellaneous vehicles were overtaken and left in the rear. Various horsemen would sometimes range alongside for a trial of speed, but "Reprieve" outdistanced them all.

"It's Doyle's 'Reprieve,'" one of the disgusted riders cried; "an' there's 'Satan,' an', fire an' brimstone! here's Doyle hissel'."

Tom's weight was beginning to tell on his noble animal, which had given the lead to my horse who carried the lightest load; but with scarcely a dozen lengths between us we thundered past the foremost racing buggy, and were quickly dashing down towards Lake Gwinne, whose sands now shimmered in the near distance. We were first in the rush after all.

Suddenly we came upon a recently-excavated shaft with a dismantled windlass lying near, and with one accord we drew up and dismounted.

"If this is where the Sacred Nugget came out of, it looks d----d bad that no one is about," growled Tom, throwing the reins of his horse over a mulga sapling and looking around doubtfully. It was clearly the vicinity indicated by Father Long, and we lost no time in marking off our lots in the direction we considered most promising. We had barely taken these preliminary precautions when horsemen and buggies began to arrive in mixed order, and in a short time the ground all the way down to the lake was swarming with excited goldseekers.

"I'm blest if I like the look o' things at all, at all," mused Tom, and I was inclined to take a similar view of matters, for a more barren-looking stretch of country would have been hard to find. Then, again, by examining the strata exposed in the abandoned shaft we could form a fair estimate of the nature of the supposed gold-bearing formation; and after Phil and I had made a minute survey of all indications shown, we came to the conclusion that our ground, acquired after such a hard ride, was practically worthless and not likely to repay even the labour of sinking in it.

The hundreds of others who had pegged out beyond us were not so quickly convinced, and they announced their intention of sinking to bedrock if they "busted" in the attempt. About an hour after our arrival at the Sacred Nugget Patch, Phil and I started back for the Five-Mile Flat, satisfied to have taken part in so strange a rush, yet quite certain that the Sacred Nugget had been unearthed in some other district, or that the entire concern had been a stupendous hoax. Tom Doyle decided to camp on the so-called "Patch" all night, without any special reason for doing so beyond holding the ground in case some fool might want to buy it for flotation purposes, as had been done often before with useless properties.

When we reached home that evening we were tired indeed, and in spite of ourselves we felt rather disappointed at the unsuccessful issue of the much-advertised stampede.

"Ye've had a gran' time," said Mac regretfully, when Phil told of how he and "Satan" came in first after a most desperate race.

"I'm glad I didn't go with you," said Bill. "I hope I can resist temptation in the way o' rushes until I is ready to sail back homeward."

"It would certainly be better," I allowed, "than to give up a proved property for a miserable sham."

As it happened, the famous rush had indeed proved but a worthless demonstration. Not a grain of gold was discovered near the Sacred Patch; and after much labour had been expended there, the disgusted miners abandoned their shafts in a body.

The mystery connected with the alleged nugget was never explained. Every bank in the Colony denied having seen it, and its supposed finders did not again appear on the fields. Father Long must have been cruelly victimised, of that there was no doubt, for no one could for a moment believe that he had perjured himself. He was justly known as a thoroughly honourable man and a conscientious teacher. Even the most suspicious mind could not accuse him in any way. And he, the unfortunate dupe of a pair of unscrupulous rogues, did not long survive the severe shock given to an already feeble system. He died some months later, and with him went the secret, if any, of the Great Sacred Nugget.

INTO THE "NEVER NEVER" LAND

A few weeks after the Sacred Nugget rush had taken place we lowered our flag at the Five-Mile Flat, having come to an end of the auriferous workings within our boundaries. I had meanwhile succeeded in purchasing from an Afghan trader two powerful camels and five horses, with the intention of using them on our projected inland expedition. The horses, I feared, would prove of little service, but for the early part of the journey they might relieve the camels somewhat by carrying the various tinned foodstuffs necessary for a long sojourn in the desert. These "various" stores vary but little notwithstanding their distinguishing labels, and the bushman's vocabulary, always expressive, contains for them a general title, namely, "tinned dog."

Tinned dog and flour are, indeed, the sum total of the Australian explorer's needs. The traveller in the great "Never Never" land is not an epicure by any means, and should he be burdened by over-æsthetic tastes they quickly vanish when "snake sausage" or "bardie pie" has appeared on his _menu_ for some days!

Phil had decided to accompany us, and as he had shared our fortunes since our entry into the country, I was by no means loath to accept of his services, knowing him to be a highly trustworthy comrade, and an invaluable addition to our little party he proved.

It was hard to say goodbye to our old associates of the camp fire; I knew they would not remain much longer at the same diggings, which were showing signs of playing out in almost every claim, and it was not likely we should ever meet again.

Old Tom was much affected; he had been our near neighbour so long, and under the happiest circumstances of his wandering life, so he said, and now we were going back into the "Never Never" country, and would never see him more. I was not quite certain whether Old Tom meant that we should most probably leave our bones in the central deserts, or whether his words were due to an extreme sentimentalism on his part, but I preferred to believe the latter.

"We'll call and see you at Adelaide some of these times, Tom," I said, while Stewart and Mac were bidding him an affectionate farewell, but he only shook his head mournfully, and would not be comforted.

As for Emu Bill, he had considerable faith in our enterprise, and would, I believe, have come with us had I said the word. He was, however, a true specimen of the independent bushman, and unwilling to demonstrate his wishes.

"Durn it all, boys," said he with vigour, "I is not an old man yet, an' tho' I knows you aire a big enuff party without me to get through the mallee country, I guess I'll coast it round to Derby in time to jine you in a Leopolds trip."

"I thought you were going home after this rise, Bill," I said quizzically, not surprised to find his early resolutions wavering.

"I'll mebbe see you 'cross the Leopolds first," he replied gravely. "I calc'late I knows that bit o' kintry better'n any white man."

"Goodbye, boys," roared Nuggety Dick and his satellites, waving their shovels from their distant claims, and the echoes were taken up from end to end of the lead, for where I was wholly unknown Mac and Stewart had endeared themselves by devices peculiar to that crafty pair. It was pleasant to receive such a genial send-off, and though I am not as a rule affected by farewell greetings, yet on this occasion I felt strangely moved. The camels and horses stood ready, laden with the great water-bags and unwieldy mining machinery, and Phil was stroking the mane of one of the horses in listless fashion.

"It's a fairly long trip for you to start on, Phil," I said, noting the far-away expression on his usually bright face.

"I was thinking of _other_ things," he answered quietly.

"Gee up, Misery!" cried Mac, cracking his long whip.

"Gee up, Slavery!" echoed Stewart. And we started out, heading N.N.E., bound for the land where the pelican builds its nest.

For the first few miles we crossed the gridiron-like tracks connecting the numerous camps and settlements lying out from the main township of Kalgoorlie; but soon these signs of civilisation vanished, and in the early afternoon our course lay over a wildering scrubland, with iron-shot sand-patches here and there among the stunted shrubs. The camels, which we had named "Slavery" and "Misery," led the trail. They were, indeed, wiry animals, and as I paced beside them, noting their almost ludicrously leisurely tread, I could not help remarking on the vast amount of latent power indicated in every movement of their rubber-like bodies. "Slavery" was a patient and gentle animal, and marched along meekly under his load of full seven hundred pounds, but "Misery" soon displayed a somewhat fiery temper, and before our first day's journey was completed we were compelled to adopt stern measures with the recalcitrant brute.

The horses formed a sad-looking line behind the sturdier beasts of burden, and they would cheerfully have forced along at a speedier rate than the progress of the camels allowed. Among them were two high-spirited animals, which we named "Sir John" and "Reprieve," while the three others we dubbed simply "Sin," "Sand," and "Sorrow."

We camped that evening just twelve miles from our starting-point, and yet it seemed as if we were already beyond the reach of civilisation. Not a trace of a white man's presence was visible anywhere, and for the first night we missed the crashing rattle of the ever-working batteries. A deathlike stillness filled the air, broken only by the startled scream of the carrion crow or the weird double note of the mopoke.

"There's any amount of room for prospecting here," hazarded Phil, gazing around, after the horses and camels had been safely picketed. Which was true; yet who could have the heart to sink a proving shaft amid such inhospitable surroundings?

"If we locate an outcrop, boys," I said, "we may trace it up, but otherwise we can only test the surface sands with the dryblower."

It was but vaguely known what kind of country lay far to eastward of us. Many thousands of square miles had never been crossed by any traveller, and strange rumours were often circulated among the miners of the various outposts regarding the extraordinary riches of the vast "Never Never" land. It was even predicted that a great inland river flowed northwards towards the Gulf of Carpentaria; how far it flowed before sinking in the arid sands was a matter for conjecture, but it was confidently supposed to drain fertile valleys, and to be flanked by noble mountain ranges rich in gold and precious gems. It was a rosy enough picture, surely, but one which, unfortunately, no explorer had yet succeeded in bearing out.

