Joe, behind him, cried out, "I say, Sand ... I'm gettin' ... short..."

"Back, everybody! Fire-damp!" cried the leader in a raucous voice,

after a violent effort.

It was a narrow squeak. Though only a few minutes in the poisoned air,

they were all on the verge of unconsciousness. Gasping, trembling, the

sweat oozing from every pore, they struggled on until they reached the

widened area of the passage, and then sank, exhausted, to the ground.

Tom, who was at the tail of the procession was not so bad as the others,

not having penetrated so far into the poison zone.

The pure air soon revived them. Their respiration, which was very

laboured at first, improved as soon as the sweet, dry air entered their

lungs, and ousted the putrid gas which had lodged there. A pull at the

water-can, which fortunately they had brought with them, helped them a

lot, and in a short time they were themselves again.

"That ends chapter one," said Joe dryly. "Whereaway now, Captain?"

"We've come to the end of our tether sudden enough, and with a

vengeance. It'll be something, Mr. Neville, to tell 'em in England.

Let us get back to the old passage. This is nothing but a death-trap."

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*THE EXPLORERS*

"'The best hearts, Trim, are ever the bravest,' replied my uncle

Toby."--STERNE.

"That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a

lion!"--SHAKESPEARE.

"How quickly we ran into that poison-trap! No smell or anything to warn

us," remarked Neville, when the normal condition of the lads was

restored, "save a nauseous feeling which supervened."

"Whatcher think made it hang like that, Mr. Neville? Seemed to me like

an invisible fog that we suddenly encountered."

"That is really what I believe it to be, Tom. I know from what I have

read and heard, the gas is colourless and quite heavy. An uncle of mine

is a colliery manager in Wales, and this fire-damp, or choke-damp, as it

is sometimes called, is often fatal, because it fills the lungs so that

no other air can enter, and in this way suffocates its victims. We were

just on the fringe of it, I think.

"As I was saying, this fire-damp, which is always much more dangerous

after an explosion in the mines, is generally formed by the

decomposition of certain substances in vegetable fibres, or in veins of

carbonised mineral. That is why it is called carbonic acid gas. It is

much heavier than the air. You remember the passage was contracted, and

the air seems to have become impregnated at that particular place."

"Well, whatever it is," said Joe, who had just made a few spasmodic

heaves, "it's good enough to keep out of. Let's give the acid, or gas,

or damp, or whatever it's called, leg bail."

The party of defeated but not disgraced explorers now retraced their

steps. Eagerly scanning the walls as they retreated for signs of

diverging passages, they soon found themselves at the landing, whence

they swung down into the blind alley that led to the main passage.

"Sandy," said Joe, when the party had emerged, "give that passage a

name. Leichhardt gave names, you know, to all the creeks, hills, and

water-holes he discovered in his travels. I reckon yon's our discovery.

Faugh!" ejecting a mouthful of saliva, "it tastes like rotten

soda-water. Let's call the beastly place by a name that'll fit it."

"Christen away."

"Me! Well--er--how'd 'Poison Pot' do?"

'"Death Trap' would be better," replied Sandy. So thought the others,

and it was accordingly named "Death Trap Passage."

"Now, chaps, let's get back to the cathedral. There's a likely spot

there--that hole, I mean, where the boulder was jammed."

"What's the time, Mr. Neville?" asked Joe, on arrival at the big

chamber.

"Quarter to one."

"Why, we've hardly been three hours in! I made sure it was about six."

"I vote we have a go at the prog," chipped in Tom. "It'll help to take

the nasty taste away."

"Good idea!" was the general verdict.

The pals had lost a good deal of their natural spirits. Three hours

groping in semi-darkness, with a throat full of choke-damp thrown in,

was enough to stale the strongest; yet they had no thought of surrender.

They were "baffled, to fight better."

In a few minutes the outer entrance is gained, and in another five

minutes they reach camp.

The hot tea was particularly acceptable. Nothing in the wide world

could have been more refreshing and stimulating. Billy-tea boiled with

gum sticks, just so far sweetened as to countervail the natural

roughness without impairing the aromatic flavour, stands at the head of

all beverages--whether aerated, brewed, distilled, or concocted.

"My word, this is bully tea, ain't it?" cried Tom, smacking his lips

with satisfaction, after emptying his pannikin for the third time.

Neville in particular--to whom the outing and the exploration was a new

experience--felt, as he puffed at a cigar, the stirrings of a larger and

a nobler nature than that which had hitherto exercised him. Business

life seemed flat and stale compared with this al fresco existence.

"Time to be goin' back again," said the practical Sandy, breaking in on

a post-prandial reverie. "Gimme the tommie, Joe."

Tomahawk in hand, the boy walked to the sapling clump, and selecting a

stout specimen, vigorously attacked it with the weapon. From this he

cut two six-foot lengths, sharpening the thicker ends, crowbar fashion.

"What's that for, Sandy?"

"To prise the boulder. They'll make capital levers."

Armed with these additional implements, the lads returned to the caves,

and in due course lowered themselves into the cathedral.

The spot which Sandy had mentally marked as a likely one has already

been described. It was a cleft in the floor at its junction with the

wall, and immediately behind a huge stalagmite. It must have escaped

the vigilant eyes of the professional trackers. The corner was a very

dark one, and unless one looked closely behind the boulder the cleft

would not be observed. Sandy had lit upon it in a promiscuous search,

and was impressed by its possibilities as another outlet, or inlet, to

other cavities.

No sooner had the boys arrived at the spot, and Sandy had cast his eye

upon it, than he exclaimed, "Somebody's been here!"

"How d'yer know?"

"This stone is not in the same position as when I last saw it."

"Who could it 'a' been?"

"Dunno. I'm crack sure, however, that this stone was not square down

the other day. The flat of it was down and the point of it up. Now

it's reversed. Besides, here are crowbar marks."

"It'll be hard enough to get out--much harder than it would 'a' been if

it hadn't been touched."

"Must have been a strong chap that turned it!"

"Strong? No one man could ever have done it! It would be difficult for

two. Why, that stone's not a pound less than four hundredweight!"

"Well, time's goin'," said Joe, "and what's done's done. Let's at it,

Sandy. Up-end her, and throw her over on the floor."

The lads vainly tried to insert the wooden bar. The cracks between the

lid, so to speak, and the edge at the opening were not sufficiently wide

to admit this.

"It won't do," said Sandy after a while; "we're gettin' no forrader."

"I suggest," interposed Neville, "that you widen the cracks."

"How can we do that?"

"Will you let me have a try?"

"My!--rather. Anything to get the blame thing out."

Neville picked up the tomahawk that was lying near at hand, and began

striking the edges of the hole where Sandy had been prising.

"That's the stitch!" cried Tom. "Well done, Mr. Neville!"

The limestone readily yielded to Neville's strokes, and the crevice was

soon wide enough to take in the thick end of the stout gum sapling.

Sandy and Neville, taking a pull at the end, levered the stone high

enough for Joe, who had the other bar ready to insert between the raised

end and the floor stone. With this additional lever power the "stopper"

was canted on one side, high enough to put the stone chocks in. Another

application of the bars, with two boys hanging on each and pulling

simultaneously, brought the "stopper out of the bottle," and toppled it

over with a thud that shook the floor; bringing down a stalactite with a

crash, fortunately without harm to the exploring party.

Before venturing down, Joe, in whose mind an idea had been fermenting

while the stone-raising business was being carried on, critically

surveyed the stone "stopper."

"Look here!" remarked he, "these are the marks of an iron crowbar.

Whoever removed this had the proper tools for it. Whatcher make of

that? That upsets the town party theory, don't it?"

"It certainly makes the puzzle harder," said Neville.

"Think so? Makes it easier to me," quoth Sandy.

"How's that?"

"Looks more'n more like Ben Bolt's work."

"Think he's in there now?" exclaimed Tom, in an awed whisper.

"No, I don't think that. But it shows me that he's knocking about here

again, an' he's been in the caves quite recently."

The boys looked into each other's faces, and felt--well, just as you

would feel, brave reader, were you in the cavernous depths of earth, in

the very haunts of proclaimed outlaws, not knowing at what moment they

might spring upon you. Standing in the cold, damp, dim underground, at

the mouth of an unknown passage, which might take you to the innermost

den of the outlaws, could you contemplate advance without an attack of

the creeps? The crevice, after going down sheer a few feet, turned on a

level plane, right across the floor of the cathedral, in a westerly

direction. How far could be known only by actual travel.

"Come on, boys," said Sandy, after a moment's silence; "it's what we've

come here for. I believe, for one, we're goin' to solve the mystery."

One by one the lads dropped into the bottom of the well. The passage

was of unequal width, but always wide enough to allow the party to

proceed without squeezing, and had a fairly level floor. The floor,

after extending two hundred paces or so in a westerly direction, began

to decline somewhat sharply, and presently Sandy gave a warning shout--

"Water ahead!"

The others crowded round him as well as they could. There, at their very

feet, was a pool of water of unknown depth.

"Here's a go, chaps! Looks as if it might be a swim."

The pool covered a fairly wide stretch, and was in a dip of the passage.

"Don't think it's a swim myself," remarked Joe. "Let's take off our

boots an' pants. I fancy we'll find it only a wade. We can move

cautiously and test it with a bar as we proceed."

The party did as suggested, and found to their satisfaction that the

water did not rise above their knees; for none of them relished a swim

in the icy water. After re-dressing, the company moved forward, and

soon emerged into a spacious cavern that fairly sparkled with lime

crystals. Little time, however, was spent in admiration. They moved

across it in the same direction, and found two exits. After a short

consultation, they decided to take the larger of the two passages,

because it seemed to be a continuation of the old track. Just as they

started, Tom, who was in the rear, on looking round, saw what appeared

to be a bundle on the floor of the cave, some distance to the right.

"Wait a moment," cried he, as he ran to the object. "Oh, I say, here's a

find!"

The others, who were in the entrance, backed out, and ran to his side.

Tom held the old vine ladder in his hands.

There was no longer any doubt. There could be only one conclusion. At

the sight of this the boys had a bad attack of the creeps.

"It's the 'rangers all right. They've slipped the police again." There

seemed to be no alternative to this conclusion. "Seems to me,"

continued Joe, who was the quickest of the lot in reasoning out a thing,

"that they've been back here again, and knowing that the bobbies'll be

on the watch to trap 'em at this spot, they've locked up the house, in a

way of speakin', an' thrown the key inside. I vote that we go on."

