The huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in a
circle
"We've struck it rich, I do believe," cried the stockman
Behind the lantern came a voice that more than the lantern, or even
pistol, cowed them: "*Stop! Hands up!*" (missing from book)
The grey gums by the lonely creek
The star-crowned height,
The wind-swept plain, the dim blue peak,
The cold white light,
The solitude spread near and far
Around the camp-fire's tiny star,
The horse-bell's melody remote,
The curlew's melancholy note,
Across the night.