"It's a gran' thing," said Mac thoughtfully, when supper was over, and we were reclining on our blankets gazing at the stars, and listening to the tinkling of the camel bells. "It's a vera gran' thing," he repeated, "tae be alane aince mair, an' wi' the bonnie stars shinin' brichtly abune----"

"Here's a centipede!" roared Stewart, interrupting his comrade's moralising.

"Then pit it in yer pocket, ma man," was the calm reply; and he resumed where he had left off: "Ay, it's a gran' thing, Phil, tae ken that ye're traivellin' in new country, breathin' the bonnie pure air. Noo if ye had been wi' me an' Stewart oot in Alaskie----"

"Spin me a yarn, Mac," said Phil, drawing his blanket closer, while Stewart started up in sheer amazement.

Mac was visibly affected; he took his pipe from his mouth and gazed at the camp fire blankly for some time without speaking. "Ye're a guid an' thochtfu' man, Phil," he said at length with great earnestness, "an' A'll gie ye a rale bonnie story...."

I will pass but briefly over the early days of our march. Our track at first led through the Murchison district, for I wished to make a mid-northerly latitude before steering east; but after leaving the Gascoyne Channel the country traversed was of the most dreary nature, and similar to that around the more desolate southern gold camps. Several soaks were found opportunely when the water-bags were becoming dangerously flat, and our progress continued uneventfully for over a week, but then the formation of the land-surface began to change rapidly for the worse. The dwarfed eucalypti became sparser and sparser, and in their room appeared bushy clumps of saltbush and tufts of spiky spinifex grass. The hard ironsand soil, too, gave place to a white yielding gravel which hindered our advance greatly. The camels, certainly, were not seriously inconvenienced, but the staggering horses sank over the fetlocks at each step, and stumbled forward painfully, while we floundered alongside, almost blinded by the rising iron dust which filled our ears and nostrils.

For two days we crossed this disheartening waste, fearing greatly for the safety of the horses, which showed signs of collapse. No water had been located for three days before entering upon this miserable tract, and assuredly none promised on its parched expanse. The horses--poor animals!--fared rather ill in consequence, for we dared not give them much of our rapidly-diminishing fluid supply. On the morning of the third day, however, our course led across slightly-improved country, so that better progress was made, and our chances of finding water were decidedly more encouraging.

At noon we entered a belt of scrub, and soon were crashing through a miniature forest of stunted mallee; but this state of affairs was not destined to last, for we could see in the distance, at a slightly higher altitude, the open plain extending back into the horizon. At this point Phil considered the indications very favourable for water, and we decided to make a temporary camp, and search the district thoroughly before proceeding. We were preparing to unload the camels, when Stewart, who had gone a little way ahead, came rushing back in great excitement. "Niggers!" he hoarsely whispered. Looking up I saw quite an assembly of stalwart bucks directly in our course, and scarcely two hundred yards in front. Some bushes partially hid them from our view, and they had evidently not yet observed us. They were well equipped with spears and waddies; probably they were out on a hunting expedition, and, if so, it boded well for the resources of the district.

While we hesitated, debating on our best plan of action, they saw us, and gave vent to a series of shrill yells, yet were apparently undecided whether to resent our presence or escape while they might. Then a shower of spears whizzed through the air, but fell short, and buried their heads in the sand at our feet. We were just out of range of these missiles, luckily enough. My companions were not disposed to tolerate such tactics, and Mac discharged his gun, loaded with small shot, at the hostile band. They waited no longer, but made a wild rush into the densest part of the scrub, and were quickly lost to sight. Then we proceeded onwards warily, whilst far in the distance the branches crackled and broke before the fleeing horde. The scene of their stand was littered with fragments of brushwood, and the dying embers of a fire smouldered in the centre of a small clearing close by. All around, shields, spears, and boomerangs lay scattered as they had been thrown when their owners took to flight. The sight was curiously strange and impressive.

My usually loquacious companions had been wonderfully silent during the last day or so, owing, perhaps, to the uninspiring nature of our environment, but now Mac succeeded in launching into a lengthy diatribe, in which he consigned the blacks generally to a very warm climate indeed.

"At the same time," said he, "we shidna forget that such inceedents serve a vera usefu' purpose."

"They seemed rale dacent black buddies," reflectively murmured Stewart.

"And they entertained the laudable desire of puncturing us with 'rale dacent' spears," Phil added shortly.

The camels stood patiently within the clearing, with their long necks outstretched, and their heads moving up and down with the regularity of automatons; the horses straggled behind, gasping feebly.

"We'd better make a halt right here, boys," I said; "the horses seem played out completely." So while Mac and Stewart were engaged in the work of unloading them, Phil and I made a minute survey of our surroundings. A huge breakwind guarded the circular space, and behind it a well-padded track led backwards into a richly-foliaged dell. Creeping plants and luxurious ferns grew in profession around the base of a single lime-tree which found root in the hollow, and a long wiry kind of grass flourished abundantly under its genial shade.

"I'll investigate the cause of such unusual vegetation," Phil said, stepping forward.

"Look out for snakes," I warned; then turned to assist Mac in raising poor "Sorrow," who had rolled over on the ground, pack-saddle and all.

"The puir beastie's feenished," Mac said sorrowfully, "an' nae wunner."

"Here's anither ane," wailed Stewart, and I looked up to see him wildly endeavouring to keep "Sin" from falling on the top of sundry cooking utensils. It was plain that two at least of the horses could go no further if fortune did not speedily favour us.

"This is the deevil's ain countrie," groaned Mac helplessly, and for the moment I felt utterly disheartened as I watched the poor animals convulsively gasping on the sand.

A shout from Phil drew my attention. "There's a spring here, boys," he cried gleefully from the lime-tree hollow.

It was a welcome discovery; I had almost despaired of finding water in the vicinity. "We'll camp for the day," I said, "and give our pack train a much-needed rest."

The spring was a small one and beautifully clear; its waters gurgled gently through a fissure in a white kaolin formation, and the surplus flow was absorbed by the spreading roots of the climbing growths mentioned. It was half hidden by an outjutting boulder, and further cunningly screened from view by a heavy clump of overhanging grass. Evidently the blacks were in the habit of camping here frequently; the breakwind might have been erected for one night's shelter, but the track towards the well had been long in use.

"I hope our landlords do not visit us to-night," Phil remarked, as we gazed at each other through the smoke of our camp fire some little time later.

"It wud be a vera onfort'nate happenin'," Mac grunted placidly, drawing his gun closer.

"They're mebbe cannibals," suggested Stewart uneasily.

"We'll keep a watch in case of accident," I said; "but I don't expect they'll give us any trouble."

But Stewart was still uneasy. "Their spears ha' an ex-tra-or'-nar' bluid-thirsty look," he grumbled again, examining the double-barbed weapons he had collected, "an' I hae nae faith whitever in they black-skinned heathen."

However, the night passed without alarm, though we kept a careful watch and were ready for an attack should any have been attempted.

We continued our march next morning, and in less than half an hour had emerged into open country, but now the surface soil was of a hard, gravelly nature, liberally strewn with the iron pebbles so abundant in more southerly latitudes. Straggling growths of mallee and mulga spread everywhere, and at their roots reptiles and numberless nameless pests seemed to abide. Black snakes writhed across our path, centipedes squirmed over our boots, iguanas in myriads started before our approach, and flying creatures with hard, scaly wings rose from the shadeless branches and dashed into our faces. Flies in dense clouds assailed us, causing indescribable torture, and the diminutive sand insect was also extremely active, seeking into our socks and ragged clothing despite our most stringent precautions.

For over a week we journeyed across this dreary wilderness, nor did we once observe a break in the horizon's even curve; the weather, meanwhile, being of sweltering description. Then a dim haze towards the north-east gradually outlined into a well-defined mountain range as we advanced, and the country in general took on a more irregular appearance. We were now nearing the line of the explorer Wells's northward march, and I altered our course slightly in order to intersect it at a point where a good water supply was charted, for four days had elapsed since we had last discovered any trace of moisture.

All that day we forced onwards wearily, the sun beating down upon us mercilessly the while. No more desolate tract could be imagined than that which lies in these latitudes: the motionless mallee and mulga shrubs, the glistening beady surface over which we dragged our feet, the quivering heat haze that so distorted our vision, and the solemn stillness--the awful stillness of a tomb--all tended to overwhelm the mind. A broken range of sandstone hills loomed clearly out of the haze early in the afternoon, directly in our track, and I again shifted the course so as to round their southern extremity. Towards the south the sand wastes extended far as the eye could reach, but east and north many mouldering peaks now interrupted our view.

We found the spring without difficulty; it contained about forty gallons of muddy water, over which a thick green scum had gathered, and it was simply moving with animal life. Many bones of doubtful origin lay heaped near to it; some were probably the remains of kangaroos killed by the natives, of whom there were numerous signs in the neighbourhood, but Phil insisted that not a few human bones were among the bleaching mass. At the bottom of the spring the complete vertebræ of several snakes and similar reptiles almost wholly covered the chalky, impervious base, but how these came to be there was a matter beyond my comprehension.