No one said nay, and so the advance was made. The passage presented no

serious obstacle, widening and narrowing at intervals, but never too

narrow to proceed. As they were squeezing through a difficult place,

Sandy again sounded the alarm.

"What's up now?" said Joe, who was just behind.

"'Nother big cave, an' a deep drop into it, same as the other. There's

a bar across here where they've slung ropes. Undo the lasso, chaps."

"Let's hope we're getting near the end of it."

The speaker was Joe. The truth is, the work was most tiring in its

nature, and the spirits of the party were yielding to a very uneasy

feeling, despite Joe's plausible theories that the end might be the

reverse of pleasant. Should Ben Bolt, after all, be in hiding, well--the

worst might happen.

Fixing the rope, they slipped down to the floor of the new cave. This,

though not remarkable for beauty, was commodious enough, and had several

outlets, in one of which there were indubitable evidences of the

one-time presence of horses.

"Hello! here's the stable," cried Tom, who was first in this recess.

Sure enough in a vault-shaped but very roomy cavern, entered by a wide

passage, was the robbers' stable. Several bundles of bush hay were

stacked in one corner. A manure heap filled the other. All this pointed

to a prolonged occupation. The idea of the robbers' presence had so

materialised by these later evidences that the boys felt they might be

confronted at any moment by the desperadoes.

"What'll we do, Joe?" said Tom. "Slip quietly back again?"

"Slip back again, after getting this far! Don't be frightened, Tom."

"I'm not; y'are yourself."

"Well," replied Joe, with a smile, "I'll not deny that I've felt like it

more'n once. But there's one thing you've not noticed, chaps."

"What's that?" chorused the group.

"There's not been any horses here for weeks."

"How d'yer know?"

"No fresh droppings."

That fact was indisputable, conclusive, and enheartening. It lifted a

load of apprehension, to call it by no harder name; and now, with

buoyant spirits, to which they had been strangers for some time, the

boys continued the search. The end, indeed, was close at hand.

"Look out sharply for tracks," was the command of the leader on leaving

the stable, stooping low as he spoke, and eagerly scanning the floor.

Hoof-prints were discovered and followed. They led to a corner of the

big cave which narrowed at that point, and continued on as an opening.

After going a few paces, Sandy called out, "Hurrah--hurrah! Light

ahead!"

Sure enough, a few yards farther the passage was lighted with natural

rays that shot through a small opening some distance ahead. The party

was exultant, and needed no telling that this was sunlight. In this

subterranean fashion the explorers had traversed, mole-like, the range

spur, and proved the theory of the dual entrance.

Like as the exultation of Columbus when the first sight of the new world

convinced him that he had solved the riddle of ages, or as Leichhardt

felt when he and his dauntless band stood upon the shores of the great

northern gulf, after having passed through the very heart of Australia's

_terra incognita_, so did the breasts of these brave youths swell with

the spirit of triumph when that ray of light revealed the joyful fact

that they, a group of mere youngsters, had succeeded where the experts

had failed.

The whole company darted through the spacious passage to the opening.

It was in the face of a cliff, and fully fifty yards from its sloping

base. So steep was the cliff that, viewed from a distance, it appeared

perpendicular; forbidding to anything save rock wallabies and--Ben Bolt.

Its very roughness, however, made its ascent a possibility. Had it been

a smooth face, no horse, however capable, could have climbed it. Ben

Bolt was always able to achieve the possible. Many of his wild rides

bordered on the miraculous. His personality magnetised his steeds.

Wherever he led they would go, and so the steep ravine that rose from

the rocky base to this entrance afforded a precarious footing for the

outlaw's horses.

"Now then, boys, before we go down, let's give a cheer," said Sandy.

Led by the leader, the group signalled its victory--for such it was, and

no mean one--by a rousing cheer that woke the echoes of the precipice

and spread wave-like over the landscape beyond.

It penetrated the ears of two men who were riding quietly in the bush

that lay beyond the rocky plateau which formed the base of the cliffs.

"What's that?" exclaimed the elder to the youth who rode at his side.

"Sounds like a cheer," replied the youth. "Who can it be--traps?"

Turning their horses' heads, they rode swiftly but silently to the edge

of the scrubby timber which they were traversing. Halting just within

the bushy barrier, they parted the leaves, and there, perched high up

the cliff's side, were four youthful forms--the band of cave explorers.

"Now, boys, we'll go back an' have another look round before we leave.

Might find something belonging to Ben Bolt worth carryin' away. We can

easily get out on this side, and cross the spur a little higher up,

where the cliff runs out. 'Twon't take long neither! I say--won't we

have a yarn to spin to-night!"

But the unexpected is yet to happen. The company retraced their steps

to the cave, and did a little exploration; finding nothing, however, but

a couple of leather mail-bags and some opened letters--the remains of

coach-robbery spoils.

"This is the last one, mates," remarked Sandy, as the group entered the

mouth of a passage. After traversing its course a little distance, it

opened up into a small cave, twenty feet square. On one side of it were

bunks similar to those in the other cave. While in the act of examining

it, Joe fancied he heard a footfall. Stopping a moment to listen, he

distinctly heard the sounds of stealthy footsteps.

"'S-s-sh-h-h, boys! Some un's followin'!"

At this startling statement the boys halted and turned round, to be

confronted by two forms hardly distinguishable in the surrounding gloom.

The pals gave a gasp of terror as the call peculiar to highwaymen smote

their ears and they faced two weapons, levelled point blank.

"Hands up!"

Candles are dropped in sheer fright in an eye-wink, and hands go up in

gross darkness.

The sun had just set as the four youths, in company with two men,

mounted their horses and took the track leading to Bullaroi. Strange to

say, the lads showed no signs of fear, nor were they bound with cords.

"By jingo!" cried Tom, who had just put his horse at a big log and

cleared it in fine style, followed in order by Joe, Sandy, and Neville,

"this is the grandest outin' I've ever had!"

"It's a' very weel," answered Mr. M'Intyre, who with Denny Kineavy had

been following the tracks of some strayed cattle which were making for

the ranges, and were passing the cliff opening while the cave explorers

were ringing the welkin with cheers, "but supposin' that instead o' us,

it 'd really been the bushrangers returnin' and catcht ye trespassin'?

What then, ma laddies?"

This query raised visions of possibilities that sobered the vaulting

spirits of the pals for some brief moments. Very thankful were they in a

moment of reflection that they had been bailed up by a friendly enemy.

"Heigho!"

"What's matter, Joe?"

"Fun's all over: measly school opens to-morrow!"

*CHAPTER XXVII*

*A RESPITE*

"Ah! those were the days of youth's perfect spring,

When each wandering wind had a song to sing,

When the touch of care and the shade of woe

Were but empty words we could never know,

As we rode 'neath the gum and the box trees high,

And our idle laughter went floating by."

GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.

Joe little thought when making the melancholy statement, "measly school

opens to-morrow," how prophetic the utterance was.

The first words that greeted the party on their return to the homestead

were: "School won't open for another three weeks; the town's full of

measles."

The pals tried hard to look sober and concerned as Mrs. M'Intyre dilated

upon the nature of the epidemic. It was a vain attempt. To their credit

be it said, they were very poor hypocrites. Whatever sorrow they might

feel on account of their friends who were in the grip of the disease was

more than counterbalanced by the blissful intimation that, owing to the

epidemic which had unexpectedly broken out, the school authorities had

resolved, for at least three weeks, to keep the school closed.

"There's no going home at present, boys. I wouldn't dream of letting

you return. I'll just write to your mothers to say I intend keeping you

here, unless they want you particularly. I feel sure they will be

thankful for your absence at such a time. So you'll have to make the

best of it, boys. Are you sorry?"

"Well--er--of course--I'm a----"

"Yes--a--of course--you're--a--shedding tears at the thought of staying

here another fortnight or so--aren't you, Joe? You and Tom do look as

miserable as moulting fowls in wet weather at the bare thought of

holiday extension."

The lads burst out laughing at Jessie's sally, and declared that it was

the crummiest news they had received during the holidays.

"That's a' very weel, and ye needna fash, laddies, that you'll ootwear

your welcome. But here's some news that may no' be so pleasant," said

the squatter, who had been busy with his mail. "Here's a letter frae

Inspector Garvie to say that Ben Bolt and his mate are in the deestric'

again. He stuck up Dirrilbandie Station three days ago, drivin' a' the

hands aboot the homesteed, along wi' Wilson and his faimily, into ane o'

the men's huts, in which they were held by his youthfu' confederate

while he ransacked the place."

"Oh! the poor Wilsons! Did he hurt any of them? and did he get much?"

In reply to a fusillade of questions from the excited household,

M'Intyre stated that though Ben Bolt was in one of his black humours,

was in fact on the point of shooting one of the men for cheeking his

mate, and was only dissuaded from this atrocity by the pleading of Mrs.

Wilson, no one was injured. He had taken a considerable amount of loot,

however, in the shape of jewellery; also a pair of new improved

revolvers, as well as three horses, one of them being Wilson's handsome

chestnut gelding, the finest hack in the district, and for which he had

a short time previously refused seventy pounds from the police

authorities.

There had been an outcry against the Government for not having provided

a better class of mount for the troopers. Again and again the schemes

of the police to capture the bushrangers in various parts of the colony

failed, chiefly because they were out-classed in horse-flesh. A tardy

Government, aroused at last to action by the clamour of the people, was

doing its best to remedy this unequal condition.

"I suppose, sir, the police are in full chase of the desperadoes?"

"They're doin' their best, ye may be sure, Mr. Neville. Garvie has two

pairties oot scoorin' the country, and is holdin' himsel' in readiness

to move to ony pint at a moment's notice. As the scoondrels hae cut the

Walcha telegraph line, the presumption is they will be raidin' the

place, and Sergeant Hennessey is following up with the utmost speed.

The Sub wants the loan o' Jacky or Willy, or both, as trackers, and to

let him ken at aince should there be ony signs o' them on Bullaroi,

'specially aboot the caves."

"Are you goin' to lend him the boys, father?"

"Weel, it's very awkward, but I'll hae to assist the coorse o' juistice

when ca'd upon. We maun dae oor pairt to catch the rascals."

