"Don't try to find any more adjectives, boy," said the convict about an
hour later. "Be content with beautiful. That's what it is."
They were sitting in front of a loosely made bark gunyah, bare-footed,
and with their shoes and well-worn stockings placed upon a scorching
sheet of rock to dry. The wallet was empty, for they had made a hearty
meal; after which Nic had been piling up all the words he could think of
to express his admiration for the valley shut in by those tremendous
walls, or his delight with the beauty and novelty of the place.
The troubles of his life seemed to have dropped from the convict, who
laughed and talked as if he were a dozen years younger, and free from
care. The hard, bitter look had gone from his eyes, and he entered with
boyish zest into the proposals his young companion made.
"Oh yes," he cried, "we must have plenty of shooting and fishing. How
many birds have you collected and skinned?"
"Two," said Nic, making a grimace. "I've been so busy."
"Never mind; you can come here and shoot. I'll skin for you, and you
can get a fine collection."
"Birds ought to be plentiful here."
"They swarm," said the convict. "You can get the beautiful lyre bird,
with its wonderful curved tail. I can show you the bower birds' nests,
with their decorations. Then there is that beautiful purply black kind
of crow--the rifle bird they call it. As to the parrots and cockatoos,
they are in flocks."
"The kangaroos are plentiful enough, too, seemingly."
"Herds of them, from the little wallaby rats right up to the red old
men."
"And snakes?"
"Too many of them; I'm obliged to be careful. We can have some grand
hunts, Nic, and I can feast you afterwards on roast cockatoo and
mutton."
"And I shall bring you--I say, I'd forgotten: did you bring the flour
down here?"
"No," said the convict, smiling; "you forgot to hide it where you said."
"It was too dark that night to find the place, but I put it there next
day. Didn't you get it?"
"No; some one must have seen you hide it, and taken it away. One of the
blacks, I suppose."
"Or Brookes."
"Was he anywhere near, Nic?"
The boy nodded.
"That's bad, my boy," said the convict, with the bright look fading out
of his face, to leave it cold and hard. "There, the sun is getting low;
we have the tunnel to go through, and then you have a long walk back to
your horse. We have been going too fast, Nic. I'm afraid you must wait
some time before you come again."
Nic looked pained, and sat gazing at his companion sadly.
"Must I go now?" he said.
"Yes."
Nic thrust his stockings into his pocket, tied his shoes together to
sling over his arm, and picked up his gun. Then reluctantly he followed
his silent companion to the mouth of the tunnel-like cavern, where a
bigger piece of touchwood was lit, and they commenced the return
journey.
It was up hill, but it did not seem half so far; and at last they
stopped close to the well-like opening, down whose side the water
trickled musically.
"Frank," said Nic, "I'm going to leave you my gun."
"What for?"
"To protect yourself."
"Don't leave temptation in my way, boy," was the stern reply. "No; I
will not have it. Brookes and I might meet. There are plenty of trees
to cut myself a stout stick for a weapon, or I can defend myself with my
hands. Look, there are three notches in the stone where you can place
your feet. Up with you! You can find your way. Good-bye."
Nic could not say "good-bye," but he grasped the convict's hand before
climbing up the narrow shaft-like place and raising his head cautiously
above the level.
A kangaroo loped gently by--evident proof that there was no danger--and,
drawing himself right out, Nic dived in among the trees and rocks, and
began to return by the way he came.
He had so much to think of that the way back did not seem to be so very
long; and at last he reached the spot where he had left his nag,
mounted, and rode home, wondering whether Brookes had found that flour
and suspected anything.