"Most probably," said Phil, "the natives like a snaky flavour in the water."

"It mak's it extra paleetable tae them, nae doot," groaned Mac with a shudder, "but I hae nae parshiality fur crawly bastes, even when they're deid."

Stewart had by this time acquired a philosophical turn of mind. "What's the guid o' growlin', Mac?" he snorted. "There's mebbe waur than that tae come yet."

That we were in a district favoured by the blacks was very certain, although we had not yet observed any of the dusky savages; three or four breakwinds sheltered a space close to the spring, and the ground was black with burnt-out smokes and charred logs. The water, notwithstanding its pronounced medicinal flavour, was a great improvement on the fetid solutions of the various soaks we had encountered, and we decided to camp by it for several days, so as to test the auriferous resources of the surface sands, which looked rather promising, and also to give us time to make some much-needed repairs in our tattered wardrobe.

The results of our experiments with the supposed auriferous country proved too insignificant for more than a passing mention here. A few colours were obtained, but nothing to give confidence to even the most unambitious goldseeker. Rather disconsolately we prepared to resume our march in a more N.E. direction, and three days later we started on our altered course. The eternal sameness of things in the Australian interior makes daily records of progress unentertaining reading, and though each day's travel comes back to my mind now as I write with painful vividness, yet it but cries out in the same strain as its predecessor and follower, "Sand, sand, everlasting sand."

For many miserable days and weeks we struggled eastward, sometimes deviating to the north or south in vain endeavour to escape unusually deterrent belts of the frightful wastes now so familiar to us all.

Sometimes we would locate a soak or claypan when least expecting such a find, and again, we might be reduced to almost certain disaster before the water-bags were replenished at some providential mudhole in our course. I do not wish to enlarge upon the miseries of our journeyings; we took these willingly on ourselves at the start, hoping for a compensating reward in the shape of valuable knowledge; and is not experience always priceless? Knowledge we did gain, it is true, but not of the kind we had over-fondly anticipated; still, we had not yet reached the planned limit of our expedition, and who knew what might await us in the dim, shadowy mountain that stretched its cumbering height far on the eastern horizon?

We had sighted this landmark nearly a week before, but having been more than usually zealous in our search for the precious metal among the outcropping iron formations now frequently encountered, our rate of travel had been reduced to a few miles each day. Two of the horses were still left us; the last of the ill-fated three had succumbed from sheer exhaustion nearly fifty miles back, but "Sir John" and "Reprieve," though no longer the high-spirited animals they once were, still carried their jolting burdens of tinned meats, flour, and extracts, though their steps were daily becoming weaker, and their bright eyes clouding in a manner that foretold the worst. The camels stubbornly paced ahead, with the great water-bags tantalisingly lapping their tough hides, and the miscellaneous mining implements perched on their hollow backs; they had already served us well and nobly, and I devoutly hoped their vast energies would bear them over the worst that lay before us.

EL DORADO!

We were now close on the 125th degree of longitude, which I had marked as the limit of our eastward course, and my faith in more northerly latitudes was so little, indeed, that I dreaded making any change in our direction of travel.

"If we don't strike gold within the next couple of days," said Phil, "there isn't much likelihood of our being overburdened with wealth at the end of the trip."

Mac, who was pulling the nose rope of the leading camel, at once lifted up his voice in protest.

"For Heaven's sake be mair pleasant wi' yer remarks, Phil," he cried. "I was calculatin' on goin' home like a young millionaire----"

"You'll need to calculate again, then, Mac," interrupted Phil, "for I don't think we'll get a red cent out of the ground on this journey."

But the complainer was not yet satisfied.

"What's the guid o' bein' a golologist?" he demanded wrathfully. "I thocht----"

What he thought remained unspoken, for at that moment we heard a scramble behind, and looking round we saw the doughty Mac and his compatriot Stewart engaged in fierce conflict.

"I saw it first, ye red-heided baboon," roared the former, with remarkable fluency of expression.

"The fact o' seeing it is naething--naething at a'," returned the other with great complacency, "It's sufficient to say that I hae got it."

The camels, feeling the strain of guidance relaxed, had come to a halt, and were now seemingly taking an interest in the squabble. It was a rare thing for them to be left to their own devices, even for a moment. Time is precious when crossing these vast salt tracts, and midday stoppages in the blazing sun are dangerous.

"What are you two quarrelling about now?" I asked sternly, feeling in no gentle mood with the hinderers. Mac's face assumed an intensely aggrieved expression, but he held his peace, and Stewart calmly displayed a small rounded pebble between his finger and thumb, announcing blandly that it alone was the cause of the disturbance.

"It's a bonnie stane," said he, gazing at his treasure admiringly.

"An' it's mine by richt," howled Mac.

I was about to lecture the pair strongly on their foolish behaviour over what I supposed to be an ordinary fragment of white quartz, when Phil uttered an exclamation, and, rushing back, snatched the pebble from Stewart's hand and proceeded to examine it closely. So eager was his scrutiny that in a moment we were clustered round him, awaiting his verdict with extreme interest.

"What do you make of it?" said he at length, handing the stone to me.

"Weather-worn quartz," I replied promptly. He shook his head.

"We'll work it out in specific gravity later," he said, with the air of one who was sure of his ground; "but I will bet you this half of a shirt I am wearing that it's a genuine ruby, and there must be more of them in the vicinity."

"Hurroo!" yelled Mac and Stewart in unison, prancing around delightedly, and for the moment Phil's delinquencies were forgotten in the tribute of praise that my worthy henchmen generously accorded the "golologist." They ended by making him a present of the fateful gem, though Mac somewhat spoilt the effect of the gift by soliloquising rather loudly--

"It'll be well to propeetiate the golologist, Stewart, my man, for he's nae sae stupid as he looks, efter a'."

Soon after we renewed our march, much uplifted at the thought of acquiring treasure even more valuable than gold; but though we kept a sharp look-out on the ground surface, the early afternoon passed without any further coloured pebbles being discovered, whereat Mac again commenced to revile the country with his customary eloquence.

"That ruby wis a delooshun," he asserted stoutly. "Some o' the El Dorado fairies must ha'e put it there on purpose to deceive us, an' noo they'll be having grand fun at oor expense."

"Hustle along old Misery, and don't moralise," I interjected hastily.

"Moralise?" he echoed. "Me moralise? No vera likely. I never dae such a thing. Gee up, Meesery, an' stop winkin' at me this meenit."

But the mention of El Dorado had aroused in Stewart a strain of recollection, and as he paced beside his cumbrous charge he made several ineffectual attempts to recite some ancient verses as learned in the days of his youth.

"I canna mind the poetry o' it," he broke out at last, "but the story was real bonnie; it telt hoo a warrior went out to seek for El Dorado, and--and----" Then his memory came back to him, and he chanted out dismally--

"And as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow. 'Shadow,' said he, 'Where can it be, This land of El Dorado?'

'Over the mountains Of the moon, Down the valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,' The Shade replied, 'If you seek for El Dorado.'"

"Which is," grunted Mac, "which is, metaphorically speaking, preceesely what we are doing. Gee up, Meesery, and dinna look sae weary-like."

"Our specimen must have been shed from that mountain," I repeated, when we lay down in our blankets at night.

The morning dawned clear and beautifully calm. The sky was cloudless, save where in the east a billowy sea of gold marked where the sun had risen. The leafless branches of the mulga shrubs growing near quivered in the rising rays, and the long sand-track ahead sparkled as the waters of a gilded ocean. But now, through the dispelling haze the firm outline of a precipitous mountain became clearly visible only a few miles ahead. In our eager search on the preceding afternoon we had not observed the nearness of the welcome sentinel, or probably it was that the darkening sky in the early evening had shut it from our view. There was certainly no doubt about its presence now, and we hailed it right gladly as we watched it loom out of the dissolving mists.

"It's mebbe a mirage," suggested Stewart apprehensively.

"Nary miradge," retorted Mac; "it's El Dorado, that's what it is. Just what we were looking for."

Five minutes later I was ogling the sun with my sextant, while Phil stood by with the trusty chronometer in his hand to note the time of my observations.

"125 degrees 17 minutes east longitude," he announced, after a rough calculation, "which makes the mountain about ten miles off."

"'Shadow,' said he, 'Whaur can it be, This land o' El Dorado?'"

Stewart trolled out lustily as he set about the preparation of the morning meal. About eight o'clock we were ready to start, which showed unusual alacrity in our movements. The camels, too, seemed imbued with fresh life, and allowed themselves to be loaded without their customary protests.

"I've never seen Meesery sae tractable," Mac said in amazement, patting the trembling nostrils of the leading camel. "I wonder what's gaun to happen?"

"We're all ready," sung out Phil blithely, and I gave the usual signal for the advance.

"Gee up, Meesery," grunted Mac.