"Suppose you _had_ tumbled across the 'rangers in the caves, boys?"

"Well! an' s'p'osin' we had, Miss Jessie?" replied Tom, whose answer in

tone and query suggested unspeakably bad things for the outlaws had they

been unfortunate enough to meet the cave heroes.

"Let me pit ye a sum in arithmeetic, Thomas, ma laddie; juist a sma' sum

in proportion. If twa stock wheep hondles, pinted at fowr cave

explorers, each wi' a lighted candle in his hand, would cause the said

candles to drop to the flure and fowr pair o' hands to go up like a toy

acrobat when ye pu' the strings, what attitudes would the aforesaid

explorers strike if a pair o' rale loaded peestols had been presented?"

"Tom is always a duffer at proportion," interjected Joe laughingly. "He

has a trick of givin' answers that make Simpson sit up. To tell you the

truth, sir, I don't think that the real article could have given us a

greater shock. Speaking for myself, I confess that I've never had so

bad an attack of the shakes before. My skin went goosey in a moment,

an' my hair stood up like a hedgehog's spikes. I couldn't 'a' said a

word for a hatful of sovereigns. You see, sir, _it was all very real to

us for the moment_, and none of the others felt any better than myself,

I bet tuppence."

"Joe's quite right, sir. I had a most dreadful feeling as we stood

there in the black darkness. It seemed as if a vast abyss had suddenly

engulfed us and we were sinking to fathomless depths."

"I'll back up Joe and Mr. Neville, dad. My word, when you spoke, it was

as if some one had suddenly pulled me out of a dreadful nightmare."

The pals went to bed early, as they were tired out after the unwonted

exertions of the day, but not to sleep. They were too excited for that.

"I say, chaps," exclaimed Sandy, jumping out of bed after he had tossed

about for a few minutes, dragging his stretcher alongside the bigger

bed, "let's settle what we're goin' to do."

"Was just thinking of doin' a sleep, Master M'Intyre, when you commenced

to drag the jolly stretcher with enough noise to wake the seven

sleepers. An' as for ole Tom, I fancied I heard a snore comin' through

a hole in his pumpkin----"

"Pumpkin yourself, Blain. I'm as wide awake as you, or that grinnin'

ape Sandy."

"How d'yer know I'm grinnin'?"

"'Cause I can see your jolly teeth shinin' in the dark. But I say, ole

chap, I'm on for a confab. Ouch! my legs _are_ stiff. Wish I'd taken

that hot bath your mother advised. Whatcher got in your ole noddle?"

"Something big, mates, but the difficulty will be with mother. You see,

now ole Ben's prowlin' about, mother'll be hard to persuade."

"Well, tell us what's up your sleeve; we can discuss ways an' means

after."

"It's this: go on a campin' trip to the Bay, where there's grand

fishin'; then go out to the gold-diggin's, an' put in a couple o' days

with the fossikers."

"Jemima! that'd be no end of a prime lark! It'd top off our stay here,

wouldn't it, Tom?"

"Susan Jane! it would that, Joe. My word, it'd be a scrumptious finish!

but what charnce would we have of carrying it out?"

"I don't think that either your Jemima or Susan Jane'll have much to do

with it. Mother'll be the chief obstacle."

"What about a tent, Sandy? We'd have to get one, wouldn't we?"

"There'll be no trouble about that part of the business. There's a big

drover's tent in the harness-room; 'sides, Harry has a small one he'd

lend if necessary. Lemme see: what _would_ we want? First an'

foremost, a tent or tents, an' a packhorse to carry 'em an' the other

things. Then plenty o' prog, o' course: fishing lines--there's tip-top

schnapper-fishin' down the Bay, to say nothin' of jew, bream, an'

whitin'. Then, the guns--we ought to get some good shootin'; both fur

an' feather."

"A fryin'-pan and a camp-oven 'ud come in handy, pannikins too, and some

tin plates."

"Yes, yes, we'll need those; at any rate, the fryin'-pan for the fish.

Don't think there'll be any need to bother about a camp-oven: it's a

plaguey thing to carry; we wouldn't use it 'cept for bread, an' we can

make plenty of damper in the ashes. But I'll tell you what we must

have, an' that's a couple o' small barrels an' a good few pounds o'

salt."

"Why, what for?"

"Fish. We'll be down at the Bay pretty near a week, I reckon; an' as

we'll catch whips o' fish, it'd be a fine chance to dry some, an' salt

some as well. Mother's got two good barrels that hold about

half-a-hundred-weight each; they're salmon casks. The salmon's all

used, an' I reckon schnapper is as good as salmon any day. That reminds

me we'll want three or four sheath-knives; they'll come in handy for

scalin' an' splittin' the fish."

"I say, Sandy, when'll we start?"

"Start! Ah--well--we'll talk about that when we get leave--which, let

me tell you, is pretty doubtful. 'Twouldn't take long to get ready once

we have permission: a day at most. I declare I'm gettin' sleepy.

Good-night, chaps."

The boys opened at short range during the breakfast hour the next

morning. In other words, they pled most vigorously for permission to

camp out for a week or so, according to the programme concocted the

night previously. The chief objection lay in the reappearance of Ben

Bolt in the district. It was all in vain that the boys insisted that

even were the redoubtable 'ranger to visit their camp, which was most

unlikely--he would not harm them: would, in fact, have no interest in

bailing up a parcel of boys. Mr. M'Intyre showed palpable signs of

yielding, and had it been left to him would have granted a reluctant

permission. The insurmountable barrier, as indeed the boys knew

beforehand, lay in Mrs. Mac's excessive fear. She held the fort, so to

speak, against all comers.

"I'm more sorry than I can tell you, boys, to say no, but nothing you

could say would alter my mind. Neither Joe's mother nor Tom's would

dream of letting them go camping out while those dreadful men are

about."

The pals felt the reasonableness of the refusal, and showed not a

flicker of resentment, though of course their disappointment was keen.

"I say, chaps, let's put in the mornin' fishin'," suggested Joe.

The vote was unanimous, and in a few minutes, armed with rods and lines

and a tomahawk--the latter for use in cutting grubs out of the

honeysuckle trees--the boys were _en route_ to some of the deep pools in

the creek. They had a really good time with some giant perch. The

dangling grubs formed an irresistible lure to these voracious denizens

of the water-holes, and the fishermen had no reason to grumble at the

result. On their return home to lunch they were dumbfounded with the

news shouted out by Denny as soon as they were within speaking distance,

"Owld Ben's dead!--shot by the p'lice in th' ranges."

The whole household was greatly excited by the news, which had been

brought by a stockman from Captain White's station. There seemed no

reason to doubt the intelligence, which had come via the "bush

telegraph." Hennessey's lot had picked up the 'rangers' tracks and

partly surprised them in the mountains. The outlaws promptly but barely

succeeded in getting away. They gradually drew away, however, from all

save the Sergeant, who was on a new mount--one of the Tocal noted

breed--which proved to be a "ringer."

The leader and his companion, who was a light weight, tried every dodge

to shake off the pursuit, and in this they were past masters; but they

had to reckon with Hennessey, who was one of the finest troopers in the

force--as dare-devil a rider as Ben Bolt himself.

After some marvellous riding among the ravines and tangled mountain

scrub--during which a few long-range shots had been exchanged--Hennessey

began to draw upon the outlaws. Even that equine magician, Samson, was

reaching his limits. The capture of this illusive freebooter seemed now

a certainty, could the Sergeant hold out another ten minutes.

He was now within a hundred yards of his man. He lagged a little behind

his youthful mate, who was riding the chestnut gelding looted from

Wilson's station. Had he wished he could have shot the 'ranger down;

but being extremely anxious to capture him alive for the bigger reward,

he refrained. The only advantage Ben Bolt possessed was an intimate

knowledge of the ground, by which he often gained a bit. They were now

racing up a steep ravine which presently terminated abruptly at a

precipice. Down this the outlaws apparently flung themselves; or so it

appeared to Hennessey.

Arriving at the spot a few seconds later, the trooper perceived a

winding, narrow pass. He was a stranger to the precipitous track, but

both the bushrangers and their horses were familiar with it, for they

slithered and scrambled down at breakneck speed: a single stumble, and

man and horse would inevitably be dashed to pieces. In vain did the

gallant Sergeant spur his steed towards the pass. His horse resolutely

refused to face it. His chances of capture are fast diminishing to a

vanishing point, as in a few minutes his prize will have escaped.

The outlaws have now reached the comparatively even ground below,

distant about five hundred yards from where the trooper stood gnashing

his teeth in rage, and praying that they might break their necks before

they reach the bottom. Fortune favoured them, however, and they might

have made good their escape without further trouble. But, instead of

galloping off to safe cover, they reined up their steeds, while Ben

Bolt, standing in his stirrups, shouted at the top of his voice an

insulting message for the Sub-Inspector, making at the same time an

ironical bow.

While this little piece of comedy was being enacted, and just as the

bushranger was in the act of bowing, the Sergeant had dismounted.

Swiftly throwing his rifle to his shoulder and adjusting his sights in

an eye wink, he made a hasty but true shot. The outlaw had not finished

his bow ere he toppled from his steed and lay prone, shot through the

heart.

Such was the news brought by the stockman, and accepted by the station

folk.

"Weel, it was bound to come sooner or later. It's what happens to a'

law-breakers--simply the choice of bullet or rope. It's no' for us to

ca' the unfortunate and misguided mon names. If a's true, he suffered a

grave injuistice at the hands o' the police when but a youth, which

embittered his whole life an' gave a moral twist to his actions. We

maun leave him to Ane above wha mak's nae mis-judgments."

*CHAPTER XXVIII*

*THE CAMP BY THE SEA*

"Bright skies of summer o'er the deep,

And soft salt air along the land,

The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,

Sinks gently on the yellow sand;

And grey-winged seagulls slowly sweep

O'er scattered bush and white-limbed tree,

Where the red cliffs like bastions stand

To front the salvos of the sea,

Now lulled by its own melody."

GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.

"And now, boys, what about the camping-out project? I see no reason why

you shouldn't carry out your little plan, now all danger's removed;

indeed, I should love you to have the jaunt. Who were going?"

The boys could hardly believe the good news, it was so sudden.

"Us three, and Denny, if father could spare him, mother," was Sandy's

remark.