"Aince mair, Slavery," implored Stewart, and we set out for the mountain at an unusually lively pace. The forenoon passed without event, and so speedy had been our progress that our midday halt was made amongst the straggling timber belt which feathered the base of the mountain. We lost no time in making ready for the ascent, and within an hour after our arrival we had hobbled the camels and were starting out on our journey of discovery.

For the first half-hour we made fairly good headway through the straggling belt of eucalypti covering the lower slopes, then we emerged on a treeless, boulder-strewn expanse, on which the sun scintillated with burning intensity. Over this scorched area we clambered as best we could. The sharp rubble cut through our boots, and the glistening rocks, hot as a fiery furnace, burnt our clutching hands. Our mountain exploration was surely becoming less of a picnic than we had anticipated. Directly above, a solid mass of basalt reared its head, gaunt and bare, but when we came to the edge of the glass-like cap, we hesitated--we might as well have attempted to cross a field of molten metal. From this point various dry channels tore down the face of the hill, radiating outwards into the plain. They were so silted up with rock fragments and ironsand as to be scarcely perceptible, but Phil's trained eye at once noted their significance.

"Ages ago," said he, "those gullies were filled with rushing torrents, which goes to prove that a crater lake existed on the top of the mountain."

He walked over to one of the ancient beds and scraped among the drift of black sand conglomeration. At once several water-worn specimens of quartzite were uncovered, and of these over fifty per cent bore the characteristic markings of the ruby.

"Fill your pockets with these, Mac," he said quietly. "They should be worth considerably more than their weight in gold."

Prolonged travelling in Western Australia does not tend to develop enthusiasm, and the extraordinary find so unexpectedly made was greeted by no extravagant manifestations of delight. Relief rather than joy was ours at that moment, for in one important sense at least our quest seemed surely ended.

"If we can find water in the vicinity we'll camp at the foot of the hill for a few days, boys," I announced with much satisfaction. "Meanwhile we had better explore a little further, and see what the country looks like from the summit."

But Mac and Stewart were already busily engaged collecting specimens, which they stowed in every nook and corner of their ragged garments.

"Come along, you gloating misers!" cried Phil, as he and I started to negotiate the last stiff climb.

"There's nae time like the present," growled Mac oracularly, pursuing his congenial task with supreme content.

"I'm o' the same opeenion," spluttered Stewart, who had turned his mouth into a receptacle for the finest gems in his collection. So we crawled over the smooth climaxing dome alone. Our surprise was great when on reaching the top we found ourselves on the edge of a small circular area that depressed ever so slightly towards the centre, providing a space which looked remarkably like an ordinary circus ring. This impression was much heightened by the fact that a well-marked path seemed to have been worn around the periphery; but through what agency this had been done I could not well imagine. We stood surveying the odd arena, filled with wonder.

"It is one of Nature's strange tricks," I said, after a considerable silence.

Phil looked doubtful, but he did not speak. Then we made a further discovery. The saucer-shaped hollow was graven out of a solid lava formation, but exactly over the point of its deepest dip several crumbling branches lay strewn. Of a certainty they had not come there of their own accord, and at once we were overwhelmed with dire misgivings.

"It means that there are some native tribes in the neighbourhood," said Phil, watching me kick aside the branches with much interest. What we saw then did not add to our bewilderment, for we had already partly guessed the significance of the peculiar arrangement. Under the layer of brush, a narrow, funnel-like shaft had been hid, which apparently descended into the heart of the mouldering desert sentinel, but why this hole had been covered was more than we could understand. While we stood in silent contemplation of the remarkable state of affairs disclosed, our energetic companions, having marvelled at our long absence, swarmed up beside us, breathing heavily.

"Nebuchadnezzar's furnace wouldna be in the same street wi' that biler," began Mac, patting his scantily-covered knees with tender solicitude.

"I smell nigger," howled Stewart, taking in the scene at a glance.

"That's aye what happens when A come oot withoot my gun," sorrowfully muttered the first arrival, moving over to the narrow crater mouth and peering into the darkness with studied nonchalance.

It so happened, however, that the loose pockets of his flimsy upper garment were filled to overflowing with cherished specimens, and the half-kneeling attitude which he assumed allowed them to escape in a copious stream, so that they fell down into the depths. With a bellow of rage he drew back, but not before the bulk of his treasure had disappeared; then the air was filled with the fulness of his wrath, and sulphurous expressions loud and deep were hurled into the Stygian gloom.

"Calm yersel', Mac--calm yersel'," adjured Stewart soothingly.

"Calm be d----d!" roared the afflicted one. "Hoo am I goin' to get back my rubies?"

This was a point which seemed unanswerable.

"You'll get more to-morrow, Mac," I said, "but we'll have to return to the camels now, in case the natives get a hold of them before we have time to take precautions."

He remained unappeased, however.

"We'll mebbe hae to flee for oor lives afore morning," he protested gloomily. "It's no the first time we've had to strike camp in a hurry."

As he spoke he unwound from his waist a long coil of rope which he usually carried in case of emergency, and, with dogged determination, proceeded to sound the depths of the well.

"You'd better let me gang," advised Stewart, guessing his companion's intentions before they had been uttered; "I'm no sae bulky as you, an'----"

He got no further.

"Mak' nae mair allooshuns," came the answer, with a chilling dignity. "I'll engineer this funeral mysel'."

Hastily fastening a fragment of rock to the end of the rope, he dropped it into the narrow orifice and carefully noted the length of line run out. All this time Phil and I had made little comment, never expecting that any satisfactory bottom would be found; but great was our surprise to see the rope become stationary when little over twenty feet had been paid out.

"I'm really anxious to know what is at the bottom of that hole, Mac," said Phil; "but I hope you don't find a nice fat, healthy crocodile awaiting you----"

"Haud the end o' the rope, Phil, an' dinna speechify," broke out the harassed Mac impatiently; and he wriggled his somewhat substantial form into the vertical channel until his arms alone saved him from falling down altogether.

"It's a--a tight fit," he grumbled, with diminishing enthusiasm. "Noo haud on tight, ye deevils; haud on--haud on!"

His voice rumbled up dolorously to our ears as we lowered him gently into the mysterious pit, until, when the lower depths were reached, the rocky vault seemed to tremble with vague echoes. Suddenly the strain on the rope was relaxed, and we waited expectantly for tidings from the adventurer.

"It's vera dark doon here," came the ghost-like voice from the underground. "I think--I think I'll come up----"

"What sort of bottom have you got, Mac?" I shouted. "Try and fetch up a specimen."

A few more inconsequent remarks issued from the pit mouth, then we could see the dull glimmer of a match far below. Almost immediately after a jubilant yell of triumph swelled up to the surface.

"I've got them! I've got them!" he cried. "An' there's gold quartz here, foreby." Then came a crash, a rumble, and a dull, heavy splash, and we on the surface gazed on each other in dismay.

"Let me doon! Let me doon!" wailed Stewart. "Something serious has happened to Mac. Haud on to the rope." He let himself into the narrow aperture with unwonted agility, and, with an unspeakable fear in our hearts, Phil and I commenced to pay out the rope.

"Wha the--who the----Wha's blockin' the licht?" bellowed a well-known voice from the bowels of the earth, which had the effect of ejecting Stewart into the outer air with a celerity astonishing to behold. Then we breathed again.

Apparently some ledge had first intercepted our sounding-line, and also provided a precarious foothold for our valiant associate; but that the true bottom had now been reached there was little room for doubt.

"I might have guessed before," said Phil, "that the crater would have an impervious base, and so retain any rain that might be collected."

Judging by the snorts and puffs emitted by the individual who was in a position to know, the shaft must have held a fair amount of liquid contents.

"Haul on the rope, for heaven's sake!" spluttered he. "This water would pushion a nigger. Haul me up quick! There's snakes an' wee crocodiles tickling me!"

In haste we endeavoured to obey his beseeching call, but the sodden cord was not equal to the strain, and twice the strands snapped before our comrade's bulk was raised from the water.

"We'd better double the line, boys," I said. "Mac must have increased in weight during his sojourn below."

The unfortunate victim of his own prowess groaned lugubriously from his dank and dark prison, but found time between his grumbling to curse right heartily the various denizens of his watery environment.

"Be patient, Mac, be patient," counselled Stewart, rearranging the haulage system. "Scientific exploration is not without its drawbacks, as you should well ken by this time." He continued addressing choice words of wisdom to his helpless compatriot while he deftly spliced the rope. During this lull in operations I chanced to look abroad over the sweltering plain, and at once my eyes detected the curling "smokes" of a native camp. We had been too busily engrossed with other matters since our arrival on the hill-top to observe the landscape on the east, and now the nearness of a possible hostile band appalled me. Our rifles had been left in camp, and I only carried a revolver.

"By Jove!" said Phil, "we are going to be in a fix." Then a shout of alarm broke from him: "There's about a dozen of the ugliest bucks I ever saw coming right up the hill," he said feebly. I followed his gaze, and, sure enough, I could see a number of hideously-scarred and feather-bedecked warriors making their way through the scraggy brushwood, scarcely a hundred yards from where we stood. With frantic haste, we again endeavoured to rescue our companion from his awkward predicament, but fate was surely against us. We had with our combined efforts raised him only a few feet when the rope came in contact with the broken ledge, and the strands parted like so many straws, so that Mac was once more precipitated back into the slimy waters. Our plans had now to be made quickly.

"Go down to the camp, Stewart," I said, "and fetch a camel pack-rope and my rifle. Phil and I will make the best of things till you come back." Forgetful alike of the burning rock and the sharp-edged rubble, he slid down the smooth declivity, and made a wild burst for the foot of the hill. Almost immediately the many-barbed spears of the aborigines bore into view from the opposite side of the dome, and we laid ourselves flat on the curving wall and breathlessly waited events. Slowly a weird procession filed on to the elevated platform, and continued a solemn march around the well-trod channel which had first claimed our attention. Round and round they circled, clashing their spears and shields, and swaying their lithe black bodies drunken-like. Then suddenly they broke out into a dismal chant, and quickened their step into a half-run, ludicrous to behold. It was soon evident to us that the warrior band had not come to level their spears against us; they never once glanced in our direction. Their gaze was apparently fixed on the ancient crater in which Mac lay entombed. They had come to worship the great spirit Wangul, the dreaded "Dweller in the Waters."

The _dénoûement_ of this interesting ceremonial was rapid and unexpected. Just when the reeling warriors had ceased their vocal exercise from sheer want of breath, when the ensuing silence was broken only by the pattering of many feet on the sun-baked lava, a hoarse voice thundered up from subterranean caverns, and at the sound the poor nomads halted in their mad career, and gazed at each other terror-stricken.

"Babba, Wangul, Moori!" they cried shrilly, "Babba, Wangul, Moori!" ("The Water God speaks"). Again a sonorous echo reverberated up from the heart of the mountain, completing their demoralisation. A moment they hesitated, then, dashing their warlike arms to the ground, and tearing the feathers from their hair, they fled madly back whence they had come. Phil gave a gasp of relief, and I felt thankful beyond expression. Then we quickly made our way through the litter of discarded weapons towards the Wangul's home. The words that floated to our ears when we gazed into the depths were sulphurous in the extreme. Poor Mac could not understand why he had been so ruthlessly neglected, and his complaints were deep and eloquent.

"Stewart, ye red-heided deevil, are ye goin' to pu' me oot, or are ye no?" he howled in righteous indignation, and I was glad that the individual named, who just then came swarming over the rocks, puffing tempestuously, had not heard the fervent malediction bestowed upon his faithful person. He approached laden with the whole armoury of the expedition, the perspiration streaming from his face, and his gaunt frame trembling visibly.

"I thought ye had been all slauchtered," he muttered, subsiding behind his equipment, "an' I wis goin' to hae revenge."

With the aid of the stout camel-ropes we soon raised our dripping comrade to the surface. As he approached the light of day I noticed that his rugged old face bore a distinctly grim expression, as if he was of the opinion that we had been having a huge joke at his expense; but when he heard of what had occurred, and the part he had unwittingly played in the ceremonial, resentment gave place to mirth, and he laughed uproariously.

"An' here's the rubies, Stewart, my man," he said, extracting the precious stones from some secret corner of his bedraggled wardrobe; "I got them safe efter a', and you shall have the finest are o' the collection for yer maist splendifferous efforts on my behalf."

Soon after we returned to camp, but it was many days later when we said goodbye to the lonely mountain which Mac persisted in misnaming El Dorado.

WHERE THE PELICAN BUILDS ITS NEST

There is little need to recount the monotonous details of my log-book for the many weeks that ensued. The same description applies to nearly all the vast interior country, and we struggled over ironshot sand-plains and through scraggy brushwood belts, with rarely a diversion in the landscape to gladden our weary eyes. The sun shines on no more desolate or dreary country than this great "Never Never" land of Australia, whose grim deserts have claimed many a victim to the cause of knowledge. The explorer's life amid the deadly solitudes is not one of many pleasures. Rather do unpleasant possibilities for ever obtrude upon his jaded brain until he is well-nigh distraught, or at least reduced to a morbid state of melancholy in keeping with his miserable surroundings. Little wonder, therefore, that disaster so often attends the traveller in these lonely lands. The strongest will becomes weakened by the insidious influences of the country, and the most buoyant spirit is quickly dulled. All Nature seems to conspire against him. The stunted mallee and mulga shrubs afford no welcome shade; they dot the sand-wastes in endless even growths, and the eye is wearied by their everlasting motionless presence. The saltbush clumps and spinifex patches conceal hideous reptiles. Snakes and centipedes crawl across the track; scaly lizards, venomous scorpions, ungainly bungarrows, and a host of nameless pests, are always near to torture and distract. Even the birds are imbued with a solemnity profound that adds still more to the plenteous cares that already overwhelm the wanderer in the silent bushland. The pelican stands owlishly in his path as if to guard from intrusion its undiscovered home; the horrible carrion crow with its demoralising croak is for ever circling overhead; and the mopoke's dull monotone is as a calling from a shadowy world.

These various influences were not without their effect upon my little party, and we became strangely silent as we kept up our dogged march of fifteen miles each day; and when danger threatened, as it did on more than one occasion, we almost viewed our approaching fate with indifference, so sodden had our mental faculties become. Eleven days after leaving the mountain, our last horse, "Sir John," dropped quietly to the ground, utterly exhausted, and at once the air was filled with screaming crows, and flies in thousands began to settle on the dying animal's heaving flank, and crowded into his ears and nostrils. I ended the poor brute's agony with a revolver shot, and again old "Slavery" received additional burden; then we hastened onwards, not daring to look back.

We were now many hundreds of miles from any outpost settlement, and with only two camels between us and--eternity. Yet these ponderous animals bore up bravely, seldom showing signs of weakness even when crossing the most dismally arid wastes, and their slow but sure movement raised our drooping spirits when our circling crow convoy became suggestively daring. I made a course due north, determined to intersect any promising country that might intervene in the middle latitudes, but so far our changed route had led us full three hundred miles over the most barren-looking desert that could possibly be imagined.

Only once did we observe natives, and that was when under the 23rd Parallel, in a scrubby country offering the only inducement to the poor nomads within a hundred miles. At this place we located a local well containing, seemingly, an unlimited supply of lime-flavoured fluid; our perilously-flat water-bags were thankfully refilled, and our hopes rose high at the unexpected find. But when we renewed our march the scrub-land soon merged into the blistering plain, and our dreams of a coming El Dorado were again rudely dashed.

On one occasion we encountered a stretch of salt-crusted country, evidently the bed of an ancient lake: it extended for five miles in a N.N.E. direction, and towards its latter extremity the surface was marshy and damp. We extracted sufficient moisture from the muddy basin for cooking our usual allowance of rice, so that we might save what remained of our comparatively fresh supply for more urgent needs.

Beyond this swamp we entered upon a more broken expanse than had met our view for many weeks. Decaying sandstone rocks reared their heads above the gravel, and enormous dry gullies tore up the ground in all directions. But this state of affairs did not continue with us long, and, as if by a grim law of compensation, a belt of the most miserable sand country soon intervened to retard our progress. Here the sand was loose and deep, and unmixed with the usual iron gravel; and the slightest wind blew the fine dust into our faces, almost blinding us. We sank over the ankles at each step, and the camels slowed their already slow march to a mere crawl, and staggered and floundered in the wavy masses.

Gradually the land-surface took on the appearance of a great sand-sea, with billows rolling back in a northwesterly direction. As far as the eye could reach, a series of gentle undulations rippled into the vast distance. I altered the course several points to eastward, and we traversed the disheartening obstacles at a difficult angle; but the undulations grew more general as we advanced, until they surrounded us in the form of seemingly endless furrows, about a hundred and fifty yards apart, and from ten to fifteen feet in height. A sparse vegetation of spinifex found root in the hill-crests, giving the appearance--from a distance--of a huge cultivated and well-tended field. But on closer acquaintance the ridges showed up miserably bare and cheerless, and their white gleaming sand formation caused our eyes to quiver and close, so trying was the light reflected from them. No life of any kind was observed. Even the crows had abandoned us. We seemed to be traversing the bed of an ocean whose waters had long since subsided. A day's march over these hindering obstructions, however, led us into the familiar ironshot and scrub country, which, desolate though it was, looked cool and inviting after our experience with the sand elevations.

More than once after this fortune favoured us opportunely by the happy location of a soak or claypan in our course, and we grew to trust Providence in a much greater measure than we had ever anticipated. The weather was almost unbearably hot; a vertical sun stared down on us in the daytime with burning intensity, and at night the air was as the breath of Hades. We were surely paying the penalty of the pioneer to the full.