"Oh, ye can tak' the laddie. He's due for a holiday, onyway. So's

Harry, for that matter. I can do wi'oot 'em for a spell."

Harry was nothing loth, and entered into the scheme with considerable

enthusiasm. As an old bushman he was able to give good advice in the

matter of camping-out requirements, and was later to render signal

service by which a life was saved.

Behold the party, early the next morning, accoutred and ready for the

road; making, as they held their steeds, quite an imposing cavalcade.

Two stout roadsters were requisitioned for packing purposes; for the

maternal solicitude of Mrs. Mac was both prolific and varied, judged by

the articles of food and service which she forced upon the travellers.

The squatter's pawky humour found ample scope for indulgence. He

expressed a hope that "the pairty would keep a guid look oot for traces

o' the lost Leichhardt expeedetion; and look oot for alleegaitors when

ye strike the Gulf o' Carpeentairia."

The girls, too, indulged in good-humoured banter, raising hearty laughs

against the boys, in which the victims joined as lustily as any.

Said Maggie, striking a grandmotherly attitude, "There are three things

I would warn you against, boys; damp socks, draughts, and earwigs.

Don't leave out the flour when mixing the damper. Have you packed the

tape measure, Sandy?"

"Tape measure! What in the name of Madge Wildfire do you mean?"

"Why," cried Jessie, breaking in, "to measure the giant jew fish that

will snap Joe's line as he is in the very act of landing it."

"Whatcher givin' us, Jess?"

"It will also come in handy," continued the saucy girl, turning on Tom,

"to record the girth, length, and throat capacity of the monster snake

that you, Tom, are sure to see when roaming alone in the scrub."

"That's one for your nob, Tom!"

"Your turn next, Sandy," retorted that youth.

"Then there's the 'old-man' kangaroo that me brither Sandy will shoot

at, missing by 'just an hair's-breadth,' of course, and which he will

declare--when he returns to camp--to be as 'high as one of those extinct

mammals that Simpson has in his natural history book'; at any rate as

'big as Bullocky Bill's off side poler.'"

"But, Miss Jessie, how wud th' bhoys put th' measure on th'----?"

"As for Dennis Kineavy," continued the sprite, "he will be sure to run

into a group of mermaa-des, when diving in the deep blue sa-ay, who will

be discussing the all-important question of waist measurement. As

Denny's an expert in fairies and hobgoblins, he will be appointed judge

and referee."

So, amid laughter and banter, and final good-byes, the gay party start

for the Bay.

Neville was prevented from joining them through important business

interests in Sydney. The "call" of the bush, however, was strong and

insistent, and, as he bade farewell, he announced his determination of

returning at no long date to settle as a landholder.

The road to the Bay passed within a short distance of the caves, and,

despite the news of the tragic end of Ben Bolt, the lads, as they jogged

past the neighbourhood, were unable to rid themselves of a feeling that

the outlaw still lurked about his old haunt, and felt relieved when they

had left this region behind them.

The journey to the Bay proved uneventful save in one particular. In

mounting a very steep incline, the cinch strap, that formed the final

fastening of the pack on one of the animals, broke, whereupon the

pack-saddle, being loosely girthed, worked backwards. Some of the

contents, also, fell to the ground, frightening the horse, who bolted

along the road, parting with sundry utensils and eatables, which lined

the track for some distance at irregular intervals. The frightened

steed was at length secured, the wreckage gathered and replaced--this

time more securely--and the journey resumed.

The Bay is reached without further mishap or adventure. After coasting

it for some little space the party cast anchor, in seamen's parlance, on

a miniature promontory which jutted for a furlong or so into the waters

of the Bay, forming a grassy, treeless plateau throughout its area. The

advantage of this site was apparent to the group of campers, inasmuch as

the foreshores of the Bay were covered for the most part with a stunted

scrub that extended to the beach. The advantage was twofold: it

obviated the necessity of clearing a space for the tents, and it was

comparatively free from bush vermin.

To the southern part of the Bay, distant some six miles, was the Pilot

Station; while towards the northern extremity, where a large creek

debouched into the sea, was a camp of cedar-getters. Otherwise, in its

shore vicinity, the Bay was uninhabited.

Two hours of daylight yet remained, and the members of the party made

instant preparation for pitching camp. The necessary tent poles and pegs

were speedily secured from the neighbouring scrub, and, under the

direction of the experienced stockman, willing hands are busily engaged

in the erection.

The bigger tent was set upon a ridge pole that rested in the forks of

two upright saplings which had been firmly fixed in the ground. When

the requisite number of pegs had been hammered into the ground, the tent

was hauled taut by cords passed through eyelet holes at intervals along

each side, and about thirty inches from the bottom. This under section

of the tent assumed a perpendicular position, forming the walls, which

were secured by the same method. This formed the pals' cover, while the

smaller tent sufficed for the other two. A rough shed formed of four

uprights, with a brushwood roof, held the provisions and saddles.

So expeditiously were all these arrangements made that ere the darkness

fell they were completed, and Denny--who was promoted to the responsible

position of cook--was building a fire for tea-making purposes. Meanwhile

the horses were led to a small, freshwater lagoon in the vicinity, where

they were belled and short-hobbled, and left to browse on the succulent

grass. The last act of preparation was that of cutting a quantity of

gum bushes for bedding. No sweeter or healthier bed can be contrived

than a layer of fragrant eucalyptus leaves. The beds had scarcely been

made ere the welcome summons to supper came, in the Irish boy's best

brogue: "Jintilmen, will yees come to ta-ay?"

There is a charm peculiar to an evening meal taken in the open. The

charm is heightened in the present instance by the contiguity of the

sea. The youths dine to the musical accompaniment of the rolling waves,

which strike the beach in deep, muffled thunder-tone, rising crescendo

fashion as they race to a finish along the shelly incline. Then,

landward, are the insistent noises of the things of the forest. Ever

and anon the soft tinkle-tinkle of "The horse-bell's melody remote" is

to be heard as the cropping animals move over the lush grass. The

illimitable dome above is alive with sparkling lights. Thus an

environment is created which gives a sacramental aspect to the feast.

At least it forms a romantic picture which centres in the fire-lit faces

of the happy, care-free youths.

Supper ended, they eagerly discuss their projects, the while they clean

their guns and fix the fishing tackle.

On the morn, at earliest dawn, they will try likely spots for fish, and

have a swim in the briny. And now the slow movements of the tongue,

with frequent yawns, proclaim the nightly toll which nature is wont to

exact.

Ere the pale dawn is flushed the pals, sleep banished, half-dressed,

tongues wagging, trudge along the beach to the rocky point of the

promontory, stopping here and there at likely places to dig in the sand

for whelks, which make capital bait. The water is fairly deep where the

nose of the promontory marks the terminal point, and soon lines are

unwound, hooks are baited, and practised hands fling the lead-weighted

hempen cords far into the Bay. Fair success rewards their efforts.

Sandy's line hardly reached the bottom ere he experienced the delightful

thrill of a fierce tug, followed by a smart, strong rush which betokened

a good fish. After a few minutes' play he landed a fine specimen of

black bream, scaling over two pounds.

Sandy and Tom had varying luck with black and white bream, and

flat-head. Joe, however, was out of it. He did, indeed, have a gigantic

bite soon after Sandy had captured his first fish. The line whizzed

through his fingers with a rush that skinned them as he began to take a

pull. When the line had reached its limit it snapped like a piece of

pack-thread. The biter was either a young shark or a big jew fish.

After this no fish troubled the boy. His mates struck their fish at

frequent intervals, while his line remained motionless. After a time he

wound up and left his companions. Retracing his steps some distance

along the beach, he halted at a shelving rock that ran out into the

water. It looked a likely spot, and he determined to try with a lighter

line than the one he had been using. Baiting his hook with a soldier

crab, he made a cast, and almost immediately had a bite, hauling in a

black-back whiting. It was a good specimen, weighing at least a pound.

He had good sport for about half an hour, catching in all about a dozen

whiting and half a dozen soles.

The sport began to slacken about an hour after sunrise, and the pals,

having captured sufficient for the day's requirement, set to work and

cleaned their catches. This task finished, they have a plunge in the

sparkling and cool waters of the Bay.

Meanwhile Harry attended to the horses, and did little jobs about the

camp, whilst Denny devoted his attention to the preparation of the

breakfast. The lads returned in due course with the spoils of the sea,

and with appetites as keen as a razor. In a few minutes the pan is full

of sizzling fish, which are presently transferred to a hot dish, and the

pan is filled with a fresh lot.

"Goin' to try 'nuther panful, Denny?" said Tom, when the second lot had

been demolished.

"Anuther pan! Howly Moses! div yees hear him! Och, thin, me bhoy, ye'd

soon rise th' price ov fish. Not anuther scrap will Oi cook f'r yees.

Oi've kep' th' rest f'r dinner? Sure, if we go on loike this 'twill be

Fridah ivry da'; glory be!"

The morning was devoted to a go-as-you-please programme, in which there

was much disporting in the water; even the juvenile pastime of building

castles in the sand was not considered _infra dig_.

In the afternoon the whole party set out for Schnapper Point. It was on

this spot that the fond expectations of the lads were centred. It was

reputed to be the best fishing ground in the extensive Bay, and owed its

name to the fact that school-schnapper frequented its vicinity. A

schnapper trip--taken as a rule in a small steamer--is voted one of the

finest outings by Australian sportsmen. This highly prized fish, be it

said, is known variously, according to its age and changing habits. It

often attains large dimensions, weighing up to thirty pounds.

None of the party had previously visited the Point. Their great concern

was to find out if suitable bait could be procured in its neighbourhood.

The principal bait was a small species of whiting. These, they

discovered, were to be obtained without much trouble on shelly patches

along the beach.

Early next morning the campers are astir, and busily engaged in

necessary preparations. After a hearty breakfast, in which the corned

round and the spiced beef are conspicuous features, behold the young

sports jogging along the beach towards Schnapper Point. A stoppage is

made at the whiting patch, where the fishermen are kept going for an

hour with very fine lines. By this time they have secured about two

hundred small fish as bait.

And now, having arrived at the fishing ground, leaving Harry and Denny

to attend to the horses, the pals, all eager for the promised sport,

unwind their heavy schnapper lines, and prepare for the catch.