By this time our clothing had reached a state far beyond repair, and we must have formed an extraordinarily dilapidated-looking quartet. Our garments, not very lavish from the start, had been discarded in tattered portions, and we were left with cool and scanty apparel, the sight of which would have caused the most abandoned tramp to turn aside in disgust. It came to be a subject of jocularity with us as we noted the gradual disintegration of our meagre remaining sartorial glory; and I was glad even for such an excuse to introduce the lighter vein into our conversation. "I'll shin be able tae flee," Mac would say, ruefully surveying his rags. "Ay, Mac, the wings are sproutin' awfu' fast," his comrade would sorrowfully reply. "Bit it's a blessin' the weather's no cauld," he never failed to add, with philosophical gratitude.

We were reaching an extreme northerly latitude, with the great central deserts behind us, and though we had been bitterly disappointed with the non-auriferous country crossed, yet the thought of emerging safely from the "Never Never" land for the time took the place of vain regrets and cheered us on to fresh endeavour. We had found no El Dorado in the blistering salt plains; the Land of Promise had eluded us completely--if such a land existed. Our time, it is true, had been more taken up in searching for water than prospecting for gold; still, we took occasion to analyse samples of every probable gold-bearing patch encountered, but always with insignificant result.

One morning we found ourselves in the unenviable position of having but a few pints of water left in the canvas bags, and as we had located no soak for over a week, our immediate future seemed gloomy indeed. The camels were for the first time showing signs of collapse; and little wonder; they had gone eight days without a drink, and their load, since the last of the horses had succumbed, had been unduly heavy.

"We've got to find water to-day, boys," I said, "or something serious is bound to happen."

Mac chuckled dryly. "The deil aye tak's care o' his ain," he announced with an effort at pleasantry; and Stewart cackled harshly in agreement.

Soon after breakfast, Phil, in surveying the landscape by the aid of his field-glasses--a very cherished possession--detected in the distance a long, curling column of smoke, sure evidence of the aborigines' presence, and at once our hearts became lighter and our waning strength renewed. "There must be moisture of some sort about," I said to Phil, as we staggered along together in the wake of the camels. "The country is changing for the better," he replied, "yet I can scarcely imagine a spring to exist in any such soft sand formation." The vagaries of the interior plains had always mystified him, but he could not be brought to reason against his geological principles.

Mac's verdict was borne of a more practical kind of observation. "Fur ony sake haud yer tongue aboot furmashuns, Phil," he shouted back from his position by the side of "Slavery." "A black buddie needs a drink as weel as a white buddie, an' we'll shin be in the land o' Goschen noo."

"There's one thing we had best remember, boys," I said. "The natives in these latitudes are probably very different from those in the south. They may be cannibals, and considerably more hostile than any tribe we have yet met."

"Niggers!" snorted Mac and Stewart almost simultaneously, with an indescribable inflection of contempt. Further words failed them, but I could see that they had completely forgotten the little episode at El Dorado.

Towards noon we arrived at the point where the smoke had been seen, but only a few charred logs were now in evidence, and they were scattered about in the sand as if they had been partially burnt long previously, and afterwards half submerged in the drifts caused by many seasons' willie-willies. The natives had vanished in some unaccountable manner, leaving not a trace of their recent presence in the vicinity. Far off near the horizon a thick belt of timber stretched across our track, but beyond that again the bare desert merged into the skyline.

"Whaur hae the black deevils gaun to?" Mac demanded indignantly, as if a considerable breach of etiquette had been committed by the rapid flight of our prospective hosts.

Then Stewart proceeded to poke among the scattered ashes, and soon discovered several still glowing logs well sunk beneath the surface. "Mac," said he solemnly, when we clustered round to examine his find, "we'll hae tae ca' canny; the deevils are no defeecient in strategy, an' it's plain they dinna want oor guid company."

Stewart was right; the blacks must have observed our approach, and being unwilling to meet us, had hastily decamped, first taking care to cover up any clue that might have aroused our curiosity. "That field-glass of yours has done good work, Phil," I said, when we turned away. "If you had not noticed the smoke we should never have dreamed that there had been any one here for at least a year, and goodness knows what might have happened if we had gone to sleep in this district without keeping a watch."

Mac chirruped to his patient charge. "Gee up, Slavery," said he, "ye'll get a drink the nicht."

In spite of our most strenuous efforts, however, we were unable to reach the timber belt that day, and darkness closed over and compelled us to camp while we were yet a good way out in the open. For the last several miles the camels had literally to be dragged over the ground by a constant pressure on their nose ropes, and when we halted our weary caravan and unloaded the suffering beasts, they sank upon their knees breathing heavily, and made no attempt to search for anything to eat. It was plain that, should another day pass without water being discovered, our four-footed companions must give up the struggle, which in turn would mean that we should all be doomed to a most unenviable fate.

"Ma puir animile," said Mac, stroking "Slavery's" quivering nostrils, "ye've been nine days withoot a drink, but ye'll get a' ye can tak' the morn."

"Slavery" seemed almost to understand the sympathetic words, and grunted feebly in reply; then I was surprised to see him struggle to his feet and proceed to feed on the spinifex tufts growing around.

"He kens I'm tellin' the truth!" shouted Mac delightedly; and there was much joy among us when "Misery," determined not to be outdone, after several efforts succeeded in rising shakily and joining his neighbour.

"There's life in auld 'Misery' yet," applauded Stewart with hearty satisfaction; and the wonderful endurance shown by the dumb animals made me somewhat ashamed of my own collapsing resolution.

"Let's be happy, boys," counselled Phil in most lugubrious tones. "Life is short, you know, and we'll be a long time dead."

"If I hear ony mair o' they on-comfortable re-marks," slowly spoke Mac, with a reproachful glance at the last speaker, "I'll sing ye the Deid March. A lang time deid, did ye say? For ony sake, Phil, think on something cheery."

"All right, Mac," retorted Phil. "I'll think of the feast we're going to have in the Hotel Cecil when we get back to civilisation." While he spoke he unconsciously hitched in his belt another hole.

Then Stewart's voice rasped out dismally, "There's ... nae ... place like ... hame----"

"Stop that concert!" I cried, while Phil squirmed in agony; but Mac had already seized the throat of the musician in a relentless grip, and the melancholy refrain spluttered out spasmodically to a finish.

"Ye on-ceevilised backslider!" Mac roared in righteous wrath. "Hoo daur ye whine aboot hame in sic a menner? Fur twa peens," he concluded, with rising ferocity--"fur twa peens, ma man, A'd shak' yer teeth oot!"

The half-choked culprit smiled with benign expression, "I wis makin' a joyfu' noise," he replied calmly. "Ye're gettin' gey hard tae please, I'm thinkin'."

Phil laughed till the tears sprang to his eyes and traced small channels down his unwashed face, but he stopped abruptly when Mac shoved a tin pannikin under his chin.

"What a sinfu' waste o' water," said the sphinx. "I raelly wunner at ye, Phil."

Stewart, who had been busying himself about the fire, now interrupted again. "Supper's ready," he howled, "an' the menoo is tinned dug an' damper, or damper an' tinned dug; wi' a puckle roasted rice fur them as wants indee-gestion; the hale tae be washed doon wi' twa or three draps o' dirty watter."

"That sounds nice," I commented, at which he began again.

"Aye an' it's vera dirty watter. It's the last in the bag, an' there's tadpoles an' wee crocodiles swimmin' in't, an----"

"Hold hard, Stewart," said Phil, while Mac was groping about for something substantial to throw at his comrade's head. "Hold hard, you grinning gorilla, and let us discover the mysterious ingredients of our humble fare for ourselves."

"There's an auld saying," Mac grunted complacently, "that what the eye disna see the hert disna grieve fur. If ye'll tak' ma advice, ye'll dine awa' back frae the firelicht." And we took his advice without demur.

We kept a watch that night for the first time during many weeks. The reputation of the Northern Australian natives was not such as inspired confidence in me. I had a wholesome dread of being speared while asleep, and these hostile savages were known to make their attacks invariably after the sun had set, when their tired victims were probably slumbering, unaware of the presence of danger.

Mac volunteered for the first spell of duty, and as a preliminary he carefully drew the small shot charges from his cherished elephant-gun, and replaced them with ominous-looking buckshot cartridges.

"This shid dae mair than tickle them," he grimly remarked, looking at us as we lay stretched upon our sandy couches, and his face, lit up by the ruddy glare of the fire, assumed an unusually malevolent expression.

"You've got to remember, Mac," Phil warned, "that the beggars are probably cannibals, and as you are the fattest of the party, the natural sequence is----"

"Say nae mair," our wary guardian interrupted with a deprecatory wave of his hand, "Spare yer in-seen-uashuns. There's nae nigger'll get near while I'm daein' sentry go, bit at the worst the black deevils wud never bile me when they could get guid tender golologist." With which dark statement he shouldered his gun and commenced to execute what looked like a solemn ghost dance around the boundary of our camp fire's illumination.

The sultry hours dragged slowly on, and the Southern Cross had set and risen again in the eastern sky, yet not a sound reached our ears. Phil relieved Mac at midnight, and I in turn took his place two hours later, but the night passed without alarm.