It was agreed that the boys were to fish, while Harry, who voted fishing

a bore, and was devoted to the gun, would scour the adjacent scrub for

birds, and the forest beyond for kangaroo; Denny having promised the

boys a "foine boilin'" of kangaroo-tail soup. To quote the actual words

in which he preferred his request--"If Harry wud shute wan iv thim

fellas as hops wid their ta-ales, and carries their childre in their

pockets,[#] Oi, wud ma-ake sich a soup as niver was."

[#] The natural pouch of the marsupial for bearing its young.

The shooter, armed with a fowling-piece and a short rifle, after

attending to the horses, disappeared in the scrub in search of game.

Meanwhile the fishers, having cast their lines, assume an expectant

attitude.

To their great disappointment there are no bites; not even the

stimulating nibble. The patience of these amateurs is sorely tried. A

whole hour passes without the slightest sensation of a bite. Lines are

cast and recast. The fishermen move to and fro, to no useful purpose.

"Well, of all the rotten frauds of places for fishin', this takes the

bun! Dash it! we'd better have stayed at the camp an' fished there. At

least we'd----"

"Howld yer whisht, bhoys!" said Denny in an excited whisper. "Oi'm jist

goin' to git a boite; th' line's thrimblin' sure. Faith 'tis a Dutchman

smellin' the ray-shons, Oi'm thinkin'."

"It's not a schnapper, if that's what you mean by a Dutchman. No

nibblin' about a schnapper, Denny. More likely a crab."

"By Saint Michael! Joe, div yes call that a crab? Be dad, thin, it's a

big sa-ay whale, or maybe one iv thim mare-mades Miss Jassie warned me

aginst. Be th' hokey, th' loine's cuttin' me fingers!"

The line, which for a minute or two had given faint twitches, and a few

premonitory shakes, now suddenly whizzed through the Irish boy's

fingers.

"Take a pull on her, an' steady her!" cried Sandy. "You'll lose fish an'

line, too, if you're not mighty smart."

Denny thereupon made a "brake" of his fingers, which steadied the fish

after it had run out about fifty yards or so of the line. He began to

haul it as if it were attached to a sulky calf. The fish was a heavy

one, and a fighter; but what Denny lacked in skill he made up in

strength. Fortunately for the angler the line was stout and new, or it

would surely have snapped in the struggle. By sheer strength the fish

is drawn to land.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

*AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA-TIGER:

A NARROW SHAVE*

The pals watched the seaman-like efforts of Denny to land his "sa-ay

whale," or "mare-made," with great curiosity.

"It's no schnapper, unless, maybe, a real boss 'un. More like a young

shark," was the remark passed by Joe.

Their curiosity is soon satisfied; the fish is now in the shallows, and

the next moment is drawn to the water's brink. Denny has landed a

monster sting-ray.

It was the first of the kind the Irish boy had ever seen, and, as he

pulled the struggling ray into the shallows and exposed its body, he was

struck mute for a few seconds with astonishment, and not a little alarm,

at its uncanny appearance. Dropping his line in the excitement, he half

turned to the boys, and, pointing to the floundering fish, exclaimed,

"Begorrah! 'tis th' div-vil himsilf. Saints presarve us, but if yen's

not he'es ta-ale! Or, ma'be 'tis th' dhragon phwat Father Daly towld us

about at Mass larsht Sun-day."

"He'll be a drag-off in a moment," cried Joe, making a clutch at the

line, for the brute was wriggling into the deeper water. The next

minute the ray was smacking the earth with his flappers, and whipping it

with his tail.

"Phwat be th' crathure, anny ways, Sahndy?"

"It's a stingaree, Denny. Mind you don't touch its tail, or you will

find out to your cost that it's the dragon, black angel, an' 'th' owld

bhoy,' all mixed up like an Irish stew. Run for the tommy, an' we'll

whip it off."

"And does it bite wid its ta-ale loike a schn-ake, bhoys?"

"No, you precious duffer! it's got a spike near the tip that it rams

into you like a needle, an' then look out! Yellow Billy trod on one once

when he was havin' a bogey down below Tareela, in the river--they make a

hole in the mud an' lie there--an', by jings! he was ravin' mad in

twenty minutes. The doctor had to shove a syringe into his arm, and

squirt laudnaum, or somethin', to quiet him down. There!" flourishing

the tomahawk, "that's off, clean as a whistle!"

"My word!" continued Sandy, a moment later, "we'll keep the tail for

Harry. He promised Bill Evans, the jockey, to get one for him if he

could. He's goin' to ride White's horse at the Armidale races, an' he's

the laziest o' mokes he reckons. Bill says it'll be only by sheer

floggin' that he'll fetch him along. Says if he only had a

stingaree-tail whip[#] he could do the trick."

[#] The sting-ray tail is sometimes used for this purpose. It is a cruel

instrument of flagellation in the hands of an unfeeling rider.

"This is not schnapper fishin'," interjected Joe. "My word! the

stingaree'll make stunnin' bait. Put a bit on your hook, Denny, it may

entice 'em."

Sandy cut off a slice from the flapper and baited Denny's hook with it.

The line had hardly reached the bottom ere it was seized by a fish--a

monster. The fish did not rush, he bored; the resistance was of a

sullen nature. Joe came to Denny's help, and between them they drew the

fish to land. It proved to be a huge rock cod, or groper, as it is more

commonly called, scaling close upon a hundredweight.

"A jolly groper, by dad! We're in luck all right," exclaimed Tom.

"We'll have groper steak for supper to-night; besides, we can pickle one

half of this cove and dry the other."

Their luck had changed in more respects than one. The ray and the

groper seemed to be avants courier for the school-schnapper, which now

began to bite freely.

For the next two hours the boys were kept well employed, landing near

upon forty fish, varying from three to twelve pounds in weight. The

tide now began to ebb, and after that there were no more bites. It was

just as well, for by this time they had caught as many fish as they

could cure. Counting the groper, they had nigh upon three

hundredweight. The weight of these when scaled and cleaned would be

reduced by at least one-fourth, leaving about two hundred and fifty

pounds of choice fish.

"What's bes' thing to do now, Joe?"

"W-e-l-l--er--I dunno. Oh, I say, how'd a jolly swim go down?"

"Spiffin'! A swim, a feed, an' then start cleanin' the fish an' gettin'

'em ready for smokin' an' saltin'. 'Bout noon I reckon it is."

"Come on, Denny," cried Joe, as they walked down to a sloping beach a

little back from the Point; "come an' have a dip in the briny."

"Bedad, thin, that same will Oi not. 'Twu'd be threadin' on wan iv

these stinkin'-rays Oi'd be. Oi can seem to feel th' brute's dirty

pisen fangs already in me leg. No, no, thanks be, Oi'm not takin' th'

wather tra-atement at prisint. Oi'll go an' start the foire so as to be

ready f'r yees; that is, if th' sharks div not ma-ake mince-ma-ate of

yees."

Was it a premonition which caused a cold, tingling thrill to run along

Joe's nervous system, from tip to toe; to be followed by the creeps,

which made goose-flesh of his smooth skin? Disagreeable as the

sensation is to the lad for the time, it lasts but for a moment, and in

less than no time, so to speak, he is revelling in the glories of the

crisp, emerald-tinted wavelets of the Bay.

It should be stated that Schnapper Point did not extend into the Bay at

right angles to the beach. It inclined northward, and at the spot where

the boys were bathing was not more than two hundred yards from the

beach.

"Say, chaps," shouted Joe, who was some distance out, "I'm going to swim

over to the main beach."

So saying, he swam slowly towards the other side, enjoying to its

fullest extent the luxury of the exercise. He had covered about a third

of the distance when he heard a great commotion behind him.

Denny, who had been attending to the fire, had his attention attracted

by a moving object in the sea. Gazing intently thereon for a moment, he

left his occupation and ran swiftly towards the boys.

"Look, bhoys! look at that gra-ate fish sa-alin' in forninst the Point.

Troth, it's a monsther groper, Oi'm thinkin'! Glory! but he'es a

gra-ate big bullock-groper!"

So saying, Denny came towards the boys with a puzzled air, as though his

description of the object to which he was pointing did not exactly

determine its species.

"Whereaway, Denny?" exclaimed Sandy, who was paddling in the surf,

standing up and gazing in the direction indicated. "A bullock-groper.

That's a new creature surely. Never heard----Hello! why, it's a---- Hi,

hi! Joe! Joe!" shouted the lad in a wildly excited state. "Joe,

there's a big shark roundin' the Point an' coming this way. Come back,

quick! quick!"

Joe, who was almost on a level with the water, was unable to locate the

enemy as quickly as the others. It was not until he began to tread

water that his eye caught the moving object. In a flash he realised his

danger, for it was a large tiger-shark, the man-eater of the sea. Not

even the man-eater of the jungle, roused through the blood-lust to a

killing frenzy, could be more merciless to his victim than this

cold-blooded, pitiless, silent tiger of the seas.

Terrible as was the shock, his courage survived. He conned the

situation, and formed his judgment in a moment. The shark was eighty

yards or so above him, swimming parallel with Schnapper Point beach, and

within thirty yards or so of it. As far as he could judge the fish was

ignorant of his presence, but were he to return to his companions he

could not expect to escape its vigilant eyes; would be crossing its bow,

so to speak; and, were it in an attacking mood, would not have the ghost

of a show.

His only hope of escape lay in keeping along his course, getting to the

farther shore in the smallest number of minutes possible. All this

cogitation did not cover twenty seconds, and the boy resumed his swim

with the utmost vigour.

Had not something happened to divert the shark from its course nothing

alarming would have occurred, for Joe was rapidly widening the distance,

and every stroke was improving his chances. The boys on shore, with the

hope of frightening the monster away altogether, began to make a great

clatter; pelting the shark at the same time. No more fatal policy could

have been adopted. The only result of their tactics was to divert the

shark from its course, and to drive it out in the direction of their

comrade.

Almost as soon as the brute's course was changed it sighted the swimmer.

This it indicated by giving two or three strong strokes with its

powerful tail, and gliding at a rapid rate in the wake of the lad. Joe

was made acquainted with this change of course by the frantic cries of

his mates. Throwing his head over his shoulder for a moment, he saw the

shark heading directly for him. He knew in that moment that unless the

miraculous happened his hours were numbered, and in a few seconds--or

minutes at most--his body would be mangled by this pitiless sea-tiger.

Yet, although this terrible result appeared an absolute certainty to the

fleeing youth, he did not lose his head, but swam with a strong and

steady stroke. There is such a thing as hoping against hope. He would

not surrender life; it must be torn from him. Joe's home upbringing,

with his father's daily chapter and prayer, sent his thoughts

heavenwards in this his moment of extreme peril: "What time I am afraid

I will put my trust in Thee."

Here was the situation. Joe was about sixty yards from the beach, while

the relentless pursuer was within thirty yards of him. His mates were

powerless to aid him, and were racing round to the spot where he

intended to land as swiftly as their legs could carry them.

The shark glided within a few yards of the lad, and then swam round him,

while conning him. This the boy felt to be simply the preliminary, yet

every stroke was taking him nearer the shore. The water should be even

now shoaling. Might he dare to sound it? But, alas! the enemy seems to

understand this, and gives a cunning look as it half-raises its body

from the water, and scrutinises its helpless victim preparatory to

making its final swoop.

"God help me!" cries the youth, with a dry sob; his last moment has

come. In that supreme moment--as in the case of drowning men--the whole

past came before him. Home, parents, sisters, brothers, pals! There,

almost within arm's-length, is his merciless foe; while there is still

quite a stretch of water between him and the beach.

The great, cold-blooded, insatiable fish is poised for the final spring.

A single second now, and----

Instead of falling upon its victim, the huge brute lashed the water into

foam, and swam round and round in a circle. What had really happened

Joe knew not. He no longer swam shorewards, but, half stupefied, watched

the "flurries" of the frenzied fish as it lashed the water in rage or

pain.

Then he heard a great splashing shorewards, and a voice shouting

encouraging words. Turning in that direction, the boy beheld, with

unutterable joy, Harry, rifle in hand, rushing through the water to him.

In a few seconds the stockman is abreast Joe, the water being only up to

his arm-pits. Pointing the rifle at the fish, which was circling in

blind fashion, but a few yards off, the rifleman--for it was he, under

God, who worked the miracle--drove a bullet through the shark's brain.

"My word! 'twas a touch-and-go, old feller!" exclaimed the man, as he

put an arm round the boy--who had, in a sense, collapsed--and drew him

to the shore. "There now, Joey, me brave boy. Y're all right, ain't

ye? Y're not the chap ter faint, I know. Here's the others," as the

rest dashed up, breathless; the Irish boy fairly crying with excitement.

They could do nothing for a while but look at Joe as he sat leaning

against a mangrove--where Harry had placed him--making a brave but weak

effort to smile. The reaction had set in, and the boy felt it was only

by the most resolute exercise of his will that he kept from swooning.

Tom, who was blowing like the proverbial grampus, stuttered at last:

"Let's m-make tr-racks h-home, b-boys. I-I'd rather be b-b-bailed up by

a thousand 'r-rangers, than w-w-w-one of th-hose sea-devils. Oh! the

sight of the m-monster as he r-rose to make a d-dive at p-poor Joe!

Y-yes, let's c-clear."

"Clear, be hanged! What are you drivelling about, you jolly idiot?" It

was just the tonic Joe needed. "We're not goin' to let a thing like this

spoil our sport, not by a long shot. I'm all right. Was a bit knocked

out for a few minutes, I will confess. Tell you what, boys; I'll never

be nearer death till my last moment comes. That I am alive is due,

first to God, an' then to ole Harry, here. 'Twas a great shot, that

first one of yours. 'Nother second later an' 'twould have been too

late. Ugh! don't believe I'll ever get the green glitter of the thing's

eyes outer my mind. Tell you what, I'll jolly well punch the first cove

that hints at goin' home. I vote we go back an' scale an' gut the jolly

fish."

"Bedad, thin, it's a plucky wan y'are, Joe, me bhoy! Y're th' mahn f'r

me money ivry toime. But, ye'll not do a sthroke iv wark till yees have

a feed. Faith, Oi'll do a sthreak an' get th' billy boilin' f'r a

pipin' hot cup o' tay. It's what we all want; Joe in particular."

Suiting his action to the word, the cook strode off in quick time to

prepare the lunch.

Meanwhile the dead shark had drifted into the shallows until it stranded

on the beach. The party now made a closer examination of the brute.

The first shot, fired from the bank as the creature raised itself, had

caught it in the throat; the second passed through the eye to the brain.

"Why, it's a tiger-shark!" exclaimed Harry; "twelve foot if he's an

inch. Thought 'twas a blue-nose at fust; they're bad enough, but this

joker's the worst kind that swims the sea. My word, Joe, it'd been all

U P if this chap'd once got 'is teeth intil yer."

"Budgeree, budgeree, you bin shootem shark? Him murry bad p-feller.

Catchem plendy black p-feller; eaten. This p-feller live longa Point

plendy years."

[Illustration: "The huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam

round and round in a circle."--_See p._ 271.]

The group, which had been intently gazing at the carcass, turned round

in a startled manner on bearing these guttural sounds. Immediately

behind them was a cluster of aboriginals, five in number, who had stolen

silently upon the scene.

"Hello, Cock-eye! that you?" cried Harry, as he surveyed the blacks.

"Where you bin sittin' down, eh?"

"Cedar Crik. We bin come longa here get fis' for choppers."

"Oh, the timber-getters, hey! Well, you seem ter know this ole boss.

You bin see 'im afore?"

"Plendy times. Bin often try catch 'im. He kill-ee mine sister. He

too much lika dingo; no take bait."

"Well, you can git even with this joker, Cock-eye. He eat your people;

now you chaps gobble 'im up."

The blacks are inordinately fond of shark's flesh, and--cannibal as this

sea-tiger is--no question of sentiment may stand between these primitive

men and a gorge.

"I say, Harry, cut that dorsal fin off for me, there's a good man,

before these niggers tackle it. I'd like to keep that."

After a considerable amount of hacking, the stockman managed to separate

the fin, and, leaving the blacks in undisturbed possession of the

carcass, they returned to the Point, to feed, and to finish their work.

*CHAPTER XXX*

*IN AND ABOUT THE CAMP*

"O mellow air! O sunny light!

O Hope and Youth that pass away!

Inscribe in letters of delight

Upon each heart one golden day--

To be there set

When we forget

There is a joy in living yet!"

G. E. EVANS.

The fish cleaning occupied the best part of the afternoon; and when the

party reached camp, about sunset, they were dog-tired; inclined for

little else than supper and sleep.

"But you haven't told us how it came to pass that you were just on the

spot to prevent the shark scoffing Joe," exclaimed Tom to Harry. "We

didn't expect you back for hours."

"Niver had such a thing 'appen afore, I give yer my word. Lost me way

in the dashed scrub; carn't understand it nohow. As a rule yer carn't

lose me in a scrub; can feel me way be day or night. Instinct, they

calls it. Ole Dumaresque says ter me one day, when we'd bin ridin' fer

hours through heavy pine country after some strayed heifers, gettin'

caught in the dark long afore we makes the homestead: 'How do you manage

to tack an' criss-cross this beastly country without track or compass;

not even a star to guide you? It fair beats me, my man. Why, I'd 'a'

bin lost a dozen times over but fer you. You always seem ter be goin'

wrong, yet always come out right.'

"'Carn't explain it, sir,' ses I. 'I jist do it.

"'It's all instinct,' ses 'e. 'It's like wot the dingoes an' blacks

'ave.'

"Instinct or no instinct, I got bushed all right ter day. There's

something erbout it I carn't understand. 'Twasn't that I was careless,

an' takin' no notice. I 'ad worked through the scrub a distance of four

mile or so when, all of a suddent, I ses ter meself, ses I, 'Where the

dickens am I?' Well, as soon as I put the question to meself I knows I

was bushed, an' fer the fust time in me life I begins ter feel quite

creepy like. I didn't know which way ter go. At larst I starts out in

a direction that seemed the likeliest, but, somehow, I cud make no

headway. Something seemed ter clog me feet, an' I was allers gettin'

mixed up with vines an' brushwood.

"'Dash it all,' ses I, 'this won't do. Don't believe I'm goin' the

right way, after all. Believe this ere way's leadin' me back to the

Bay, an' I wants ter git through this blarmy scrub ter the forest, fer

'oppers' tails. I'll righterbout face, danged if I won't!' So round I

turns, an' as soon as I started I got on fust clarss. Didn't git mixed

up an' stumble as afore, but gits through the brushwood as slick as a

bandicoot. 'Mus' be nearly through the belt,' ses I, after goin' fer

an' hour or so. 'Mus' git the rifle ready, fer I might sight a kangy any

moment now.' So I unslings the rifle from me back an' puts the gun in

its place, an' stops a minit ter load 'er--the rifle I mean. I'd jist

finished when I heers voices shoutin', an' then a great yellin', as if

somethin' orful was 'appenin'. So orf I rushes through the scrub, an'

comes out on the beach. I was knocked inter a heap, I gives yer me

word; fer there before me was the sea, an' I thought I was on t'other

side of the scrub altogether. Then, in a flash, I sees wot was really

'appenin'. Jist afore me very eyes was Joe. He was strugglin' in the

water not more'n a hundred yards away, an' that 'er brute seemed as if

it was jist a-fallin' on 'im. Why, I fired the rifle a'most without

pintin' it. Somethin' seemed ter say, 'If yer waits ter aim yell be too

late.' Be gosh! I'm thinkin' 'twas the Almighty Hisself directed that

shot."

"If ye'd not losht your enstink, as ye calls it, ye'd be moiles an'

moiles awa-ay at th' toime th' shark was goin' to gobble Joe up, wuddent

ye?"

"In course I wud."

"Well, don't ye think th' good God had a hand in losin' ye in th'

scrub?"

"It's wot yer father'd call an answer ter prayer," replied the stockman,

turning to Joe as he spoke.

By this time the camp-fire--around which the group had been sitting--was

burning low, and the party was quite ready for bed after the exciting

and tirng adventures of the day.

The campers were astir at an early hour next morning, to make the final

preparations for curing the fish. After filling both barrels, there was

a quantity available for smoking. To carry out this object a sapling

frame, about four feet square and seven feet high, was constructed, and

enclosed with bushes, leaving an opening at the top and bottom. The

fish were hung by stout cords, and a fire kindled on the earth inside

the curing shed. Some green wood was used with the dry, to produce a

fair, volume of smoke; and so the curing went on apace.