We had a very dry and unpalatable breakfast next morning; only a few drops of chocolate-coloured sediment remained in the canvas bag, and this none of us cared to swallow for a variety of reasons. So we munched our hard damper, and chewed refractory portions of tinned dog, imagining it to be the most luxurious fare extant, though, unfortunately our imagination was not of a very strong order. We lost no time in making a start, for the early hours were the coolest for travelling, and we wished to gain the shelter of the brush before the sun had swung right overhead. The camels were truly in a very bad state; they could scarcely bear their usual burdens, and reeled drunken-like for several minutes after being loaded, but seemed to recover somewhat when a few miles had been traversed. Yet, strive as we might, we could not make speedy progress, and it was almost noon when we drew near to the timber. The heat was becoming very intense, and in our semi-famished condition we suffered severely.

"We'll camp in the most shaded part of the scrub, boys," I cried, signing to Mac to alter "Slavery's" course more to westward. Phil now clutched my arm excitedly.

"Is that smoke or a light cloud-patch over the tips of these trees?" he asked, directing my gaze towards a thick clump of lime-trees that lay well ahead in the line of our changed route.

I surveyed the feathery shadow indicated intently. "A native smoke, Phil," I answered, as quietly as I could, though hope sprang up within me at the sight.

"What we must do, then," said Phil determinedly, "is to capture one or two representatives of the tribe and make them lead us to water."

"Me an' Stewart'll shin attend to that," growled Mac, hearing the suggestion with ill-concealed delight.

We were now entering the outskirts of the pigmy forest, and Phil and I took the lead of our caravan with firearms ready in case of attack; while Mac and Stewart, leading their charges warily in our tracks, peered suspiciously into the densest shadows as they passed. The shrubs were of much greater height than we had expected, and soon they surrounded us in thick even growths through which we steered an erratic course with difficulty.

I was about to call a halt when a thick pile of withered branches, propped against the lower heights of some half-dozen close-growing trees, arrested my attention. "A windbreak! Go slow!" I cautioned those in the rear; but soon we found that we were in the midst of quite a number of these rude shelters, all of which seemed to be of very recent erection. "There is evidently a tribe in the vicinity," I said to Phil, who was gazing at the strange contrivances with much curiosity, and noting how differently they were constructed from the crude wind-barriers met during the earlier part of our journey.

"They appear to work on some design here," he remarked thoughtfully; "the branches are interlaced, and the construction might ultimately evolve into a kind of hut or wigwam."

"I am much more concerned about the whereabouts of the population," I said, and I glanced apprehensively through the trees; then we resumed our march. A few minutes more passed in silence as we proceeded with ears alert for the slightest sound.

We were, as nearly as I could guess, about midway through the forest when Mac suddenly gave a yell of mingled joy and surprise.

"Haud on! Haud on!" he shouted. "I see niggers richt forrit a wee bit. Come on, Stewart, an' we'll shin catch are or twa speecimens."

Mac's information was correct. A convenient gap in the foliage had not been overlooked by him, and his sharp eyes had quickly taken in the view directly ahead. His warning had scarcely been given when we crashed through a maze of windbreaks and entered a clearing in the thicket, and there, in the centre of the open space, fully a dozen hideously scarred and painted warriors stood with spears and boomerangs upraised, gazing in our direction. Mac and Stewart were now forcing past me, and it took Phil and me all our time to restrain their ardour. We had instinctively retired into the shelter of the brush, and none too soon, for a hail of spears rustled through the willowy branches and stuck fast without doing any damage.

"Their spears may be poisoned," I said to the indignant pair. "You've got a different sort of savage to deal with in these latitudes."

"They'll get awa'!" Mac roared excitedly. "They'll get awa'!"

"Let me gang," implored Stewart. "I'm that thin they couldna hit me, an' in ony case I'm teuch eneuch tae staun ony pison."

"Get the camels sheltered, boys," I ordered; "we'll try a policy of conciliation in the first place."

My aides-de-camp grumblingly led "Slavery" and "Misery" back a few paces, and Phil examined the chambers of his Colt Navy with considerable impatience. We were by no means hidden by the scraggy branches fringing the open space, and that fact was impressed upon us most plainly when several more well-directed spears glanced along the sand at our feet. Mac fumed, and the hammers of his gun came back with an ominous double click. "You can cover them with your cannon," I said to him, "while I try the powers of persuasive language," and I stepped as boldly as I could out towards the hostile band. "Babba, babba," I cried, with my hands raised in token of peace. They gave a curious gurgle of surprise and retreated before me as if afraid. I repeated as much of the native jargon as I knew, with, as I thought, an exceedingly friendly inflection. Then they recovered themselves, and came rushing towards me. I stood irresolute for an instant, for the warriors had discarded their spears, and I wondered for a brief space whether they were now hurrying to tender their expressions of good-will. When they were within a dozen yards off, however, they united in a shrill scream, and brandished in their right hands most bloodthirsty-looking clubs which they had carried secreted at their backs. Their intention could not now be doubted, and I turned and fled.

"Give them the small-shot barrel, Mac," I cried.

"Sma' shot be d----d!" he howled in reply, and the boom of his artillery filled my ears as he spoke.

When the smoke cleared away I saw that the blacks had retreated to the extreme end of the clearing, where the bulk of them stood huddled together, groaning horribly, and making most frightful grimaces at us.

Two feather-bedizened warriors were prancing absurdly in the middle distance, and emitting piercing shrieks as they slowly hopped back to rejoin their comrades.

"I aimed low," said Mac apologetically, noting their antics with much satisfaction, "an' I dinna see what they're makin' a' that row aboot."

I was glad to notice that no serious injury had been done to the poor creatures, and, judging by the activity shown by the wounded pair, they were evidently much more frightened than hurt.

"I don't think there is any more fight in them, boys," I said, and I stepped forward, followed by my companions, who tugged at the nose-ropes of the reluctant camels. A few belated missiles, flung in half-hearted fashion, struck the ground at our feet; the blacks still stood in our path, glaring at us sullenly.

"Level your cannon again, Mac," I instructed, "but _don't_ fire."

He obeyed with alacrity, just in time to check a fresh flight of spears. The natives had already acquired a wholesome dread of the formidable-looking breechloader. With ear-splitting yells they scattered before our advance, and in a moment were lost to sight in the forest.

We made a brief halt by the scene of their stand in order to search the near vicinity for water, but not a drop of moisture could be located anywhere around. Windbreaks were very numerous some little distance back from the enclosure, which showed that we had practically stumbled upon a native village. Yet it must have been only a settlement used as a temporary camp between two known springs, unless the water resources of the district were very cunningly hidden.

"There must be water near at hand," said Phil. "These trees could not grow so freshly otherwise."

"We've missed our one chance, I fear," I answered him sadly. "We ought to have captured one of the natives while we had the opportunity."

"Let us go now," said he; "they cannot be very far off yet."

"We'll gang! we'll gang!" Mac and Stewart cried clamorously together. "We'll shin catch the deevils!"

But I restrained them. "You are both too reckless," I explained, "and we should probably never see you again if you lost your bearings in the bush." I knew that my worthy henchmen would disdain to use any stratagem, and in consequence would surely be speared by the vengeful savages.

"You can trust me, Mac," said Phil grimly. "I'll fetch you a specimen or two to play with," and Mac, noting his unusual fierceness of expression, felt comforted.

Leaving our over-eager companions in charge of the camels, I took a hurried bearing of our position, and dashed off with Phil in the direction taken by the fleeing band. I could still hear the branches crackling before their wild rush, and I hoped that the sound might guide us in our quest. For several minutes we kept up a rapid pace, but we quickly realised that our running powers were not equal to those of the blacks. The blistering sand showered in our faces, and the brittle twigs of the mallee cut us severely. The sun had now reached his meridian, and shot his rays so fiercely upon us that we were soon compelled to reduce our speed. We dared not allow ourselves to perspire, and so lose the little moisture our bodies contained. Meanwhile the vague crackling of the brushwood in the far distance became fainter and fainter, intimating to us very plainly that our intended prisoners were far from our reach. We were weary and hopeless, yet we mechanically continued on. Our thoughts, as may be guessed, were the reverse of pleasant, and we did not care to give them expression. Few would have recognised in Phil, the fresh-faced, merry-spirited young man who had led the Five-Mile rush. His face was now deeply bronzed, and bore the stamp of the hardships encountered, and his firm-set mouth showed a vastly increased force of will.

"The beggars seem to have vanished completely," he said, when we had travelled at least half a mile in silence. "What a tidy row of skeletons we'll make," he added lightly. "'A rale dacent coleckshun,' as Mac would say."

"We'll hear Mac's remarks later," I answered, "and we're not by any means dead yet."

We had now reached a slight dip in the land surface, and in the depression a well-padded native track appeared. We followed it eagerly until it broke off into two trails, forming an acute angle.

"You take one, I'll take the other," I said. "If you find anything signal with your revolver, and I'll do the same, though it is more than likely they lead to the same place."

"All right!" he replied, and we separated.