Leaving Denny in charge of the camp, the others spent the afternoon

shooting over a chain of lagoons that lay back from the beach a couple

of miles or so. The ducks were plentiful, and they returned to the camp

well laden. They passed the two following days shooting and fishing,

both fins and feathers being exceedingly plentiful. By this time they

judged the fish to be cured, and packed it in a maize bag.

"Tell you what, boys! S'pose we ride over to the Pilot Station to-day?

It'll be a change, won't it?"

The others received Joe's suggestion with ready approval, and before

long were racing along the beach towards the Pilot Station. This was

situated at the mouth of the river, and consisted of the residences of

the pilot and the boat's crew.

It should be said that at the mouth of every Australian river flowing

into the Pacific is a sand-bar. These sand barriers frequently shift

their position, owing to tidal and other ocean influences. This makes

entrance and exit to be a somewhat dangerous proceeding, and many a

craft has come to grief on these treacherous sands. To reduce this

danger to a minimum a pilot station exists at each river entrance. The

pilot is generally a sea-captain with a large experience of these

treacherous bars. It is his duty, weather permitting, to take daily

soundings so as to locate the exact position of the bank, and by means

of signals to apprise incoming and outgoing vessels of the position and

depth of water on the bar; also, when required, to pilot the vessel over

the dangerous spot.

Captain Craig, the pilot, was an old salt, with nearly half a century's

experience of the eastern rivers of Australia. He received the boys

very kindly, and, after offering them refreshment, took them to the

signal station and look-out. When he had explained the methods of

signalling, he allowed them to look through a very fine telescope. He

was justly proud of this instrument, it having been presented to him by

a company of passengers for his gallantry and seamanship in extricating

his vessel from a rocky shore in a hurricane.

The time had now arrived for taking the bar soundings. Much to the boys'

delight Captain Craig invited them to accompany him in the life-boat,

and a few minutes later the crew were pulling the party from the

miniature cove to the bar.

The water here, owing to the bar formation, was generally in a turbulent

condition. Although it was a calm day, they found the boat exceedingly

lively as she moved to and fro over the bar while soundings were being

taken. They experienced sundry disagreeable qualms, and a certain

screwed-up feeling in the region of the "bread-basket." The clacking

tongues of the youngsters grew suspiciously quiet, and Tom's ruddy

cheeks paled to an exceedingly bilious complexion. Had you quizzed

these boys upon their sickly looks, they would have protested with might

and main against the insinuation of mal-de-mer. Nevertheless they were

mighty glad when the pilot, after half an hour's sounding, having

accomplished his purpose, turned the boat's nose in the direction of

home. Once out of the troubled waters, the sick feeling passed away,

and at the solicitation of the lads "for a pull," the pilot

good-naturedly allowed them to row to the landing-place.

Before leaving, the pals recited the story of the shark adventure,

ending in the death of the tiger shark. Captain Craig listened with

great interest, and not a little excitement, to this narration.

"You have had the narrowest of escapes, Joe Blain, and have very much to

be thankful for," exclaimed he. "That shark was a most notorious

character. He has roamed the Bay for years and years, and has destroyed

many human lives. Innumerable efforts for his capture have been put

forth by the fishermen, and by my own men, but in vain. Often sighted

and fished for, he has resisted the many lures set for him. Again and

again, when enclosed in their nets, he has broken through, and has long

been their despair. Now, however, thanks to a good Providence, and to

the clever shot of your friend here, this dreadful man-eater has been

removed." Advancing to the stockman, the pilot shook him warmly by the

hand, and thanked him in the name of the community.

As the party rode home in the cool of the evening, they decided to break

camp next morning, in order to carry out their original intention of

paying a visit to the old diggings.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*OFF TO THE GOLD DIGGINGS*

"The mountain air is cool and fresh,

Unclouded skies bend o'er us,

Broad placers, rich in hidden gold,

Lie temptingly before us."

SWIFT.

Tents were struck, and the campers' impedimenta securely fastened to the

pack-saddles, in the grey dawn of the following morning--the party

having breakfasted by starlight.

The gold diggings about to be visited was situated in the ranges,

equi-distant from Bullaroi and the Bay. The route from the Bay lay

along the homeward track as far as the caves. At this point the trail

turned due north--winding among the rugged country to the site of the

mining camp, which, in its palmy days, covered a flat that lay between

some precipitous hills and a swiftly flowing mountain stream.

The diggings in question was deserted, save by a few fossikers, or

gully-rakers, as they were generally called--men who earned a precarious

living by following up the dry gullies, and picking out wash dirt from

between the rocks; or else dry-blowing likely spots of the surface. The

lure of gold--so common to all--fed the imagination of these men. They

became nomads; lived in the most primitive ways; faced and endured

untold hardships; and, if not cheerful, were always hopeful. They saw

visions and dreamed dreams--of gold. The years passed, age pressed

heavily, eyesight grew dim, and limbs palsied with weakness: but even

when broken down and encompassed with infirmity, their very senility

sustained its spirits upon visions of the rich find that was surely

coming--to-morrow.

When the diggings "broke out," and the rush "set in," the flat was white

with tents, the population running into four figures. It was an

alluvial diggings; that is, the gold was washed from the earth, and not

crushed from the quartz. In the flush days of Rocky Gully, rich

"pockets" of gold were struck, and huge fortunes made. Life then, in the

character of its splendours and pleasures, was barbaric. Lucky diggers,

with the spending lust upon them, ordered champagne baths, lit their

pipes with five-pound notes, shod their horses with plates of gold,

squandered their suddenly acquired riches on camp wantons, and among the

harpies of the gambling hells. There were many exceptions to this

foolish course, 'tis true; but such is the mental intoxication

consequent upon a lucky find, and the sudden acquisition of wealth, that

the majority of lucky diggers succumb, and in a few weeks or months,

shorn of their possessions, either blow out their brains in remorse, or

challenge fortune once more upon the same or some other goldfield.

Rocky Gully was now a worked-out diggings, and its population had long

ago drifted away to other fields. Naught remained to remind one of its

glory now but a few tumbledown houses, and the wood skeletons of iron

buildings, together with countless heaps of empty tins and other refuse.

Naught, that is, save a dozen or so of fossikers, who were distributed

over the field; each having his area, into which the others never

intruded.

How was it, then, that the Bullaroi party should have included a trip to

the deserted mining camp in their programme of sport and adventure?

There was nothing inviting in the region so far as game was concerned;

nor was there the rough excitements of a live diggings. The truth is, it

was the outcome of a suggestion of Harry. The stockman had a yarn he was

very fond of relating, which included some tragic incidents associated

with Rocky Gully. As a youth he lived there in its "boom" days, and

towards the close of his stay there he was mates with Humpy Bob. Humpy

Bob was an eccentric character, well known on a dozen goldfields, whose

shrewdness as a gold finder was countervailed by his incredible folly in

spending his riches. On one occasion, when he had struck a "pocket,"

from which he drew over a thousand ounces, he began a carouse which

continued until the last penny was spent.

As illustrative of his folly during that spree, he purchased a general

store for the sum of one thousand pounds. The same evening, in company

with the drunken guests of a champagne party he had given, he proceeded

to the store, deliberately fired it, and, with the other banqueters,

stripped stark naked, danced a wild corrobberie while it burned.

Bob sober was the antithesis of Bob drunk. Abstemious, taciturn,

industrious, solitary, with a genius for divining likely places, he

followed the pursuit of gold: seldom failing to earn good wages; often

winning handsome profits; occasionally making a pile.

Humpy's end came suddenly and tragically; and of this Harry was a

witness.

The two men were driving a tunnel at a likely spot in the bank of a

blind gully about three miles from the main camp. They worked in

relays, and had driven in about a score of yards, when Harry suggested

shoring it with saplings for safety. Humpy Bob, however, who was always

running risks, made light of the suggestion. They had just struck a vein

of promising stuff, which gave "prospects" of several grains to the

dish. When it was Bob's turn to go on, Harry again suggested shoring up

certain loose spots; especially one near where he had been picking, for

there had been a small fall during his shift. This the other would not

consent to, though his partner pleaded earnestly.

"There's a hundred to one chances against there being anything serious,

mate, and I'm not goin' to waste any time in propping up the blessed

tunnel. It's not worth it. We'll most likely clean it out to-morrer.

So-long!"

So saying, the digger entered the drive, and was soon at his work.

Harry, having nothing to do for a while, went to the tent and stretched

himself on his bunk for a rest, intending to return in an hour or so to

wheel out the mullock. Unfortunately he fell asleep, and hours passed

by before he awoke. When he did, he jumped from his bunk and ran out to

the drive, scolding himself for his negligence. The barrow was missing

from its usual place, and, after a hasty search, the youth went to the

tunnel's mouth and shouted to his mate. There was no response, nor were

the usual pick sounds to be heard. The light was still burning at the

end of the tunnel. Hastily traversing the drive in a half-stooping

position, as indeed compelled by the size of the tunnel, the youth

covered about half the distance when he stumbled over the barrow,

severely barking his shins. Using hot language against the carelessness

of his mate at leaving the barrow in such a place, and with a half fear

at the unsatisfactory look of things, he scrambled up and went on

towards the end of the tunnel. He had not taken more than two steps

when he again stumbled; this time over a softer substance. It was his

mate!

Humpy Bob was lying unconscious, half-covered with a mass of fallen

earth and rocks. Groping his way across this pile of debris, the

excited and frightened youth reached the end of the drive, seized the

light and returned to his mate.

Tearing frantically at the soil and stones, he liberated old Humpy, and,

as gently as possible, drew him to the tunnel mouth. Then dashing to

the little stream below, he brought water in a billy, and made the

customary attempts to restore his stricken mate to consciousness. His

utmost attempts availed not. The vital spark had fled. Not all the

resources of medicine or surgery could bring light into the half-closed

eyes, or life into those rapidly stiffening limbs. Humpy Bob would

never again unearth a nugget, rock a cradle, appraise the value of a

prospect, or get on the "razzle-dazzle" and "paint the town red."