Hurriedly I sped along, now this way, now that, as the trail twisted and twined in the manner peculiar to most bush tracks, and I seemed to have entered a maze. Then I came to a point where it divided and subdivided, and I hesitated, wondering which branch to follow. I went down on my knees and closely examined the sand at the junction, and after a careful scrutiny I was rewarded by distinguishing the imprint of an aboriginal's ungainly foot at the entrance to one of the offshoots, and I hastened along the course indicated, half stooping and sometimes kneeling, in my extreme anxiety to keep on the pad, which could only be traced with the utmost difficulty.

Gaily-plumaged birds now surrounded me, chattering noisily, and their presence imbued me with hope. There, indeed, must be water near, if I could only find it. My guiding path led me several hundred yards over a sand and gravel surface, through which a stray blade of wiry grass peeped here and there; but gradually the grasses grew closer, and their trampled appearance showed me that some one had only recently crossed that way. I was brought to a halt abruptly. The track had come to an end, and I stood at the edge of a small circular space, in the centre of which a tall lime-tree stretched high above the stunted shrubs adjoining.

The significance of the sight was not altogether lost on me. I had usually found lime-trees and water in close proximity, but here no welcome spring gladdened my eyes, the circle was bare and parched-looking, except on the far-away side, where a rank clump of spinifex lined the gaunt stems of the mallee. I was bitterly disappointed.

"Looks like a circus-ring," I said to myself. "Probably used for holding grand corroborees." I turned away in disgust, and sat down in the sand, heedless alike of snakes, scorpions, or other crawling things. I was trying to consider what our immediate future must be, and my deductions were not cheering. Then I wondered where Phil had gone, and whether his quest had been more successful than mine; but I had heard no signal, therefore, I reasoned, he would be in a somewhat similar plight to myself, or perhaps he had already rejoined Mac and Stewart. I continued my musings in a calmly-resigned state of mind, but was suddenly aroused to alertness; the faint sound of rustling branches reached my ears. I got up speedily and looked all round, but nothing could be seen, and I blamed my too eager fancy for the alarm. Glancing at the sun, and taking a rough compass bearing, I prepared to return to my companions by a direct route through the bush. But again the peculiar sound attracted my attention. My fancy had not deceived me this time, and I surveyed the open space closely, but nothing met my anxious gaze. Then, just as I was leaving the scene, the secret of the rustling branches was revealed, and I smiled grimly at my lack of perception. On the extreme edge of the clearing, half hidden by the spidery tendrils of the sparse fringing bush, two natives lay sprawling on the sand, carefully piling a heap of twigs and spinifex grass, as if in preparation for a large fire. They lay with their backs towards me, pursuing their work with diligence, and as the colour of their bodies was almost similar to that of their surroundings, they were not easily observable, as I had already proved. I noticed with satisfaction that their weapons were strewn in the grass some few yards out of their reach. These comprised two evil-looking waddies and a number of double-barbed spears--a formidable collection, truly. I examined my small S. and W. revolver with purposeful intent, and was on the point of rushing forward when a loud crackle came from another part of the ring. It seemed to me as if a stout branch had given way before some other, and more impetuous, watcher than myself. More natives might be near. I drew back into the shadow. The dusky pair were evidently wildly alarmed; they leapt to their feet and looked about with a startled expression, and then I recognised them as two of those who had so stubbornly contested our advance less than an hour back. They glared at each other terror-stricken, and pointed to the sun and the four corners of the earth in turn, accompanying their odd gesticulations by a stream of monosyllabic utterances. Apparently they were invoking various gods to their aid. In the midst of this pantomime a well-known figure burst into the enclosure from the still swaying scrub, and before the natives could escape he clutched them both in a tight embrace, and bore them back by almost superhuman effort.

"Phil!" I cried in amazement, jumping forward, and relieving him of one of his prisoners.

"We've got them!" he shouted with fierce emotion. "Keep still, you imp of darkness!"

His prisoner was still struggling violently, but soon realised the hopelessness of his efforts, and became quiescent as mine, who was rolling his eyes at me beseechingly.

Then we looked at each other, half in amusement half in surprise, and I noticed that his sole upper garment, his sand-stained shirt, was torn half across the shoulders.

"It caught in a branch," he explained, examining the rent ruefully, "and the noise I made in breaking loose nearly frightened the blacks away."

"But how did you get here?" I asked, for the tracks we had followed seemed to lead very widely apart.

"The trails intersect, but all find their way here," he answered. "Anyhow, I've been watching these beggars building a monument, or something like it, for the last five minutes or so."

"I have had my eye on them also," I said, "but I didn't dream of your being so close. Hold my prisoner a moment," I added; "we'll see what they have been doing."

He promptly sat on my savage's neck, while I got up and kicked away the pile of branches. And lo! beneath them lay disclosed a gurgling spring of clearest water.

I could not describe the joy that was ours at that moment. Phil simply gasped with relief, and was not satisfied that his eyes did not deceive him until I lifted some of the sparkling liquid in the palm of my hand and let it trickle slowly through my fingers. The blacks remained passive enough now, only groaning dismally at intervals. It was not difficult to understand why they had attempted to hide the spring. As Stewart had first surmised, they did not want our good company, and who could blame them? There was no need to rejoin our comrades now, so we discharged our revolvers as a signal to them to approach, and soon their familiar voices were heard far back raised in high debate. Mac was apparently holding forth on some pet doctrine with which Stewart doggedly refused to coincide. They had forced their thoughts far away from unpleasant topics; they knew how necessary it was to keep up a semblance of cheerfulness in trying times, and for the rest they trusted to my greater experience and Phil's superior knowledge.

The dwarfed trees broke before the advancing train. Poor old "Slavery" was evidently leading the trail at a harder pace than usual.

"Come alang, 'Slavery'! Wad ye hae me pu' ye?" I heard Mac's voice raised in pathetic entreaty, as the swaying brush about a hundred yards back betokened their near approach. A few minutes more and "Slavery" and "Misery" staggered into the clearing, with Mac and Stewart pulling strenuously at their nose-ropes. The poor beasts' eyes were gleaming strangely, and their breath came in long wheezing groans.

"We can hang oot anither day yet," Mac shouted encouragingly immediately he saw us, trying bravely to look cheerful. Then when he noticed the natives on whom we were comfortably seated his astonishment was great. "Guid heavens!" he ejaculated. "Stewart, we've got them efter a'."

But Stewart had caught sight of the glistening water, and with a fervent exclamation he buried his face in it and drank deeply. The camels now, feeling the tension relieved at their nose-ropes, sank upon their knees dead beat, and their heads drooped in the sand. Phil and I watched the scene in silence: it was as the last act of a drama, with the proverbial happy ending. Mac's rugged features fairly glowed when he saw the saving spring. He strode forward, and jerked his comrade's dripping face from the water. "Dinna mak' a beast o' yersel'," he said shortly. "Ower muckle's bad for ye, an' it's ma turn onywey." But they found room for two heads, and Phil said they reduced the level of the water by several inches.

The camels' wants now received attention. We allowed them to drink sparingly only, as they would quickly have drained the well, which refilled very slowly; but before the day was out they had absorbed their full supply, and were on a fair way towards the recovery of their wonted vigour. We camped by the spring, which we named "Warriors' Well," for two days, during which time we were engaged filling the great water-bags, and patching our tattered clothing so as to make a respectable appearance when we arrived at the nearest settlement, now less than a hundred miles distant. We fed our prisoners lavishly on tinned dog and flour while they remained in our charge, and they seemed to appreciate the diet hugely; yet, do what we might, they retained their sullen demeanour, and always howled plaintively when we approached near them. They made their escape on the morning of our departure, much to Mac's disgust. That worthy had conceived the idea of training them to act in the capacity of body-servants to Stewart and himself.

"They would hae been bonnie orniments tae tak' hame tae auld Scotland," he said regretfully.

"We'll be bonnie-like orniments oorsels, Mac," responded Stewart, surveying his dark-brown skin. "We'll be nigger enough like, I'm thinkin'."

We resumed our march with lighter hearts than we had had for many a day. Our journey was practically completed, for our water supply would now last until we reached comparatively sure country. It is true we had not benefited by the expedition as I had hoped when starting, but we had gained a hard knowledge of the country, and of our own powers of endurance under extremely adverse circumstances, which would prove invaluable to us in the further journeyings I was at this stage planning. Phil had become indissolubly connected with my little party. His worth had been demonstrated over and over again, and it was with pleasure I heard his decision, as we drew near settled latitudes, to throw in his lot with mine in my future travels.

"Ye're a man o' pairts, Phil," was Mac's unhesitating verdict, and Stewart added, as a fitting tribute, "I'm o' the same opeenion."

Twelve days after leaving the providentially-found spring we arrived on the north-west coast of Australia, and there disposed of our faithful old camels to ready purchasers. Mac's eyes were moist when he said good-bye to the gentle "Slavery," and Stewart was loath to part with his old charge, "Misery." As they were led away I bestowed a benediction on the trusty servants of our dreary journey, and elicited a promise from their new possessor that he would treat them kindly as they deserved. About a week later we sailed for Sydney.