It would seem that after working for a while, and making a heap of

mullock, the digger had come out of the tunnel for Harry. Not seeing

him about, the old man seized the barrow with the object of wheeling out

some of the earth. He had loaded it, and was in the act of wheeling it

along, when a mass of earth fell full upon his back, fracturing the

spine.

Harry was greatly affected by this sad occurrence; for Humpy Bob had

many good points of character, and a strong attachment had grown up

between them. As soon as his mate was buried, he left the goldfield,

and got a job on one of the stations.

He had often thought of revisiting this scene, for he had a feeling that

good gold would be found there. Of late the desire to test the ground

again had grown strong, and, when the project of the jaunt to the

seaside was launched, he suggested a trip to the old diggings. The boys

gladly fell in with the idea, for it furnished them with an item that

gave additional spice to the outing.

The journey to the diggings was necessarily slow. The pack-horses were

heavily weighted by the extra burden of the fish, and the method of

progress was that shuffling gait known as the "jog." Though monotonous

and tiring to the rider, it is the easiest pace for the loaded animals,

and one that can be kept up all day.

"Seems a pity that we should cart this blessed fish to the diggings,

Sandy. Wouldn't it be better to 'cache' it somewhere near the junction?

It's giving the horses unnecessary work, in my opinion. Let's see, it's

twelve miles to the junction, an' fifteen from there to Rocky Gully.

Supposin' we planted the stuff in the scrub at the junction; it'd save

thirty miles of hauling, an' be no end of a gain all round."

"Good enough, Joe! What d'yer say, Harry? We could hide the barrels

an' bag easy enough in the scrub."

"M-yes, perhaps so. Come ter think of it, I'm not so sure. Barrels'd

be all right, but 'twon't be the dingoes' fault if they don't root out

the dried fish. Tell you what, boys, plant 'em in the caves!"

"Good shot! The very thing the doctor ordered! The caves! yes.

'Twon't take us more'n a mile out of the way; an' 'twill be on the road

to Bullaroi on the return trip. We can easily strike in on the west side

of the cave ridge, and hide 'em in the stables. Nobody knows of that

place but father an' the 'rangers; now poor ole Ben's shot----"

"Maybe it's ha-aunted, bhoys. It's juist th' sphot owld Ben'd hide his

sowl in, so as to frighten awa-ay th' p'lice whin they goes rummagin'

about f'r booty; loike th' carr-sthle ghosts in th' owld conthry.

Bedad, thin, Oi'll be expactin' t' see th' bowld raider comin' on us out

iv th' dark, his face shinin' loike th' stuff phwat matches is made ov."

"Brimstone an' treacle you're thinkin' of, ain't you, Denny? But, I

say, chaps, it'll be better to hide 'em at the 'ranger's outlet; though

it'll be the dickens own job to get the barrels into the cave up that

slope. Wouldn't it be better, after all, to hide the stuff in the

scrub, slinging the bag into a tree, high enough to be safe from the

dingoes?"

So it would, and have saved a most painful experience; but having

started the idea of hiding the fish in the caves, it presented an

attraction that the others would not surrender. It gave a flavour of

romance to the act. Now that he was dead, the bushranger's hiding-place

took on a new interest; and so it came to pass that Tom found himself in

a minority of one.

They found it a tough piece of work to get the barrels up the

precipitous slope to the cave entrance. But, when the fish was at last

stored in the forage chamber, as it was now called, and the party had

remounted their horses, they could appreciate the advantage gained by

relieving the pack-horses of so much dead weight.

They now made more rapid headway, and struck an accommodation house, in

the early afternoon, kept by one Jago Smith--an old acquaintance of

Harry's.

*CHAPTER XXXII*

*HOW THEY STRUCK GOLD*

"There's a bonny wee spot in the mountains I love,

Where the pine trees are waving o'erhead far above,

Where the miners are happy, kindhearted, and free;

And many come here from way over the sea.

There's gold in the mountain, there's gold in each glen,

The good time is coming, have patience, brave men;

Hold on to your ledges, and soon you will see

Both money and mills coming over the sea."

C. CRAWFORD.

Jago Smith was an "old timer," as, in Colonial parlance, men with his

past were called. A Londoner by birth, he was initiated when but a

child into the arts and artifices of that profession which flourishes by

the application of sleight-of-hand tricks to the pockets and purses of

an unsuspecting public. In short, this London arab was a thief,

belonging to just such a school as Dickens has portrayed in _Oliver

Twist_.

His career as a collector of "wipes" was brought to a summary end

through being caught full-handed in a theatre crush. A "Children's

Court," or a "First Offender's Act," was unknown in the early days of

the nineteenth century; consequently young Jago Smith was had up before

the magistrate, committed to the Assizes, convicted to the hulks, and

ultimately transported to Botany Bay to serve a term of penal servitude.

At a theatrical effort made by certain prisoners of histrionic talent at

Sydney, at the tail-end of the eighteenth century, to which first

Governor Philip and his wife were "graciously" invited, the following

lines form part of the prologue composed for the occasion--

"From distant climes, o'er wide-spread seas, we come,

But not with much eclat or beat of drum.

True patriots all; for be it understood,

We left our country for our country's good.

No private views disgraced our generous zeal,

What urged our travels was our country's weal,

And none can doubt, but that our emigration

Has proved most useful to the British nation."

Fourteen years' penal servitude for the theft of a few

pocket-handkerchiefs! Such a sentence to-day would be regarded as a

monstrous iniquity; it passed without comment in those days.

But transportation was not an unmixed evil to Jago Smith. As early as

1793 schools were started at the penal settlement, under the impression

that they would be the most likely means of effecting a reformation in

the morals of youthful prisoners.

Jago, with the consent of the master to whom he was assigned on landing,

attended a night school, and gained some insight into the three R's.

[Illustration: "'We've struck it rich, I do believe,' cried the

stockman."--_See p._ 295.]

After a somewhat varied career, the ex-pickpocket, who had served his

time, became a settler on Rocky Creek; and when the Rocky Gully gold

rush set in he drove a very profitable trade with the diggers. In

addition to raising cattle on his selection, Smith kept an accommodation

house, where board and lodging was to be had. As the place was on the

public road, about five miles from the diggings, it received much

patronage. Jago was very proud of his signboard. It was an

incontestable proof of his accomplishments in writing and spelling.

ACKOMERDASHON FUR MAN

AN BESTE SMALL BIER

SOULED HEAR GORD SIVE TH

E KWEEN J SMITH

As the party drew up to the hitching blocks, old Jago, who was lounging

in an arm-chair in the verandah, hobbled out to the front, quietly

surveying the group; to whom Harry addressed himself.

"Good-evenin', Mister Smith. How are yer gettin' on these times?"

"Not gettin' any younger, you may be sure. But who be you?"

"Don't yer remember me, Jago?" replied the stockman, walking up to the

old man.

"Yes; I see who it is now. You be the boy wot worked with old Humpy,

an' used ter stay here when Bob had an attack of the jim-jams."

"The same, ole chap. We're goin' to put up here for the night, and

intend goin' on to-morrer to where me an' Humpy worked when 'e was took.

Got room for us, I s'pose?"

"Plenty o' room, me lad. Not over rushed with travellers these times.

Better take your 'orses round ter the back; ye'll find the saddle-room

in the old plice, an' yer can turn the neddies inter the paddock.

There's plenty o' grass fer 'em."

The boys were ready for the supper of homely fare which awaited them at

sunset. After supper, Harry and the old man got into a conversation, in

which the former stated that he was determined to have a try at the old

claim; for, though Humpy had put it about when working it that it was a

"shicer," Harry, of course, knew differently. The gold-bearing stuff, it

is true, was but a thin vein, but they expected it to develop into

something better farther on. Old Jago informed him that no one had

touched the spot, so far as he knew. Yes, he had some picks and shovels

and prospecting dishes, which he had taken as payment at one time and

another from hard-ups. Harry was welcome to make a selection.

This the stockman did without any delay. He took from the curious

assortment of diggers' tools two picks, two short-handled shovels, two

prospecting dishes, the roller and handle of a windlass, a couple of

buckets, some stout rope, a length of chain, a strong hook, a crowbar,

and a pound or two of blasting powder.

These he obtained as a loan, for Smith would not hear of pay. He viewed

the whole thing in the light of a joke. The idea of Harry starting to

work a claim with a parcel of kids who had never seen a gold shaft in

their lives, with a time limit of three or four days at the most! The

stockman was but humouring the fancies and ambitions of the kids. They,

no doubt, expected to locate the golden nuggets in the same fashion that

they would track a missing bullock on the bush, or run down a wild cat

to its lair in a hollow log. Well, they would at least develop their

arm muscles and have blistered hands to show their friends. So the old

settler--who at the time of the rush had listened to the confident

prediction of many a greenhorn, going post-haste to pick up the nuggets

that were waiting for somebody to tumble over. Not so Harry; he, at

least, was no greenhorn. He would give the abandoned workings a trial.

It would be a novelty for the boys, and though they mightn't get

anything to boast about, would, he was confident, get enough to give

each member of the party a souvenir of the visit.

Leaving the accommodation house after an early breakfast, the band of

diggers, for such we must now call them, arrived at the old workings in

a couple of hours, passing _en route_ two or three fossikers who were

working their shows. These ancients looked with a degree of

astonishment upon this cluster of youths, whose very jauntiness was

suggestive of a prime lark.

Arrived at the diggings, the party had a good look round. Intense

solitude reigned everywhere, and save for the heaps of rusty cooking

utensils and other rubbish there was little to indicate that the place

had once been a busy hive of life and energy. An old signboard, written

by another hand than had done Jago Smith's, was seen nailed to a tree.

Its language was simple and to the point.

ROYAL HOTEL

ALL DRINKS 6c.

_N.B.--Clean Glasses_

Harry took a rapid survey of the situation. The place apparently had

not been disturbed since the fatal accident. The old tent poles

remained as he had left them, and there was no evidence of any one

having camped there for years.

Proceeding to the tunnel, which, as previously described, was driven

into the perpendicular bank of a deep gully, things looked pretty much

as they did on that fatal day, excepting that the earth had fretted away

about the tunnel mouth, and, on venturing in a short distance, the man

saw that the roof had broken down, completely blocking the mine.

"Well, Harry," exclaimed Joe, when the leader emerged from the tunnel

mouth, which the boys had been eagerly watching, "is it all clear? Did

you go to the end?"